The Royal Palace of Temeria — a secluded corner of the White Hall —
"Looking at all this splendor, I'm reminded of that famous line you said before." The speaker wore a vivid rose-red ruffled fitted shirt. His goatee was neatly trimmed, and his handsome face looked effortlessly charming.
"I have a very bad feeling about this, so please don't say it out loud." The one answering wore a black fitted shirt with white patterns and no ruffles. Aside from the four saber scars on his face that lent him a bit of hard-edged masculinity, there wasn't much remarkable about him.
"Royal power doesn't last forever."
"…I had no idea you had a death wish. Or did you forget where we are? If you can't wait to put your own neck in a noose, then please stand very far away from me—then say it louder."
The North's finest bard, Dandelion, wearing a bright feathered hat, was trying to strike up conversation with his friend Victor, hoping to smooth over the irritation Victor still had toward him.
"Must you be so dull, my friend? You weren't like this before."
"If by 'interesting' you mean dressing yourself up like a gaudy pigeon, then sorry—I'm just that dull.
And if what you're hinting at is provoking the crown, then let me remind you: at home you can say whatever you like, but in the White Hall—speech is silver, silence is golden."
"Aha! Another timeless line. I've heard other versions with a similar meaning, but none so vivid and fitting.
Listen… relax a little, will you? It's not that serious. I remember last year in Toussaint…"
"The duchess there nearly chopped your head off," Victor cut off his bragging cleanly. "Anna Henrietta—an unforgettable, soul-stirring love story involving land, forests, a castle, and a palace she gifted you…
All of it ended because you committed offenses like disrespecting Her Grace, betraying the duchy, perjury, slander, and spreading filthy rumors to smear the nobility.
By the way, what was that nickname you gave her again?
Weasel, wasn't it? Heh. Heh heh heh."
"Oh, damn it—look at what I've done! I really did drink too much, to have told you even that…" He pressed his palms together in surrender. "I'll shut up right now. Will you stop too? At least before I go on stage, I'd like to keep a light, cheerful heart."
Victor raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Tsk. You started poking at me first. And I couldn't care less whether you're cheerful or miserable. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing here. For this banquet, I didn't even get to see Shani off."
"Fine, I'm sorry. My mistake. You don't like showing up at these aristocratic social affairs—I swear I'll remember. I promise I'll make it up to you, alright? Just… please stop talking."
Having gotten the worst of it from Victor, Dandelion turned and hurried back into the nobles' circle. Before long he was laughing and chatting with several noble ladies, sparkling with wit until they practically doubled over with giggles.
After driving off the chatterbox bard, the young man wasn't actually as miserable as he'd complained. At least Princess Adda's banquet wasn't presented in the old closed, rigid style. Being inside it felt oddly like a modern buffet reception: long tables lined the sides and the center, laden with food, with no fixed seating. People carried plates or wineglasses, strolling freely through the hall as they spoke and mingled.
From Victor's corner, the entire hall was in full view. He easily spotted Lily Knight Roderick, glued to Princess Adda's side step for step, following her wherever she went.
He also noticed Keira Metz holding a goblet, laughing in conversation with a richly dressed middle-aged official. With that protruding belly and shiny bald head, it was safe to say the man held a very high position.
As for Keira—small in stature, but impossible to miss—she wore a white gown with a deep V plunging all the way to her navel. A zircon cross glinted brightly at her chest. Naturally, she was the most conspicuous focal point in the hall.
…
Thanks to an unremarkable face and plain, unadorned clothing, the young man could stand alone in a corner with a cup of wine and easily earn enough private space.
Amid the noise, he quietly spun one elegant plan after another in his mind. Victor didn't feel lonely. But clearly, it wasn't only the bard Dandelion who cared about the solitary witcher apprentice.
"First time at an occasion like this? Feels unfamiliar, doesn't it? Not quite like what you read in books? This is the new banquet style the sorceresses brought into fashion."
Victor turned. The man who had approached from behind was the Eye of the King. He wore a monocle and dressed in a restrained, low-key style.
"Master Thaler. I didn't expect someone like you to attend a banquet. Isn't this supposed to be a celebration of the harvest—a gathering of warm, decent people?"
"Are you misunderstanding something?" Thaler said. "It's exactly because it's a warm, decent banquet that I need to be here. This place is crawling with Nilfgaardian spies and brewing plots to overturn the kingdom." As he spoke, he smiled as he stared at Victor. "Even the sneakiest rats dress themselves up properly, hold a cup of wine, and scurry around the hall. Tell me—how could I not come in person to keep an eye on things?"
Victor lifted his cup in greeting. "No one's sharper than you. Worthy of the title, Eye of the King."
Thaler raised his cup in return. "Let me give you a tip. In a place like this, if no noble takes you by the hand and pulls you into their circle, you'll always be standing off to the side, out of place."
"But compared to the king's secret investigator," Victor said, "I think the noble lords would rather accept… hmm, a newly arrived rat—as long as it looks presentable."
"What's this about?" Thaler asked. "Still holding a grudge over me searching you yesterday?"
"Of course. Any law-abiding citizen would hate that happening to them—even if you're doing your duty.
Your suspicion toward the darkness of human nature, your habit of digging up secrets everywhere… I can sympathize with exactly why the nobles despise you."
With that, Victor left Thaler behind. He stepped forward and stopped a plump, well-fed gentleman passing by—two other nobles walking with him.
"Jean-Pierre, long time no see. That gorgeous new outfit—did you get promoted?"
One of the men at his side assumed Victor was an acquaintance and answered naturally, "Yes. Our esteemed Jean-Pierre presented the crown with ten flawless wolf pelts without a single scar, and was granted a post as a Royal Huntsman."
"That's an extraordinary honor," Victor said. "Even one wolf pelt without so much as a mark requires luck and courage. Ten pelts—such superb skill. A Royal Huntsman's post is truly well deserved."
Hearing Victor's words, Jean-Pierre met his gaze. Then, composed, he began introducing him to his companions. "Allow me to introduce—"
Victor smoothly took over. "—the bard Victor, from Bell Town, east of Zerrikania. Good evening, honored sirs.
Tonight I bring you greetings from east of the Blue Mountains, the magnificent and wondrous vistas of the Zerrikanian desert, and fresh stories, strange and marvelous."
With a Royal Huntsman standing beside him, smiling as if to vouch for every word, Jean-Pierre's two friends naturally warmed at once—cool indifference turning into bright interest. The four of them chatted with wineglasses in hand, and the topics never strayed far from higher noble disputes, scandalous gossip about noble ladies, and the technical academy in the trade quarter.
But Victor, having successfully blended in, soon found himself regretting it. Talking with these three bloated wine-sacks wasn't much more enjoyable than standing alone earlier. He was, without question, guilty of wasting time.
At least talking with Thaler produced the occasional clash of ideas. His endless probing was uncomfortable, but it certainly wasn't boring.
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