Chapter Eight: The Meal and the Malice
The royal table was a spectacle unto itself, elevated on a dais like a throne for the senses, draped in cloth of woven gold that shimmered under the chandeliers' cascade of light. Massive silver candelabras held flames that burned steady and bright, scented with rare resins from distant valleys, casting a warm glow over the array of porcelain and crystal. The selected five—myself, Aria, Riven, Liora, and Sable—took our seats with a mix of awe and trepidation, flanked by the Alpha Sovereigns. King Thorne sat at the head, his thorned crown casting jagged shadows; Queen Evelyn to his right, her midnight-blue gown a canvas of silver moons; and Haven beside her, his black tunic fitted over his muscular frame, his golden eyes flickering with quiet intensity. The opulence was staggering, a far cry from the communal fires and shared platters of Scorchvale Ridge's dens.
I sat across from Haven, my scarlet gown pooling elegantly, the pendant pulsing warm against my chest. Kadyn's words from Scorchvale Ridge—"You're pack, Em"—steadied me, urging me to protect my own amidst the court's scrutiny. Sable grinned beside me, whispering, "This is… beyond the Ridge." Riven, her green velvet gown grounding her, nodded solemnly, while Liora's teal silks flowed, her pearls gleaming. Aria, seated near the queen, preened in her blue gown, her sapphire pendants glinting as she chatted with Evelyn, their shared affinity for grace weaving an easy bond. Evelyn leaned toward her, smiling warmly, "Your poise is a gift, Aria - like a breeze that charms the court."
The meal unfolded in courses, testing our etiquette. Servants in liveried uniforms glided silently, presenting dishes with flourishes that made my heart race. The first course arrived on gold-rimmed plates: a chilled soup of wild forest berries and herbs, garnished with edible flowers in crimson and violet, dusted with powdered sugar like snow. The aroma was intoxicating, a luxury unknown in Scorchvale Ridge. As I reached for my soup spoon, a faint breeze stirred my napkin, unbidden, ruffling the cloth like a whisper not from the hall's still air. I froze, my fingers tightening on the spoon, the pendant warming as if warning me to still my heart. Was it my imagination, or something more stirring within?
Thorne turned to Aria first, his amber eyes assessing. "Aero Claw winds are swift, girl. What shaped you to wield them so?" Aria's smile was polished, her voice a melody. "In the northern tundras, my father taught me to dance with the gales, to guide their currents through the cliffs where our dens perch. It's freedom, Your Majesty, to bend the air to our will." Evelyn nodded, captivated, their affinity clear as she replied, "Such grace could steady a court, Aria." Aria's eyes gleamed, her ambition a quiet undercurrent, her wind's elegance a mirror to Evelyn's refined poise.
The second course followed: seared venison medallions from sacred stags, arranged on wilted greens with truffle oil, drizzled with aged wine and wild honey. The meat melted like butter, flavors were smoky and sweet. We switched to dinner forks and knives, tines down in the left hand, knife in the right. Liora stumbled, her fork clattering as a sliver of venison slipped onto the tablecloth. A goblet of water nearby rippled faintly, its surface trembling as if touched by an unseen current. I blinked, my pendant hot, my breath catching—had I caused that? No one noticed, but the sensation lingered, a secret I buried deep.
Evelyn turned to Liora, her tone gentle but less warm than with Aria. "Aqua Paw waters heal and surge, Liora. What tides shaped your gift?" Liora, her pearls dimming slightly, steadied herself. "On the volcanic ridges, my mother showed me how to draw water from hidden springs, to soothe burns or guide streams through our dens. It's life, Your Majesty, flowing through our hands." Evelyn nodded politely, but her eyes drifted back to Aria, their shared grace a stronger bond than Liora's fluid strength.
Aria pounced, her voice mock-concerned but sharp. "Oh, Liora, even waves falter on solid ground. Perhaps Aqua Paw aren't suited for firm fare." Her eyes gleamed, Evelyn chuckling indulgently, their affinity tightening. Liora flushed, her pearls dimming further.
I interjected smoothly, my voice diplomatic. "Waves shape the shore, Aria, as wind polishes stone. Liora's fluidity reminds us strength bends, not breaks—like the alliances we forge." I lifted my goblet in a subtle toast, praising Liora while chiding Aria's divisiveness. Thorne grunted approval, but Evelyn's eyes remained on Aria, captivated by her charm. Haven's eyes met mine, a spark of intrigue flashing, but when I mentioned Kadyn's training in Scorchvale Ridge—"He taught me to wield fire with precision"—Haven's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening briefly before he looked away, a shadow passing over his face I couldn't read.
Thorne turned to me, his interest piqued. "You speak of unity with a healer's wisdom, Ember of the Flame Fang. Fire burns, but yours warms without scorching. What fuels such balance?" I met his eyes, the pendant pulsing, unaware that Haven watched, his intrigue deepening—his shadow-shifting gift echoing my own hidden depths. "The Old Spirits teach flames thrive on tending, Your Majesty. Protection strengthens the pack, knowing when to spark and soothe," I said, my thoughts on my mother, Seina, whose healing hands had saved so many in Scorchvale Ridge. Her legacy weighed on me, a whisper of sacrifice I couldn't name, as if her light had burned too bright to endure.
Haven leaned toward Riven, his voice softer. "Terra Fang strength is renowned, Riven. What roots ground you?" Riven's jade amulet pulsed as she spoke, her voice steady. "In the misty valleys, my father carved stone wolves with me, teaching me to shape earth to shield our dens. It's endurance, Your Highness, to stand firm against any storm." Thorne nodded, his amber eyes narrowing as if seeing beyond her words, hinting at buried secrets, tales of strength and fear long silenced.
Evelyn addressed Sable, her tone curious but still drawn to Aria's charm. "Flame Fang fire is fierce, Sable. What sparks your spirit?" Sable grinned, her slit gown bold. "In Scorchvale Ridge, I learned to tame flames sparring with my cousin Kadyn, forging fire into rings of light. It's passion, Your Majesty, to burn bright and protect." Evelyn smiled, but her gaze flicked back to Aria, their affinity unbroken.
Vera, standing at the hall's edge, her gray wool dress stark, her silver wolf pin glinting, watched with sharp eyes. Her gaze lingered on me, a fleeting grace in her movement—like a cat's silent step—stirring a question in my mind. Her presence felt like a thread, a secret waiting to unfold.
The third course was a mint citrus sorbet, followed by roasted quail stuffed with chestnuts, on nests of spun sugar. Dessert was pastries layered with cream and elderflower-preserved fruits, dusted with gold flakes. As the feast closed, Thorne raised his goblet. "To the United Packs, and our future." Evelyn added, "To the daughters of our packs," her eyes lingering on Aria. Haven joined them, his eyes on my pendant, a silent recognition stirring.
The royal family bid goodnight, Thorne lingering on Riven and me, Evelyn on Aria, her affinity clear. Haven assisted us from the dais, his touch brief but firm with me, his eyes locking with mine. "Goodnight, Ember," he said softly. "Your fire… intrigues." My breath caught, the pendant warm. "Goodnight, Your Highness," I replied, my heart racing.
The girls rejoined their peers, the hall buzzing as Vera led us out. The meal's splendor and Aria's malice lingered, but so did Thorne's interest, Haven's connection, and Vera's silent gaze, a thread of destiny weaving through the night, shadowed by secrets yet to surface.