Gems on the Table
Francia had no custom of a wife sitting beside her husband at the table. Even between married couples, the man was expected to take the head seat. Henrik had enjoyed Francia's banquets before, so he would surely know this.
Not that it mattered if he didn't. He was faithfully carrying out our bargain at this very moment. Come to think of it, he had done the same at the very first banquet I attended after arriving here.
With Henrik's help, my standing in this court could rise all the higher — and that, in turn, would serve him as well.
"Now then. Do enjoy the cuisine of Bwendowska."
The table of the finest hardwood gleamed like a jewel beneath the chandelier. The 'things' I had prepared were also holding court across its surface.
The delegation from Francia did not yet seem to grasp exactly what those things were. They hadn't asked about them, after all.
Their eyes had already been pulled away by the resplendent tableware and the warm, savory, distinctly unfamiliar dishes.
"If you need it, do use this."
It was around the time the steak was served, once everyone had warmed themselves with a stew rich with the fragrance of seafood.
I deliberately reached out so that Sir Saturn's son and Herson could see clearly, then pointed with casual grace to a glittering, many-hued mass of pure crystallized salt.
"It's quite precious, you know. Even I am seeing it here for the first time."
It gave off a radiance that was no less than the golden chandeliers and silver tableware. Of course, there was no chance whatsoever that they had never seen salt before.
But when a 'foreign land' makes such a point of highlighting something, even the most ordinary object of daily life can appear more special — and, if one plays it well, even superior.
The people here loved to flaunt what they possessed. And so Henrik, too, cast a covetous glance at the pink and crimson salt crystals seated on the table like gemstones or works of glasswork.
"My lady is rather fond of it, so we stocked plenty. I'd be happy to recommend it to you all."
Henrik looked every inch the prince — lavish in his generosity, yet doting endlessly on his beloved. With the princely couple saying such things, the Francia delegation naturally turned their eyes to the shimmering salts as well.
"What... beautiful gems, Your Highness."
The first to speak was Sir Saturn. His voice carried a faint note of displeasure. No doubt he was wondering why anyone would show off gemstones in the middle of a meal.
Herson, the cousin who would surely be exchanging close word with Selena, offered his own praise first as well — in words that were, quite obviously, pure pretense.
"The color is certainly wondrous, but might we examine them after the meal is finished?"
"Heh heh. Do they look that way to you, too?"
I laughed aloud. Then, slowly, I dipped a piece of meat and dabbed it against the finely crushed salt resting on my plate.
"They aren't gems. It's salt."
"Ah..."
A sound somewhere between admiration and a groan escaped from among the Francia delegation.
"It shone so brilliantly, I took it for... for actual jewels, Your Highness."
"I don't blame you. Remarkable, isn't it? It brings out the flavor of the steak wonderfully."
Like a true connoisseur savoring every bite, I cut into my steak at my leisure and sipped my wine as I ate.
My purpose was one thing only: to flaunt my happy life before the members of the Francia delegation.
"...The food here is truly refreshing to me. It is utterly unlike anything in Francia."
"Even some of the spices are ones I've never laid eyes on."
"I felt the same at first. Now, my lords — try this as well."
On the table sat the gemstone-adorned salts, and alongside them several ornaments that genuinely sparkled and shone.
And this, even without the King of this land attending the banquet. I guided the meal with the air of someone who had settled in beautifully to this opulent, extravagant world.
Two things gave me that certainty. First, Henrik was dining with the same immaculate composure he always wore.
His fingertips rose and fell with the glass in an elegant, unvarying rhythm, and beyond an occasional nod, he said little.
That is — a signal that he was thoroughly satisfied with the way this gathering was flowing.
Second, watching the faces of the Francia delegation closely, I saw that at some point they had begun to enjoy the novel delicacies themselves.
Starting with the apple pie that this palace's head chef took such pride in, delicate cakes and finely decorated confections arrived on elegant trays.
Whatever anyone might be thinking, all of them laughed their hahas and their hohos, and the banquet was racing toward a successful close.
Then Herson cleared his throat with a polite ahem. He meant to say something.
"It was a truly magnificent meal, Your Highness. Lady Attilenta. However, there remains one thing I cannot help but wonder about — and I would venture to ask."
Henrik looked at Herson and inclined his head in that cold voice of his, though with a magnanimous air.
"Speak freely."
Watching him, I ran through the possibilities myself. Exotic dishes and salts displayed like gems could not be picked at — which left Herson exactly one point worth raising.
"It is simply that, from the moment you received us, both Your Highness and Lady Attilenta have been seated side by side — a most pleasing sight, I must say."
I stared steadily at Herson as he continued in his measured tone. To any observer, he looked every bit the polished head of a delegation, and being Selena's cousin, that brown hair so like hers caught the eye.
Or perhaps it was only me — perhaps only my eyes fixated so on hair of that particular shade.
"And what is it that puzzles you, then?"
Different in sex and appearance both, yet facing him put me in exactly the same frame of mind as facing Selena, and I asked behind my soft mask of a smile.
Far from hanging on his words, I had already guessed what he was about to spout and was planning my counterstroke.
"His Highness is, in truth, a most magnanimous man, is he not? If there is any difference from the rumors we have heard, it is only my wish to return to the Kingdom of Francia as its representative and report so."
Instead of the sneer that nearly slipped out of me, I composed a gentle smile — and deliberately, ostentatiously, pinned that false smile on for all to see. In that instant, my heart was exactly as it had been the last time I had faced Selena in Francia.
Selena. She had wanted to keep me forever under her net of surveillance, to control me at her whim — how bitterly she must have chafed when things slipped out of her grasp?
However seasoned a royal scribe Herson might be, he was still too green to warrant being sent at the head of an embassy.
How desperate must Selena have been, to send even such a cousin all this way to check on me? And how, I wondered, had Antoni helped arrange it?
"For two people so harmonious as you are — and for the sake of exchange between our two nations — we mustn't allow any needless misunderstanding to take root."
On the surface, he heaped praise and admiration upon the two of us, as though prioritizing the peace accord sealed by our marriage. But underneath, his meaning was quite different.
First, he picked at my origins. A husband and wife sitting side by side is utterly at odds with the customs of the Kingdom of Francia — could it be that a princess consort from that land is overstepping, demanding excessive privileges? That was, in effect, what he was asking.
And to Henrik: What became of the renown of the Black Dragon of the Battlefield, whose conquests drove all the way to the heart of this land? — and with the question, a delicate show of doubt as to whether it had been no more than bluster and exaggeration for the sake of prestige.
Clever, clever Herson. He meant to needle not only me but Henrik as well. I could see exactly how it would itch at them — why would Henrik, lacking nothing in anyone's eyes, bother to elevate the standing of a woman like her?
It wasn't only Herson, Selena's cousin or no. Every soul in Francia who had scorned me would think the same, without exception.
Like the true Francia nobleman he was, Herson wielded with perfect precision the art of insinuating barbs at whatever defied decorum — and now it was my turn to return the favor in kind.
"Oh my."
I made a show of glancing at Henrik, who sat in leisurely silence like a prince of boundless tolerance, and let out a soft, hoh of laughter.
Then I tilted my head toward the shoulder of the man seated beside me. I would hardly resemble a fragile fawn the way Selena had — she who had worked so hard to send Herson here — but it would be more than enough to look the part of an affectionate wife.
"Herson, my friend. To think you were carrying such concerns. Such loyal a subject — why, the King must be overjoyed."