The Night of the Banquet
And at last, the day of the banquet — the event that had set the palace abuzz for days — arrived.
Even the knights, who had been run off their feet, set their duties aside that evening and hurried to prepare for the occasion.
Arthur scowled as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his dress uniform, the first time he'd worn it in ages.
"I hear Marquis Grig is attending today as well, sir."
"That figures. Not the type to miss an occasion like this," Richt answered quietly.
It had only been a few days since Arendt was attacked. Because of it, a subtle tension had never quite left the 3rd Knight Order.
The man who'd nearly died, of course, couldn't have cared less — he'd been running all over the palace as if nothing had happened.
Arthur's face twisted.
"Honestly, how shameless can a person get…"
Everyone knew Marquis Grig held a grudge against Arendt. Word of the attack had spread from mouth to mouth, and everyone had a pretty good guess about who was behind it.
People simply kept quiet out of fear of retaliation, that was all.
And yet the man was showing up here in broad confidence — which meant he was certain no one would dare call him to account.
In truth, more than half the nobles coming and going from the palace had dealings with him, and the marquis's influence and capital were nothing to sneeze at. Even if he had ordered an attack on a single apprentice knight, no one was in any position to point fingers.
"Haaah…"
"Shamelessness is Arendt's specialty too, mind you. Getting attacked like that and not even blinking."
As Arthur heaved a deep sigh, another knight muttered under his breath.
It was Rider Polos, the senior knight directly above Arthur.
"Word is he wasn't hurt all that badly. You sure he's all right?"
"Have you seen him tearing around? He's in fine spirits, sir."
"Really? Well, good to hear."
"If it bothers you that much, why not go ask him yourself?"
At Arthur's offhand remark, Rider's expression soured in an instant.
"Ah, that's a bit…"
"Why?"
"Let's just say I'm not mentally prepared."
Rider mumbled the excuse and let it trail off. Arthur eyed him askance.
"He's a brat at worst. What could possibly have you trembling like a leaf?"
"Who's trembling? It's a mood thing, you bastard!"
Rider barked, trying to hide his awkward embarrassment.
In fairness, it wasn't so strange. They'd been at each other's throats — kill or be killed — only recently.
Since then, Arendt had been far too busy with his own business to spare them a glance, and whatever time remained he spent planted in the training grounds.
Which meant the knights had no choice but to watch him from a distance.
"In any case, there's no telling what he'll pull next, so we'd best keep an eye on him."
"And on the flip side, the other side will be watching for anything they can pin on us. No reason to get caught out — everyone stay sharper than usual."
At Rider's words, the other knights listening nearby nodded.
The 3rd Knight Order had an unusually high number of commoners in its ranks.
As the Emperor's own knights, no one could scorn them openly — but plenty of people still took issue with where they'd come from.
And palace gossip had a way of manufacturing stories out of thin air.
A banquet gathering titans of politics and commerce was, for them, another battlefield in its own right.
Arendt had been the one attacked, but there would be no shortage of people willing to tear into him — to claim he'd brought it on himself with his usual conduct.
Naturally, the knights' shoulders tensed.
If even one of them made a mistake today, it could stain Laios's honor.
Not a single person in that room wanted that.
"What's with you all? Why's everyone frozen stiff? Off to war, are we?"
Except for exactly one bastard.
The knights' resolute faces contorted in an instant, as if they'd bitten into something rotten.
Arthur, trembling with fury, convulsively lunged at him.
"You! You, of all people! Please! You're the biggest problem here, you little shit! Not a shred of manners in your whole body. Can't you read a room?"
"My face is the manners, so it's fine."
But Arendt remained as shameless as ever.
Arthur clenched his fist and strode right up to him.
"Hey. Can I just hit you once?"
"Why? I merely stated a fact."
What truly irritated the knights was that not a single one of them could refute those words.
He was a man who had once devoted his whole being to cultivating his own beauty.
Then, recently, he'd abruptly thrown himself into the sword.
Ever since, Arendt had favored attire convenient for moving as a swordsman over dressing himself up.
Which was why they had all, for a moment, forgotten.
Forgotten what Arendt von Eckhart's face looked like when he set out to be insufferable in earnest.
He'd always been a good-looking bastard, but today he seemed to shine at least twice as bright as usual.
His snow-white silver hair, falling to his shoulders, was neatly groomed, and the blue dress uniform that suited it so well made him look less like a knight than the young heir of a fine house.
And on top of that — that characteristically rude mouth and those irreverent amber eyes. A perfect combination for getting under people's skin.
Rider murmured something like a lament.
"Damn it. The world really isn't fair."
No one offered a rebuttal.
At some point, the tension of a few minutes ago had vanished entirely.
Feeling somewhat deflated, the knights watched glumly as Arthur and Arendt shoved and grumbled at each other.
"So it was a pointless worry after all," Richt murmured quietly.
With the palace's premier degenerate standing right there, there was no room left to fret about anything else.
As long as they carried that lunatic with them, the 3rd Knight Order deserved the respect of everyone in the palace.
Bearing Arendt in full — that alone was proof of a fortitude no one else could claim.
Just then, Laios, freshly finished with his own preparations, walked out from within.
"What's all this commis— ah."
Laios, adjusting the drape of his cloak as he emerged, caught sight of the bickering pair.
He stared at the two of them with a troubled look, then promptly turned his gaze aside.
He ignored us. He ignored us just now.
That was a 'don't want to deal with this' face. Definitely.
The knights buzzed.
Pretending not to hear, Laios spoke.
"You've all worked hard these past few days."
At once, the room fell silent as if by magic.
Arthur, for his part, shut his mouth only after landing one solid blow to the back of Arendt's head.
"Today, His Highness the Crown Prince has granted us a special favor — so set down your burdens and enjoy yourselves. That said, we also serve as escorts for the distinguished guests. The palace guard will handle the perimeter, but don't let your guard down too far."
"Yes, sir!"
The knights snapped back to attention as if they'd never slacked off at all. A satisfied smile settled over Laios's stern face.
Arendt's first impression upon stepping into the hall where the banquet was held was this:
Looks like a film set.
Chandeliers hung with thousands of candles blazed brilliantly at the center of the hall.
Servants moved with careful steps, offering desserts and champagne to the nobles.
The ornate wallpaper, the towering windows, the magnificent ceiling frescoes, and the men and women dressed to the nines — taking it all in piece by piece, Arendt raised his champagne to his lips.
And all of it's real.
It felt as though a single step out one of those windows would reveal the backstage, cluttered with equipment.
Then there were those furtive glances he'd been catching for a while now.
That was another reason the current situation gave him a strange sense of déjà vu.
Some people sneaked looks at him mid-conversation with his companions; others stared outright, openly gawking.
Among them, more than a few pulled bewildered expressions upon spotting him.
Apparently none of them had expected him to show his face at the banquet.
Can't blame them, really.
It had been mere days since he'd taunted Marquis Grig and nearly been assassinated for it.
Any normal person would be holed up in their room, quaking behind locked doors.
Arendt shifted his gaze toward the crowds gathered around the banquet hall.
The nobles who met his eyes hastily looked away.
Kendrick and Diana were deep in easy conversation with nobles who seemed to belong to other branches of the palace, and the other faces of the Royal Knight Order mingled among them, enjoying the music or chatting over light drinks.
The Crown Prince still hasn't shown?
It seemed Cantares intended to make a late entrance.
Arendt simply lounged against the wall, sipping his champagne at leisure.
Just then, a familiar voice came from beside him.
"Sir Arendt. It's been a while. Enjoying yourself, I hope?"
Arendt looked up reflexively.
A middle-aged man with a splendidly kept beard was regarding him directly.
A face he knew.
"It's good to see you again, Grand Duke Lancelot."
"None of that 'Grand Duke' business — just call me Duke. And I hear things have been rather rough for you of late."
Duke Lancelot smiled and drew closer. Arendt pushed off from the wall.
"That's one way to put it. I imagine you've had reports on one thing or another."
"Still, thank the heavens you weren't seriously hurt. To be murdered on the spot by some unknown assailant — that would have been a true catastrophe. My efforts to spare your head while enduring calls that you were a witless fool would have gone to waste."
The duke burst into a hearty laugh.
"Could it really come to that?"
"Why? I take it it wasn't a pleasant memory for you, either? You hurled every unspeakable thing there was to say and then strutted about the palace without a scratch, so I rather assumed you hadn't given it a second thought."
"If you're so curious, Duke Lancelot, why not take a stand in the tribunal yourself? You could see whether you can tell the speakable words from the unspeakable."
Arendt answered flatly and took another small sip of champagne.
Still as ever, Duke Lancelot looked the young knight before him up and down.
"Truly unchanged — that audacity of yours."
"They say when a person changes suddenly, it means death is near. And I'm not about to die just yet."
"Quite. Do live long, then. And learn to value that life a little."
"Same to you, my lord Duke."
Just then, someone else cut in from behind the duke.
"My lord Duke, sharing words with this troublemaker, are we?"
"Sir Kendrick, welcome. Nothing much — just exchanging wishes for long life."
Lancelot obligingly stepped aside to make room for Kendrick.
But Kendrick hadn't come alone.
Diana appeared holding a wine glass in one hand and gave a small smile.
"Wishes for long life… I didn't know you were even capable of such a thing, my lord."
She too looked quite different from her usual self.
A dark evening gown, understated yet luxurious, draped lightly over her well-balanced figure.
With her long dark-brown hair spilling down, and her eyes stripped of their usual severity, she was beautiful enough to earn the word outright.
Arendt swirled the glass in his hand and gave a short reply.
"I'm capable. I just choose not to."
"Being that infuriatingly smug is a talent in itself."
Kendrick roared with laughter.
The looks on people's faces as they beheld Arendt — surrounded by a Grand Duke and two Knight Commanders — grew all the more incredulous.
Arendt had a history of being thrown into the underground prison until his very execution, and the men he was now chatting with so serenely were the very ones who had placed his neck on the scales and passed judgment.
It was only natural that the scene struck everyone else as deeply abnormal.
Duke Lancelot, noticing the stares aimed their way, shrugged with perfect composure.
"More eyes on us than usual, it seems."
"Well, the palace's number one topic of conversation is standing right here."
At that, Diana glanced sidelong at Arendt. He shrugged.
"What, did I do something?"
"You're not seriously asking because you don't know?"
"Nope. Actually, I do know."
"…"
Diana was struck speechless for a moment.
Arendt added, brazen as ever:
"We have to talk about it, don't we? Otherwise what was all my suffering for."
Kendrick and Duke Lancelot wore equally dumbfounded expressions at the utterly unforeseen remark.
Only after a long pause did the duke murmur, like a sigh:
"…Sir Laios truly has it hard, doesn't he."
"Couldn't agree more."
At Diana's reply, delivered with utter sincerity, Kendrick could only manage a wry smile.