The Social Ball (2)
“Prince Nguyen of the Nyeum Kingdom.”
Honestly, the moment I heard his name, it was all I could do to stifle my laughter with sheer willpower.
Prince Nguyen slung an arm around my shoulders with natural ease, pulling me away from the hostages' table and leading me toward the buffet piled high like a mountain of food.
“Well, since we're at such a grand feast, how about we fill our bellies first? The imperial kitchen staff's skills are out of this world.”
He picked up an empty plate and started humming a tune as he loaded it with mouthwatering smoked meats and seafood dishes.
I grabbed a plate of my own, piling on a moderate amount of food while quietly listening to his stories.
“I've been living in this capital for exactly twenty years now. I came here at fifteen, so I've spent more time here than back home.”
“Twenty years... that's quite a while.”
“Yep. About twenty years ago, when our Nyeum Kingdom knelt before the Empire's cavalry, I—the third prince—was dragged here as a hostage. Honestly, for the first few years, I clung to this foolish hope that I'd return home someday.”
Prince Nguyen gave a bitter smile as he scooped sausages onto his plate.
“But after Father passed and my eldest brother ascended the throne, instead of calling me back, he abandoned me. Thanks to that, my feet are stuck in this imperial capital.”
“......”
“Well, it's not all bad. Along the way, I fell for a woman from home who'd come here to make money, we built a family, and I ended up settling down in the capital for good. We've even got two cute kids.”
I spotted some lamb and helped myself to a bit.
“By the way, I'm a hostage in name only—thoroughly forgotten by both the Empire and my own kingdom. If I packed my bags and fled home right now, the Empire wouldn't bat an eye.”
“......What do you mean? If a hostage escapes, doesn't the Empire usually send troops to crush the kingdom?”
“Sure, that might still hold for Prince Sterling... but not for me.”
Prince Nguyen gave a wry smile as he added two lobsters to his plate.
“The current royals of Nyeum have become the Empire's loyal dogs, eagerly complying with imperial rule and serving as devoted subjects. In return, the Empire grants them juicy privileges and real power to govern the provinces. No blood shed on either side—it's a win-win. So there's no reason for them to disrupt that peace over a useless hostage like me escaping.”
I nodded silently, listening intently to his tale.
Prince Nguyen, plate stacked like a mountain, guided me to an empty table in the corner of the garden.
We sat across from each other and began eating slowly.
“Prince Ian, the Empire treats hostages quite well when they deem them useful for ruling or assimilating conquered lands—like you right now.”
“......”
“But the moment they decide you're no longer useful, they revoke every bit of that treatment without mercy.”
He popped a grape into his mouth and added bitterly,
“You've probably figured it out, but the Empire keeps hostages mostly as a historical formality. No one in the imperial family truly expects that holding a few princes will stop vassal states from rebelling. The defeated kingdoms do the same—tossing out some useless offspring to cut their losses.”
“Then why not just kill them or kick them out? It'd be easier for the imperial family.”
“It's about optics. No need to kill hostages and stir up sympathy among vassal subjects, souring public opinion. They just let them live and utterly neglect them. For the kingdoms, it lets them squeeze their people for tribute while claiming they're making sacrifices too by sending royal blood. Good optics for both sides. In the end, we hostages are the only ones who bleed.”
“How exactly do they neglect them to turn people at that table into... that?”
I recalled the other hostages I'd seen earlier, devouring food like beasts.
Prince Nguyen's expression darkened.
“No outright abuse, mind you. They just cut off all minimum allowances for dignity—financial support, everything. Strip away every royal privilege too. The problem is, most royals dragged here are the expendable ones, far from the throne.”
He let out a long sigh.
“They never got proper royal education or scholarship back home, just lived off handouts their whole lives without working a day. Dump those types in the expensive heart of the imperial capital with no support? They're no better than beggars. Blue blood or not, all they know is breathing.”
“......Good lord.”
“Lucky for me, I had one skill: making killer rice noodles from home. My wife and I opened a little noodle shop in the capital's back alleys, scraping by. The imperial tastes love it—business is steady—but prices and rent are brutal, so not much left over.”
Prince Nguyen smiled sadly and pointed to the hostages at the other table.
“But those poor souls don't even have that. To avoid starving, they do hard labor on construction sites, herd pigs, scrub backrooms in taverns—anything to survive. Oh, try this. It's from home—delicious.”
“What's this?”
“Fried rice.”
“...It's savory.”
Something weird was sprinkled on top, so I only took one bite.
“At least those jobs have some dignity. But plenty give that up entirely—crawling into bed as concubines or playthings for high imperial nobles. Thankfully, I haven't seen many fall that far.”
“......If it's that miserable, you'd think some would choose suicide.”
At my question, Prince Nguyen shook his head and set down his fork with a clink.
“That's the Empire's cruelest trick. They absolutely forbid hostages from taking their own lives. The imperial intelligence network stays out of sight most days, but the moment someone tries hanging or poison, they appear like ghosts and force them to live.”
“There are quick ways to die, like stabbing your throat...”
“Their intel mages are pros. As long as you're not stone dead, they revive you—even on death's door. We've lost even the right to die, doomed to wander this capital pathetically forever.”
“......”
“And the most insidious part? Once a year, during social season, they invite these wretches to the palace, treat them like royalty for a few days. Piles of delicious food and fine wine.”
Nguyen took a sip of his wine.
“It's no respect—pure mockery. But... those starving souls know it and come anyway. It's their one chance to eat their fill. Why throw away good food over pride? That's why I'm here too.”
“......”
“Well, imperial food is damn good.”
His matter-of-fact confession weighed heavy in my chest.
“Then those guys earlier were so hostile toward me because...”
“It's only natural.”
Prince Nguyen smiled softly.
“The Empire finished its southern conquests with Sterling. When they said they'd take its prince as hostage, everyone here secretly rejoiced. Sterling's no powerhouse or key territory—another pitiful comrade headed for misery soon. Don't take it personally; no intent to insult Sterling.”
“It's not wrong, so no offense taken. But I'm getting better treatment than expected.”
“Exactly. Prince Ian, you're not abandoned—you're getting unusually lavish care. That tuxedo you're wearing? Priceless. Those laborer princes would toil days to afford it.”
Prince Nguyen patted my shoulder lightly.
“They're scraping by like beasts, while you're mingling with imperial royals as a fellow defeated hostage. Imagine the jealousy, the sense of loss. They must've hated you fiercely.”
“......I understand.”
“They don't truly hate you, Prince Ian. See their resentment as the whining of the pitiful—on their behalf, I ask this.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you, Prince Ian. Swing by my shop when you have time. I'll load up the noodles extra special for you.”
Prince Nguyen flashed a warm, rice-noodle-white grin.