The Madwoman's Invitation (7)
Everyone in the funeral hall rose from their seats. Even the man who'd been talking to Francois stood up reluctantly and turned toward the entrance.
The newcomers were ministers from the royal palace, members of the royal family, and Brione. And at their forefront stood Elua Sirdanel.
The kingdom's sole direct descendant and current regent of the throne. It wasn't clear yet if she had been officially named heir, but no one could deny her legitimacy above all others. Elua wore a plain black dress, her long black hair cascading straight down to her waist. Her skin was so pale it seemed translucent, veins faintly visible beneath, paired with half-lidded snake eyes. A leisurely smile played at her lips, her nose held high in arrogance. A cold, haughty beauty. But mistaking her for merely a stunning ice queen would be like petting a vividly patterned venomous serpent just because it looked pretty.
Anyone who met Elua's gaze could never see her as some delicate princess flaunting her nation's beauty. Her pupils were slit vertically, narrow and elongated like a snake's—truly reptilian, sending chills down the spine of whoever locked eyes with her. It hadn't been that pronounced the last time he'd seen her a year ago... Now she looked like a snake wearing human skin.
As Elua lifted her chin slightly to survey the attendees, a vivid scar encircled her slender neck. And on her exposed wrists, countless more marks... Bertrand recalled the king lamenting back in his hero days. The royal family sometimes produced heirs born with physical or mental defects, and Elua seemed to be one such case. They all had those snake eyes, and without fail, they died by suicide or untimely death before reaching adulthood. Elua was unusually long-lived. The exact reason for the snake eyes was unknown, but speculation pointed to inbreeding for bloodline purity.
The king had said Elua was sweet and innocent as a child, but as she grew into womanhood, her temperament twisted, turning cruel. The chamberlain and high ministers who'd known her since childhood all said the same: She was kind back then... She was pure back then... Bertrand hadn't met her until she'd reached adulthood, so he couldn't believe it for a second.
Her arrival silenced the nobles who'd been chattering merrily as if at a banquet. A heavy, icy silence descended on the grand hall.
Elua slowly rolled her cunning, sinister eyes, scanning the front-row grand nobles and top officials.
"You've all come such a long way to pay your respects to the late king."
Her chilling voice echoed through the hall.
"I was worried you might not show. I even considered sending the Royal Guard to fetch you."
A flicker of discomfort crossed some nobles' faces. Elua's words were an outrageous breach of etiquette. "Sending the Royal Guard" was a polite way of saying they'd be dragged here in chains if they refused.
The kingdom was a monarchy, but the king didn't wield absolute power. The Noble Assembly—made up of the aristocracy—constantly checked the throne. Nobles pledged surface loyalty and received fiefs as vassals, but who really followed that to the letter? The Balder dynasty, starting with the Vengeful King, had crushed the nobles with their unique bloodline powers. But now things were different.
Once the Balder bloodline faded into history and House Sirdanel ascended, they could no longer keep the assembly in check. Nobles raised private armies, vied for direct territories, colluded to pressure the palace. The lords rebelling for independence in the Kusobo region were a prime example of the nobility's precarious position.
In such a kingdom, for the regent to speak like that to nobles wasn't just rude—it was dangerously provocative. Especially with Alvis Duke—the assembly's pick for next king—having died under suspicious circumstances. They surely saw Elua as a suspect.
Yet, overpowered by her eerie presence, the nobles could only bow their heads in silence.
"The old king was like the kindly neighborhood grandpa... But this princess? Just looking at her chokes you."
"Those noble bastards... They won't dare act out."
The people standing nearby whispered softly.
Satisfied with the nobles' meekness, Elua smiled as she swept her gaze across the hall. People shrank back or averted their eyes wherever it landed. Like a snake hunting prey, she scoured the crowd.
She's definitely looking for me.
But since Bertrand was in the very back row, she eventually gave up and took her seat. The ministers and royals followed, filing into the front row. With the princess and royals seated, the cardinal ascended the podium to begin the funeral.
Nothing special about the rite. Prayers per tradition, the princess and royals tossing white roses onto the coffin one by one... As the choir sang the requiem, Elua turned back with that venomous smile. People flinched and parted, and her eyes met Bertrand's exactly.
Spotting him, her smile widened. Her vertical pupils seemed to dilate and contract—an optical illusion, perhaps. Then her gaze shifted to Francois. The smile faded.
"The princess is looking over here, Bertrand."
"Ignore her."
Francois immediately lowered her eyes. Elua withdrew her gaze and faced forward.
The funeral concluded with escorting the king's coffin into the underground crypt beneath the palace. In the palace's rear garden at the crypt entrance, drizzle falling, Elua turned to the attendees.
"Thank you all for coming. We've prepared a banquet, so please head to the dining hall."
She curved her snake eyes into crescent moons, smiling with her gaze.
"The finest dishes await."
Hmm... A banquet right after the funeral? That's not standard protocol. Normally, they'd disperse quietly for a period of mourning. What wind was blowing through the etiquette-obsessed royals to do this? What's that snake-eyed princess scheming?
He had no idea. The others seemed puzzled by the unorthodox feast too, but since the princess decreed it, they accepted. Everyone moved to the banquet hall.
The princess took a separate route, so no encounters. The spacious second-floor hall in the main palace could easily hold all the guests. At the center stretched a long table laden buffet-style with finger foods. Amid huge platters bloomed ornate fresh flowers, eagle-shaped ice sculptures, and various small ornaments.
As guests entered, the royal orchestra began playing. Soft music filled the air, royal servants weaving through with trays of multiple glasses. The princess hadn't appeared yet, but the banquet flowed naturally.
Attendees grouped in threes and fives—acquaintances, those with business, or political networking. Bertrand and Francois each took a glass from a passing servant and headed to the buffet.
"Check this out, Francois. Foods I've never seen. Know what this is?"
"That's melon prosciutto. Thin-sliced melon wrapped in ham, seasoned with pepper and oil."
The melon pro-whatever came skewered on thin sticks about thumb-sized—perfect for eating without mess. They each tried one. Heavenly.
"And this?"
"Pâté en croûte. Minced meat, vegetables, and nuts wrapped in puff pastry, baked, then chilled—a meat pie."
"This one?"
Baguette topped with sautéed onions and anchovies—pissaladière. Balsamic mushrooms and tomato bruschetta. Ricotta canapés. Pâté de cognac de porc—pork liver cooked in cognac. Francois rattled off names and recipes like she held a cookbook. True Cuisine Academy graduate. Incredible. Not just hard work—pure talent.
They sampled the hand-held delights one by one. Each was exquisite, and Francois noted the chefs' special touches elevating ordinary dishes.
"These aren't hard to make, really. But this flavor... It's the realm of a master chef, nothing less."
"You could do it, Francois. You're the best cook I've ever met."
"Thank you, Bertrand."
She blushed, beaming genuinely. As they chatted warmly, someone approached.
"Ahem."
Turning at the refined cough, it was the man from the funeral who'd tried talking to Francois. This time, he brought a dozen nobles and their spouses.
"Pardon the intrusion, but may I ask a word? Ahem."
The man cleared his throat again, puffing up importantly.
