The Welcoming Banquet
On top of everything else, I would have to do more than simply parse the spies' intelligence and hand it over to Henrik. With such an important banquet fast approaching, I would need his help.
"Haah... this is difficult."
At some point, cold sweat had begun beading on my forehead. I quickly wiped it away and heaved a long sigh.
"...Perhaps I should visit the dragon temple next time."
Reading a few books in this library was hardly going to grant me the ability to sense a dragon's aura I barely understood and wield its magic.
Unless I were a mage of extraordinary talent, things were never going to come that easily.
Henrik had said he would offer further explanation if I wished—but honestly, these days the only time I ever saw him was at meals and just before sleep.
To ask a favor of a man that busy, I would have to pay a price of my own. But lately my condition was so poor that even a little magic left me coughing myself dry.
It seemed it would do me more good to seek out the aura of the legendary Black Dragon, Bwendia, myself.
"Haah... once this is all over."
I drew out a long breath to soothe my frustration, muttering to myself as I did.
"Whew, I'll have to ask Poznan about the temple. Let's just get through this properly first."
* * *
The day had come to receive the delegation. Standing beside Henrik in front of the Prince's Palace, with a crisp wind brushing past us, I cast one last sweeping glance around as a final check.
"What a beautiful place it is."
I offered Henrik an ordinary remark, mindful of all the eyes that would be scrutinizing our relationship. At the very least, it was no lie.
The garden before the Prince's Palace stretched wide and unobstructed. The slender black ramparts, the trees ablaze in vivid autumn colors, the gorgeous blooms in every shade, the sound of a stream running somewhere out of sight—it was a landscape where grandeur and pristine nature blended in perfect harmony.
There, arrayed in neat rows, stood the royal orchestra alongside the palace's servants and maids.
Not a single flaw could be found among them; every preparation for welcoming the delegation from the Kingdom of Francia had been carried out flawlessly.
"So you think so as well."
I stole a glance to my side and found Henrik's face utterly composed, without a single sharp edge. He, too, had surely found no crack in this welcoming ceremony that might tarnish his honor.
"The delegation will surely think the same, my lord."
Even my first arrival here had carried this same feeling—a place of splendor, of grandeur, of elegance. Back then, though, I had been so consumed with the thought of making a new proposal to Henrik that I hadn't properly taken in my surroundings.
At last a trumpet call rang out, so loud and long that it left my ears ringing.
"The delegation from the Kingdom of Francia has arrived!"
People descended from several carriages adorned with beautiful floral emblems shaped after Goddess Fria, the patron deity of Francia.
I narrowed my eyes and studied them, only the barest ghost of a false smile resting on my lips.
"Welcome to Bwendowska."
They were faces I knew well. Most conspicuous among them were the son of Viscount Saturn, said to be in close contact with Antoni, and Herson—Selena's cousin, who served the royal house as a scribe.
From that single assembly of men, I could easily guess the King's design in putting this delegation together. He wanted to watch for any useless mischief on my part, and to take the measure of this kingdom's political and diplomatic currents.
"Your Highness the Prince. And my lady, I offer you greetings. I am Herson, head of the delegation from Francia."
The official purpose they carried was a beautiful one: to inquire after the welfare of the youngest princess of Francia, married now to the Prince of Bwendowska, and—beneath the banner of peace—to forge a firm bond of cooperation between the two nations.
I sneered inwardly. Even if the King of Francia had handed me over to Henrik without protest, that would never have been the end of it.
Did anyone believe that greedy man truly content to shut himself in his palace and pursue 'peace'? The war he waged in the south had been but the opening move in the grand theater of his desires.
"It was a long journey. I trust you are not too wearied?"
Henrik stepped forward first, fussing over the guests as though genuinely concerned for them. I too checked once more that my dress had not wrinkled, then walked out before the delegation.
The signature of this attire, arranged with Poznan's help, was its generous cut—an image of vigor and brightness emphasized in every line.
Dressed in sweeping lace, a golden belt, and ornaments of flashy, undeniable expense, I would appear to these people of Francia exactly what I needed to be: a princess living well in a foreign land.
"The foreign scenery quite dazzles us. We hardly feel the fatigue at all, Your Highness."
"We are deeply grateful for so magnificent a welcome. May Goddess Fria bless you."
"And may the dragon's favor rest upon you all."
"Thank you, Your Highness. We shall pray with all our hearts in return."
From the son of Viscount Saturn to Herson and all those who followed them, they spoke Bwendowska's tongue with easy fluency and offered blessings of the gods.
A thought crossed my mind. How insolent they were, posturing as though so impeccably courteous.
At the foundation of this land's legend stood not a god, but a dragon. Their refinement was admirable, yes—but if they truly respected Henrik, they ought to have offered their blessings in the manner of Bwendowska.
Henrik, who surely thought much the same, bore it gracefully and blessed them in the dragon's name.
I likewise invoked the Black Dragon Bwendia after him—every inch the prince's consort, long settled into this land.
"May Bwendia's blessing be upon you. It has been some time, Lord Herson, Sir Saturn."
"Indeed, far too long. A banquet hosted by Your Highness—we are quite beside ourselves with anticipation."
"You will have your fill soon enough. Come, let us to the banquet hall."
Henrik led the way, guiding them toward the banquet hall prepared within the Prince's Palace. The scenery around us was serenely beautiful, but a desolate chill flowed between our parties, and through it passed conversation as false as painted porcelain.
"Ah, the climate here is so unlike Francia's, isn't it? Rather humid, I'd say. Hehe. Does the food suit your palate, my lady? I do hope so."
On the surface it sounded like ordinary well-wishing between people reunited after a long absence, but it was transparently a jab at my gaunt appearance.
And beneath it lay the unspoken question—whether I was still an inadequate consort who had failed to adapt to this land.
I held my expression serene. Feigning composure to this degree cost me nothing at all.
Besides, it had never been the climate or the food that wore me down in that place.
"Well, that's simply how it is here. Everything else has been fine too... and, mm, well, the Prince simply refuses to let me go."
I deliberately gave them the shy smile of a new bride drunk on her husband's love.
"Then I am relieved indeed, my lady. His Majesty has worried over how you were faring. I shall report back so faithfully that his concerns may be doubled."
Young Sir Saturn returned my words with a faint smile, but I knew that smile for the lie it was—for it was his father, after all, who was Viscount Saturn.
He was the man who had nearly married me, divorcee's brand and all. I did not know what bargains had passed between Antoni, Viscount Saturn, and the King of Francia, but the fact that my own will had been trampled beneath them remained unchanged.
Though I had never shared any great dealings with Sir Saturn, there was one thing I knew with certainty: that this son of Saturn, too, despised me in his heart. Just as that tutor of mine once had—the one who heaped shame upon me.
"If it please you to say so, Sir Saturn, I am at ease. Come, take your seats, all of you. And enjoy this banquet to the fullest."
"To lay a table so abundant from this early hour—it draws our admiration in spite of ourselves, Your Highness."
At the delegation's manufactured exclamations, I simply smiled sweetly once more. He was quite right, after all—in Francia, grand banquets were traditionally held in the evening so that guests might savor a supper. A feast beginning at this early hour of noon was unusual indeed by their standards.
Dishes prepared in the Bwendowskan style filled the air with a savory, fragrant warmth, and the chandeliers casting their light across that vast table gleamed entirely in rich, unbroken gold.
"I hope it suits your tastes."
Henrik dipped his head to signal the start of the meal and took the seat beside me.
In that instant, I caught it—a faint tremor passing through the eyes of Sir Saturn across from me, and of the other Fransians seated around him.