Chapter 69

In hindsight, there was something subtle about the negotiations between the Emperor and Count d’Estuaire over Grand Feaute. Both men had acted within a logically reasonable line, and despite their direct involvement in their decisions, something still seemed to bother him.

Most people would speak of a sixth sense, but for Eugène, it wasn’t that simple. It felt like a subconscious awareness, a sense that he had grasped something just beyond his reach. He had noticed something, though he could not yet name it, and the inability to define it left his thoughts scattered and unclear.

Eugène carefully organized his tangled thoughts. The Emperor and Countd’Estuairewere both masters of the game; their strategies lay so deep that even while following their footsteps, he often lost the trail. He sensed something massive moving beneath the surface but couldn’t pursue it. As he was busy tracking mere traces, he couldn’t discern even the overall silhouette, let alone its exact identity.

While he pondered this to himself, the carriage drove steadily and arrived at the Imbert Main Palace. Unlike the feast of fire for commoners, another feast for the nobles was prepared here. After stepping down from the carriage, Eugène let the attendants guide him toward the Hall of Heraldry.

La galerie des Blason, the Hall of Heraldry, the largest of the grand banquet halls in the Imbert Palace, was used only for the first and last weeks of the Grand Feaute. It was enormous enough to accommodate fifteen hundred nobles at once.

To prevent any sense of claustrophobia even when crowded with guests, the ceiling of the hall had been constructed to rise to the height of a full three stories, and the floor was lined with the finest marble from the Calienne region, renowned for its blue marbling on a white background. The walls were adorned with ornate lambris panels, framed in bronze and gilded in gold. Here and there, large mirrors had been set into the walls as faux windows, cleverly expanding the already spacious banquet hall by creating an illusion of even greater breadth.

But the most distinctive feature of the Hall of Heraldry was that its ceiling bore no frescoes at all. Except for the ring-shaped structures that protruded at regular intervals, the ceiling was entirely bare, its simplicity almost stark.

This made the lavish chandeliers hanging sporadically across the ceiling appear awkward against such plainness. But the start of Grand Feaute changed everything.

In the days leading up to the celebration, attendants would retrieve the shields bearing each noble house’s coat of arms from the imperial storerooms. They would repair any damage, touch up the paint, and hang them from the rings in the ceiling. To omit the crest of a noble house invited to theNight of the Houseswould be considered a grave insult, and thus the responsibility for overseeing this task had, for generations, fallen to the Grand Chamberlain of the Palace.

The first thing to greet Eugène as he stepped into the grand banquet hall was the array of shields. The coat of arms of the noble houses, suspended from the ceiling in dazzling variety, caught the chandelier light and glittered with resplendence.

Along the right wall, the lambris panels depicted the epic of Saint Eustace in chronological order. Following the left wall, one could trace the life of the founding Emperor of the Estina Empire, de Régis. At the far end of the hall, richly colored tapestries in red and green hung beside a portrait of the Emperor, marking the spot reserved for his dais.

The banquet’s splendor surpassed anything Eugène had ever witnessed. Fruit trees, heavy with ripened boughs, had been brought in whole and arranged in pots across the room. The long tables, set in two parallel lines, were layered with seven fine tablecloths, and at the center of each table stood elaboratetrionfi, intricate marzipan sculptures depicting scenes from mythology. Even the napkins had been folded into daffodil shapes so delicate that unfolding them seemed almost a shame.

However, the most striking feature of all was the massive marble fountain that commanded the center of the hall. Rectangular and long, it resembled more a canal than a fountain, and through some ingenious mechanism, it carried a stream of rosewater from one end to the other, its fragrance perfuming the air as it flowed gently downstream.

Exquisite candle boats made of silver floated along the leisurely waterway. The large balustrades of the marble aqueduct are lined with delicate structures made of trionpi. It was only after Eugène discovered familiar buildings among them that he realized that the ornaments were depicting the scenery along the Salpine River, which crossed the capital city of Michèle.

“It seems that with His Majesty’s return, the Feast of the Night has finally reclaimed its former splendor. Truth be told, the ‘Night of the Houses’ celebrations in recent years have been embarrassingly modest.”

TaJktGwHt JY rIJrSI LIbI rbQAQSIVIH IwJkVa EJ IwEIb GwH SIGAI EaI vJkbE, ikE wJE GSS JY EaIh vJkSH GEEIwH ‘TaI dQVaE JY EaI sJktIt’. TJwQVaE, JwSN EaI wJiSIt LaJ aISH EQESIt GhJwV EaJtI VbGwEIH GvvItt EJ EaI vJkbE LIbI GSSJLIH EJ HQwI LQEa EaI OhrIbJb Qw EaI sGSS JY sIbGSHbN.

HfTkMdOPwTT agTNdfwC, TwgPwt YwTftw qdxèOw, JwP PnwTw rMpPj TPgOtgCtT. snw OMYrwbMJgO’T ndTYgOt TwCZwt gT MOw Mp Pnw fJWwCfgr PCwgTdCwCT, gOt nwC pgJfrj Mp YfCPn bgT yMdTw lgCknfwOOw, bnM nwrt Pnw PfPrw Mp RMdOP gOt bwCw g WCMJfOwOP pgJfrj gJMOx Pnw eMCPnwCO OMYfrfPj.

ZaI, LaJ aGH SQAIH aIb IwEQbI SQYI Qw GikwHGwvI, JwSN HItvbQiIH EaI tQVaE JY tkva G tkhrEkJkt iGwMkIE aGSS Gt tGEQtYNQwV. qaQSI hJtE dJbEaIbw aJktIt, bkSQwV iGbbIw SGwHt, EIwHIH EJLGbH rJAIbEN, G YIL LaJ LIbI YJbEkwGEI IwJkVa EJ aGAI tEbkvB krJw hQwIt LIbI QwvbIHQiSN LIGSEaN, GwH sJktI PGbvaQIwwI LGt JwI tkva vGtI.

“The Grand Feaute was held even during His Majesty’s absence?”

While her tone was light and courteous, the smile in her eyes was unmistakably calculated. Eugène was not oblivious to the veiled intent behind her friendly overture, but he chose to receive words with calm indifference, pretending not to notice.

“Yes, of course. It was only natural. When else would the loyalty of nobles be more essential than during wartime? And if not for events like this, however ceremonial, I daresay we might all have suffocated these past few years.”

Viscountess Pasquier let out a dramatic sigh, complaining playfully that with His Majesty at the front, it was difficult to host any lavish gatherings. Each time she smiled, a beauty mark at the corner of her eye stood out, as if she had rehearsed it in advance. She had changed the way she applied her makeup to match the outfit she was wearing, but it seemed like she couldn’t change her habits.

As the two spoke, the first of the seven courses was served. Maids dressed as spring maidens pulled ornate buffet carts decorated with real flowers and branches. When the domed lids were lifted, fresh, fragrant appetizers were revealed and served by the attendants.

The attendants poured bitterish liqueur into each glass as anapéritif. Thehors-d'oeuvresincluded simple dishes such as sweet lamb breast dressed in a southern-style sauce, chilled and finely ground goose liver set atop crisp, thin biscuits, and smoked salmon paired with chicory.

As the meal commenced, hidden musicians played classical melodies to set the mood. In time with the music, dancers in antique costumes stepped lightly into the hall, their graceful movements reenacting famous mythological scenes.

Their outfits were theatrically old-fashioned, but their performance was not. Every movement had been freshly choreographed for this very night, and the dancers offered a show far too exquisite and novel to be dismissed as mere background entertainment during a meal.

This was nothing like the banquets that were so common these days, but a truefestinworthy of its name. A unique spectacle that held Eugène’s gaze throughout the meal.

There was no denying the performance was a marvel to watch. But—no, let’s be honest. Eugène never cared much for ballet. The only reason he fixed his gaze so intently, barely blinking, on a performance he didn’t particularly enjoy was simply to avoid the constant flirtation of Viscountess Pasquier, who was quite relentless, despite the fact that her husband was sitting right next to her.

“That piece is based onThe Stranger from the Edge of the World. An absolute favorite of mine.”

Even with Eugène turned away from her and his full attention seemingly absorbed by the performance, Viscountess Pasquier persisted, undeterred. After all, her own husband flirted openly before her eyes. Shame seemed foreign to her as she continued angling for his attention.

“You seem quite interested in theology.”

As much as he would have liked to avoid the conversation, outright ignoring a noblewoman would be unforgivably rude. Ever the gentleman to his core, Eugène replied with reluctant politeness, turning his gaze toward her.

“I am not interested in theology, but rather Saint Tefylae. And did you know? Girls who study the scriptures inevitably develop a crush on Saint Tefylae at least once.”

She leaned in with a soft murmur as if Saint Eustace’s first disciple had been a popular young noble adored in high society. It wasn’t some flippant exaggeration for the sake of being witty; she seemed to mean it to some extent. This made Eugène unconsciously raise an eyebrow as he repeated.

“Saint Tefylae?”

“Judging by your surprised reaction, this must be the first time you have heard such an honest confession. But I am telling the truth. Most young girls and, perhaps even some boys, become enamored with Saint Tefylae while reading the scriptures. He was a young man of incomparable beauty and kindness, was he not? Even a God who walked upon the earth could not help but love him.”

Just then, a ballerino who played the role of Saint Tefylae appeared in the performance. He was dressed as a typical shepherd boy in a short tunic that reached mid-thigh, with a staff in his hand, and flesh-colored tights that fit snugly around his lower body, making him appear almost naked from the waist down.

As he lightly leaped into the air, the linen hem fluttered, revealing the upper part of his thighs. A few noblewomen, flustered, let out soft gasps as if embarrassed.

“It is as Viscountess Pasquier says. Most young girls do fall in love with Saint Tefylae. But as they grow older, they realize it is not him they love, but it is the way he was loved that they yearn for.”

Viscountess Sievest, who had not gotten a chance to speak because of Viscountess Pasquier’s excessive monopoly over Eugène, seized the precious opportunity and quickly interjected herself into the conversation. Viscountess Pasquier’s eyes sharpened at this interception.

“Every woman longs to be called by her lover the same name he received. Eromenos, The Beloved. It is a beautifully romantic notion, but sadly, the reality most of us face rarely matches youthful fantasies.”

As if she could not lose, Viscountess Pasquier spoke. She muttered softly in her most feminine manner and cast a meaningful glance at Eugène. In that gaze was the confession of a deep loneliness, the admission of still being without a lover, and the declaration that should one ever appear, she would love him with everything she had.

According to court etiquette, the two most important considerations when arranging seats at a banquet were one’s rank and the balance between men and women. Though Eugène held nothing more than a baron’s title, he had recently been granted the honorary position of Custodian of the Imperial Scepter, which had modestly elevated his standing within the court.

Unlike in the cathedral, where seating was strictly by rank, at court, that point seemed to count for something. For tonight’s feast, his place had been set not among fellow barons, but between viscounts.

The Viscountesses who currently sat on either side of Eugène, vying for his attention, were two ladies well-known in high society. Viscountess Sievest, who was both strikingly beautiful and witty, was very popular with gentlemen, while Viscountess Pasquier, bolstered by the influential families on both her husband’s and her own side, was particularly playful and fond of jokes, perhaps because she was still young.

From Eugène’s observation, the rumors about Viscountess Pasquier seemed close to the truth, though he couldn’t quite figure out Viscountess Sievest. As she flirted with him, she would now and then exchange meaningful glances with other noblewomen around the table, their eyes communicating silent commentary. Every time she did, a mischievous twinkle would dance in the corners of her eyes, making her already youthful face appear even younger

She might think of herself as being subtle, but sitting right next to him, there was no way he could miss her antics.

They must have wagered something among themselves

He easily guessed Viscountess Pasquier’s intentions and clicked his tongue lightly. Such sophisticated games of older noblewomen were ill-suited to a woman barely in her twenties. She was not yet seasoned enough to play with people’s hearts, and her overly direct flirtations laid bare her schemes.

“Then, I wish you luck. I truly hope you meet someone like that someday.”

Such amateur tactics might work among her peers, but Eugène was thirteen or fourteen years older than her. He accepted the young woman’s playful antics in a lighthearted manner, deciding that there was no need to be so serious or critical.

When the hors-d’œuvres were finished, the attendants cleared the plates. One after another, they approached the table, carefully lifting the decorative centerpiece from its position at the center and drawing back the top tablecloth to reveal the second one beneath.

A splendid tureen with realistic rose vine patterns sat upon the crimson tablecloth. When its porcelain lid was lifted, an aroma of clear consommé infused with the rich flavors of tender veal thigh and chicken hearts wafted out, whetting the appetite.

“Magnificent. This is a skill I would like our chef to learn. Clearly, the longer a soup simmers, the more its flavor deepens.”

Viscountess Sievest, who had been watching the two of them, smiled faintly and commented in passing. Upon hearing this, Viscountess Pasquier frowned as though she had just stubbed her toe on her high heel.

Eugène shook his head inwardly, pretending to be oblivious to the war of nerves between the ladies. Such matters only brought fatigue if acknowledged.

The courses continued after that. By the time the third course arrived, the color of the tablecloth was aquamarine, and the porcelain plates imported from the Eastern Continent presented dishes including trout grilled with basil and thyme, sautéed scallops with truffle cream, and mussels and oysters poached in white wine with celery.

Before the fourth course was served, a brief wine sherbet cleansed the palate, during which time the tablecloth changed once again, this time to a shade of green.