Chapter 65: Banquet 3
The Crown Prince knows exactly how to test my patience. I can feel the irritation bubbling beneath my skin as I motion for a servant to bring the gifts I’ve prepared. His father’s birthday is always a charade of sycophantic praise and hollow gestures, but I am obligated to play my part. The servant approaches, carefully holding the two offerings.
"My gift to His Majesty is this moonsteel blade," I say, unsheathing the sword from its ornate scabbard. The king’s eyes brighten immediately, like a child presented with a new toy. I hide my distaste behind a practiced expression. Of course, he would be fascinated by it. The man has an insatiable appetite for the stories of legendary warriors and their fabled weapons. Anything remotely linked to heroism excites him. At one point, I was his prized hero, sent to the frontlines time and time again like a tool to bring glory to the crown.
The memories creep in, but I force them away. The king, much like his son, has never seen a battlefield. They live in their world of politics and schemes, utterly disconnected from the blood and chaos of real war.
I watch in silence as the king inspects the sword with an almost reverent awe. He’s probably imagining the tales that accompany it—the moonsteel sword, used by the great general of the third king to defend the kingdom from invaders. Forged under moonlight atop some sacred peak, or so the legend goes I don’t really care.
I almost roll my eyes. Stories of valor and sacrifice always bored me. I’ve seen too much of war’s ugly reality to be enchanted by tales of honor.
"And I also bring this," I say, gesturing to the second item. "A rare bloodveil plant from the Eastern mountains. It’s said to promote blood flow and... vigor." I emphasize the word deliberately, catching the queen’s subtle flinch from the corner of my eye. She tries to hide it, but I catch it anyway. I smother a smirk.
Ah, the queen. I suppose it would be difficult for her to muster any affection for the king. After all, she was only twenty when she was taken as his concubine, and now she’s a queen in name only, tethered to a man more than twice her age. She’s ambitious—dangerous even, given her success in wrestling the throne off her predecessor . If only her ambitions didn’t include murdering me and aligning her wretched son to the throne, I might have respected her. But alas, here we are.
The bloodveil plant was Noelle’s idea, and I have to admit it’s perfect. The king will likely be full of "vigor" for the foreseeable future, which I’m sure will delight his younger concubines. I can only imagine the queen’s irritation at that.
"Ho ho ho!" The king laughs, his deep voice rumbling through the hall, only to dissolve into a fit of coughing.