92: The Grand Feast and the Kings’ Curiosity

92: The Grand Feast and the Kings’ Curiosity
Elara stepped away from the chamber, leaving the mirror behind, its surface smooth and undisturbed. No trace of the shadow mage remained—only his reflection, forever trapped within its endless corridors of glass. She ran her fingers along the cool surface once more before turning with a satisfied smirk.
He still had some magic left, but it wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to escape. Not enough to be a threat.
By the time she returned to the grand hall where the other mages remained, their eyes still fixated on the mirrors she had used to steal their powers, they barely noticed her arrival. Some were whispering among themselves, speaking of visions they had seen—visions of triumph, of loss, of love and despair. Their faces carried a strange mix of awe and unease, as if they couldn’t quite decide whether they had witnessed something divine or something sinister.
One of the mages, a tall man with silver-streaked hair, turned to her. "Where is the other one?" he asked.
Elara didn’t hesitate. She kept her expression calm, her voice light. "Oh, he went to see his king."
There were nods of understanding, no further questions. They accepted her words as truth. It was easy. Too easy.
She cast a glance toward the mirrors once more. Their power hummed softly in her mind, whispering of the stolen magic still pulsing within them. She could feel it coursing through her veins, filling her with a strength she hadn’t possessed before.
Power was intoxicating.
But she couldn’t revel in it just yet.
The great feast was about to begin.
The Grand Hall was a masterpiece of opulence. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their light casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. Massive banners bearing the crests of the twenty-five kingdoms draped the walls, and the long banquet table stretched from one end of the hall to the other, lined with extravagant dishes that filled the air with rich, tantalizing aromas.
The kings, their entourages, and the strongest warriors from each realm were already seated, drinking from goblets of the finest wine, their voices loud with laughter and conversation.
Elara moved gracefully through the hall, her presence commanding attention. She felt the weight of their gazes, the subtle curiosity in their eyes. They had heard what the mages were saying. They had heard about the mirrors.
Alden, seated at the far end of the table, watched her carefully.
Elara could feel his scrutiny without even looking at him. He was too perceptive for his own good. Unlike the others, who were eager to believe what the mages had seen, Alden was not so easily swayed. He knew her.
And the Elara he knew had no mirror magic.
Still, he said nothing. Not yet.
She took her seat at the head of the table, lifting a goblet to her lips as servants moved swiftly around them, pouring more wine, bringing more food. The hall was alive with celebration, the clinking of silverware and the hum of conversation filling the vast space.
One of the kings, a broad-shouldered man with dark, graying hair, leaned forward. "Your Majesty," he said, addressing Elara, "your mages have been speaking of your mirror magic. That you have the ability to show the future."
Elara set her goblet down delicately.
"Have they?" she asked, feigning mild surprise. She glanced toward the mages, who sat further down the table, speaking excitedly amongst themselves.
Another king, younger and more ambitious, spoke next. "They say your mirrors showed them glimpses of what is to come. They claim they saw victories, warnings of danger… even things they never dared to dream."
Elara smiled faintly. "Magic is an interesting thing, Your Grace. Sometimes, it reveals more than we expect. Sometimes, it reveals what we need to see, rather than what we want."
A murmur passed through the kings.
Another, a stout man with a golden circlet around his forehead, tapped his fingers against the table. "And you can do this for us as well?"
Elara hesitated just long enough to let the tension build.
"I could," she admitted, her voice smooth. "But the mirror’s power is… delicate. It responds differently to each person." She traced a fingertip along the stem of her goblet, watching their reactions. "For those who wield magic, the connection is stronger. Their visions are clearer. But for those without magic… well, the results may not be what you expect."
The younger king frowned. "Are you saying we are unworthy of its sight?"
Elara let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Not unworthy," she corrected. "Simply… limited."
More murmurs. Some of the kings exchanged glances, intrigued but wary. Others seemed eager, impatient to see the mirror for themselves.
Alden, however, remained quiet.
His goblet rested on the table, untouched. His gaze was unreadable.
Elara lifted her eyes to his, meeting his stare across the table. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
He knows something is wrong.
She tilted her head slightly, a silent challenge in her eyes.
Alden did not look away.
Instead, he spoke.
"If the mirror’s power is so delicate," he said slowly, "why not demonstrate again? Surely a queen of your talents could control such a thing."
Elara’s fingers tightened slightly around the goblet, but her expression remained composed.
She smiled. "Of course," she said smoothly. "After the feast, I will gladly demonstrate again."
The kings nodded, satisfied. The conversation shifted to other matters—alliances, trade agreements, disputes between smaller territories. The feast continued, the laughter and revelry filling the hall once more.
Elara played her part well. She laughed when appropriate, she answered questions with just enough mystery to keep the kings intrigued. She sipped her wine, never drinking too much, always in control.
But deep inside, she did not want them staring into her mirrors.
Powerless men had no place in the world of magic.
And Alden…
Alden was watching her too closely.
She would have to be careful.
She had come too far, gained too much.
The shadow mage was already sealed away, his magic now hers. The other mages had been drained, their strength flowing through her veins.
She was more powerful than she had ever been.
And yet, the feast felt like a game of knives, every word spoken another blade pressed against her skin.
She could not afford a misstep.
Not now.
Not when the real game was just beginning.