A Taste of Salt
"Thank you, Poznan."
The first smile I'd shown Poznan had been a touch calculated, but this word of thanks was entirely sincere. She didn't even bother with a pleasant smile, answering as flatly as ever.
"Not at all, my lady."
If anything, that very composure made me think her all the more worth keeping at my side. Whatever she might go through, I sensed she would maintain that same unshakable attitude.
It was far better than the sort who feigned warmth and kindness to your face, only to strike you from behind without warning.
"Then, before we truly begin preparations for the banquet, I'd like to ask you a few things first, Lady Attilenta."
And so I decided to accept Poznan's help with a few matters. Once she had made me up flawlessly as she always did, Poznan drew a small writing instrument from her breast pocket and began jotting things down.
"Is there anything you'd particularly like to emphasize at the banquet?"
"I'd say the most important thing is that I'm settling in well here."
"Understood, my lady. In that case……"
The dining hall of the prince's palace remained as dazzling and opulent as ever, but having stayed here a while now, I was gradually growing accustomed to all that golden brilliance. It was the hour when quiet sunlight streamed in through the wide windows.
"Your Highness. I trust you're having a peaceful lunch?"
"Ah, you've come. Sit."
Unlike an official banquet, Henrik sat across from me, and after a mere greeting, he buried himself in his meal. He seemed to have some urgent business on his mind.
Whether the two of us ate together or retired to bed together, we rarely exchanged much personal conversation, so nothing about it felt awkward.
I followed his lead and ate in silence, mulling over all the things Poznan had taught me. She had instructed me in the manners expected of a banquet hostess, and in what the women of Błędowska society were expected to know.
When the delegation arrived, I would need to consider far more than the banquet alone. There would be plenty of meals to share with them as well—how was I supposed to handle those?
"Your Highness. My lady. If I may, I would recommend beginning with the soup."
The head chef of the prince's palace, standing quietly behind us, politely suggested the food. I took a sip of the carp soup, which warmed me to my very core, and sank into thought.
In this chill weather, one naturally thought of warm food first. Would carp soup feel refreshingly novel to the envoys from Francia? Or perhaps the fish aspic served as a delicacy would be better?
Perhaps because Błędowska lay close to the sea, its seafood cuisine seemed exceptionally refined. But conversely, a completely unfamiliar dish could provoke unease precisely because it was strange.
Fine cuisine mattered, but I hoped for a banquet that was visually delightful and abundant as well.
"Your Highness. My lady. Is the steak to your taste?"
"Kobel. It's fine. No need to fuss."
Only then did I turn my head to look at the chef. It was the first time I'd seen him. A chef who kept speaking up about the food mid-meal, while a prince and his wife dined—apparently Henrik was rather lenient with his subordinates.
Following Henrik's example, I readily nodded to the chef as well, a wordless gesture of appreciation for the meal.
And I meant it without flattery—the steak here was delicious. The juices were superb, but dipping each bite into the seasoned salt served alongside it was a delicacy in its own right. Salty and savory, it brought out the full flavor of the meat without ever overdoing it.
I had never once experienced meat seasoned with salt like this in the Kingdom of Francia. If even I—a princess, and a duke's wife at that—had never tasted it, surely the Francia delegation arriving here would find it just as unfamiliar?
What if we made this salt our signature touch? I chewed the meat slowly, then asked Henrik.
"Your Highness, what did you offer as the betrothal gift?"
At my blunt question, Henrik answered without a moment's hesitation.
"Gold and silver."
Only then did I understand, at last and with perfect clarity, why that king—whom I loathed to even call my father—had revised his plan to sell me off to the old count without so much as a whimper. Henrik had brought me here through the sheer power of hard currency.
That baron—Saturn, or whatever his name was—must have had money too. But no matter how distinguished that nobleman's reputation, his wealth could never have matched a prince of this realm.
Though I hadn't been here long, I already knew well how wealthy the Błędowska royal family was—and how much they loved flaunting it.
"The food here is quite splendid, too."
"So it is, though I hadn't planned on doing anything with that."
Fair enough—the distance between Francia and the Kingdom of Błędowska was considerable, so stocking up on preserved foods as gifts would have been a tall order, and live provisions entirely out of the question.
Henrik had already settled on some pretext of marriage or other as his reason for setting foot in Francia, and he would surely have packed expensive gifts with me in mind, generously and in abundance.
And yet the food culture here had its own charms—charms that could surely captivate a foreigner's eyes and palate.
Ostentation, after all, didn't have to mean gold or glittering jewels. This salt would fascinate the people of Francia. Even I had been fascinated, after all.
Perhaps I could dress the banquet tables with this finely hued salt. If I arranged it like glittering jewels—a symbol of wealth—and paired it with distinctive dishes, I thought it might work rather well.
"I think it would be wonderful to serve this salt at every meal we share with the delegation."
"I was thinking the same."
"Yes—let's give them something they've never experienced before. You enjoyed Francia's banquets too, didn't you, Your Highness?"
"A place lacking in nothing for splendor."
Henrik offered no particular objection. He had been scouting for a woman to marry in that very setting, no doubt. Smiling on the surface, while beneath it he would have been assessing the people he'd need to watch.
Someone like Antoni, for instance—a general who'd made his name in the southern wars. Or probing the true intentions of the King of Francia, who'd have been prattling about peace between the two nations.
"And what do you remember most from it?"
"Nothing in particular. I'd experienced much the same things."
Henrik shrugged with an indifferent expression. Feeling the quiet satisfaction of drawing the answer exactly where I wanted it, I let a light smile curl across my lips.
"Your Highness, everything that splendid and glittering exists in both our countries alike. That is precisely why we should serve them with something they don't have."
"It's common food here."
"Which makes it all the more so."
By then Henrik had finished his meal, and he rested his chin on one hand, eyes heavy-lidded and languid.
"Do as you see fit, my lady. I look forward to it."
That night, I pored over the list of Błędowska's principal nobles that Poznan had given me, deliberating whom to invite to the banquet.
I had no idea how the time was passing, or whether I was tired. I was a little giddy, feeling I'd finally found my bearings on this banquet I was to host and lead.
It seemed like it would go better if I read the future beforehand.
After all, I'd suffered a small fiasco at the banquet celebrating my marriage to Henrik—and reacted a touch too emotionally.
If I could throw a grand banquet this time without making such mistakes before my guests, it would only bolster my reputation further.
Trusting myself to the light of the small candles, I tiptoed toward the bed—and there lay Henrik, already asleep.
That he was busier than I went without saying, and he rose earlier than I did besides. So seeing him asleep like this was a rare sight indeed.
He seemed to have pushed himself tonight, working through until midnight. There was just one thing I wanted to do before I slept.
On tiptoe, I slipped secretly into the washroom. The chamber was, of course, utterly still. I drew the mirror from my breast pocket and began to picture the future I desired.
I want to secure my place here, unmistakably. Now then, mirror—when I face the delegation from Francia, will there be anything I must be especially careful about?
It was the very moment I channeled my magic as always.
"Khk! Khk!"
Before the mirror had even begun to glow green, a suffocating tightness seized my chest, and a dry cough tore out of me.
Flustered by the sensation welling up, I could only blink my eyes wide.
Am I going to cough up blood again?
Coughing blood was one thing—but coughing it up and then having to clean this room, too, was hardly something I relished. Because that wretched Antoni would come to mind like a shadow at my heels.