Chapter 51: The Banquet 2

Chapter 51: The Banquet 2The royal banquet hall had grown even more vibrant by the time Lucas and Lira made it to the main reception area. Golden light bathed the room from the high, floating chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the finely dressed nobles mingling below. The perfume of highborn women hung thick in the air, blending with the scent of spiced meats and rare wines. Every laugh, every tilt of a goblet, seemed meticulously measured.

And standing in the very center of it all, like a flame drawing moths, was Prince Darius.

He stood tall, robed in deep navy trimmed with silver threads that shimmered subtly when he moved. The prince’s expression was the same as always: elegant, calm, but with that ever-present arrogance beneath the surface. He greeted guests like they were subjects, not equals, each smile a performance, each handshake calculated. This was his moment, and he owned it with every breath.

Lucas kept his posture composed as they approached, but his eyes remained fixed on Darius with quiet disdain. He didn’t hate him, not yet, but he didn’t respect him either. Not after what had happened in the past. Even if no one else in this place remembered the way Xavier was once humiliated and beaten down, Lucas did. And Darius... oh, he hadn’t changed.

As they inched closer to the reception line, Lira tugged softly on Lucas’s sleeve and leaned in. "Master," she said quietly, "you didn’t bring a gift for the prince."

Lucas blinked. The thought had completely escaped him. In his mind, the invitation was a formality, nothing more. He hadn’t intended to offer Darius anything.

Before he could reply, Lira slipped her hand into her small bag and pulled out a modestly wrapped box, no bigger than her palm. She held it up to him. "It’s nothing grand," she whispered. "Just a necklace I picked from the stalls. He probably won’t wear it, but... better than nothing."

Lucas looked at her, a flicker of amusement and admiration in his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to think ahead like this, and certainly not to worry about something as political as a gift. But she did. Her instincts were good. And it warmed something in him, knowing she was watching his blind spots.

He smiled faintly, then pushed the box back into her hand gently. "You give it to him," he said. "It’s your idea. I like that you thought of it."

Lira looked surprised, almost flustered, but she gave a small nod.

By now, they were next in line.



As they approached, Prince Darius turned his eyes toward them. The moment his gaze met Lucas’s, the warmth he’d been giving to other nobles vanished like mist in the sun.

Lucas inclined his head with the barest trace of a bow. "Your Highness," he said, voice cool and clipped.

"Xavier," Darius said back, voice matching the chill. "Didn’t expect you to make it."

A beat passed. Just silence, heavy and thick.

Then Lira stepped forward slightly, seizing the moment. "Your Highness," she said softly, "a humble gift to celebrate your day. I hope you’ll accept it."

Darius turned to her, and for a moment, he froze.

His eyes flicked up and down, quickly, but not crudely. He was clearly taken aback. This was the servant girl?

She looked... regal.

She wore her gown like she was born into nobility, not servitude. Her posture was perfect, her hair glistened under the palace lights, and there was a graceful calm in her voice that even some noble ladies didn’t possess.

Darius hid his surprise well, but Lucas caught it, saw the flicker in his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw.

The prince gave her a small, charming smile and reached out, taking the small box from her hands.

"A gift from you is never too small," he said smoothly.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted her hand and pressed a brief, practiced kiss to her fingers.

Darius’s eyes flicked back to Lucas, lips curling in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Enjoy the banquet," he said coldly. "I’ve other guests to see."

Without another word, the prince turned away, already moving on to the next noble with a mask of practiced warmth.

Lucas stared after him for a second, then shook his head.

Typical.

He turned to Lira. She looked back at him, uncertainly. "Was that alright?" she asked quietly.

Lucas gave her a faint smirk. "You were perfect."

Lucas hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the banquet hall when he felt a subtle shift beside him, a familiar warmth brushing against his other arm.

Before he even turned his head, he knew.

"Xavier," came the familiar voice, soft, honeyed, and all too deliberate.

He turned slightly, and there she was.

Selene.

She looked stunning, there was no denying that. Her gown was a deep sapphire that matched the color of the night sky, hugging her curves with just enough precision to catch the eye of every passing noble. Her hair was pinned in intricate braids, and small gemstone earrings danced lightly beneath her ears. Her perfume, sweet and floral, reached him in waves.

But it wasn’t her beauty that caught him off guard.

It was what she did next.

Without asking, without even a glance at Lira, Selene stepped in closer and gently wrapped her hand around Lucas’s arm, she looped her fingers delicately over his wrist.

This wasn’t friendliness. It was a claim.

Lucas stiffened slightly, his steps slowing. His eyes darted to Selene in confusion, then to Lira.

Lira, for her part, hadn’t spoken a word. Her expression was calm, but Lucas could feel the slight tension in her grip on his other arm. She hadn’t released him. No, if anything, her hold had become a touch firmer. Not possessive in an ugly way, but... quietly assertive.

She wouldn’t be brushed aside. Not here. Not now.

And Selene noticed.

For a fleeting moment, her smile faltered. Not enough to be seen by the watching nobles, but Lucas caught it. That tiny twitch at the edge of her lips—the recognition that she hadn’t expected Lira to stand her ground.

Lucas hated this.

He wasn’t some prize to be tugged between two women, especially not in front of this many noble eyes. He could already sense the whispers curling at the edges of the room like smoke.

Who’s that girl with Xavier?

Isn’t that the Fairchild daughter?

What’s going on there?

Lucas forced a calm expression, though inside, irritation was beginning to coil in his chest. He didn’t want to embarrass Selene—there were too many eyes on them, too many ears waiting to catch something they could twist. This was the royal palace, not the academy courtyard.

But he didn’t like being cornered either.

"Selene," he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear over the music. "You’re drawing attention."

Selene tilted her head, pretending to be confused. "Am I?" she said sweetly, her voice laced with innocence. "I’m just saying hello to my lover."

Lucas glanced again at Lira. She hadn’t said a word, but her posture spoke volumes. She stood with elegance and poise, still linked with his arm, chin slightly raised—not confrontational, but dignified. She didn’t look at Selene. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than any accusation.

It was a quiet war of presence.

Lucas sighed inwardly. The last thing he needed was this kind of tension tonight. Not in this place, not with so many eyes on him—and definitely not with the royal family within earshot.

But despite the discomfort rising in his chest, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Lira—humble, quiet Lira—wasn’t backing down. She wasn’t hiding behind him or retreating into herself. She was holding her ground, gracefully and without a word.

Selene might’ve been used to being the only woman at his side... but things were changing.

Lucas took a breath, masked his emotions, and resumed walking with both women still flanking him. They headed towards the long banquet table.

The long banquet table stretched across nearly the entire length of the grand hall, adorned with golden candlesticks, polished silver plates, and trays upon trays of steaming delicacies. Laughter filled the air, glasses clinked with wine, and the scent of roasted meats and exotic fruits wafted warmly.



Lucas and Lira made their way toward the seats that had been subtly assigned to them, not officially, but by social hierarchy and politics. Selene had already positioned herself beside Lucas, and Lira took the seat beside him on the opposite end, quiet and composed.

Prince Darius’s close friends were already there, young noblemen with smug grins and loud mouths, dressed in ornate robes, flashing polished rings and dripping privilege from every movement. At the other end sat Marquess Scott, leaning back in his seat with a goblet of dark wine in hand, eyes scanning the table casually, though Lucas noticed he glanced at Lira more than once.

The hall went still for a breath as another presence arrived.

Princess Nyx.

The chatter slowed as the silver-dressed beauty strode in with effortless poise. Her gown shimmered like moonlight, shaped to her body with regal precision, and her long hair fell across her shoulders like strands of spun starlight. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was and how the world looked at her.

Heads turned. Even a few of the older noblemen couldn’t help but follow her with their eyes.

Nyx swept her gaze over the table, found Lucas, and gave him a subtle nod of acknowledgment. Lucas returned it politely, brief, composed.

Then the feast began.

Servants began pouring in and out of the hall carrying trays, roasted duck, spiced lamb, glazed vegetables, carved fruits, golden rolls of bread. Goblets were refilled.

Lucas ate slowly, casually, but his eyes remained sharp, especially toward the Selene seated beside him.

She was smiling, eating daintily, playing the perfect noble lady... and then, with a deceptively sweet voice, she spoke.

"Oh Lira, dear," she said lightly, "you’re using the wrong spoon."

Lira paused, visibly startled. She had just picked up the curved spoon beside her plate, the one meant for soup, but her fingers faltered. She quickly placed it back and reached for another, her hands uncertain.

"You must not be familiar with noble etiquette," Selene added, her voice lilting like music, but everyone at the table heard the blade beneath it.

A few chuckled. Lucas didn’t.

"Oh wait... that’s right," Selene continued, taking a sip of wine, "you’re from the servant quarters, aren’t you?"

That one struck harder. Lucas’s fingers tightened around his goblet.

Prince Darius laughed, a short, amused scoff, and leaned in. "You brought your maid to a royal feast?" he asked, not even looking at Lucas but addressing the table, amused by the absurdity. He obviously knew Lira was a servant, he was just trying to get back at Lucas for the humiliation he had caused him.

Even Marquess Scott let out a chuckle, resting his chin on his hand with an entertained smirk.

Lira froze. Her shoulders curled in slightly. She stared down at her plate, gripping her fork too tightly, her appetite fading fast. Her cheeks burned. She wasn’t used to this, this subtle cruelty masked behind laughter and etiquette. She had served nobles like these before... but she had never sat beside them.

Lucas’s gaze hadn’t left Selene.

He saw the delight in her eyes. She had meant to wound.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked under his breath, but not low enough. Several people heard it.

Selene turned to him, lips still smiling. "I was just helping her. You should’ve taught her better."

That made his blood boil.

Lucas turned toward Lira gently and placed a hand over hers under the table. She flinched slightly, but when she looked up and met his eyes, she saw the warmth in them. No anger. No disappointment.

Only quiet reassurance.

"You’re doing just fine," he whispered. "This is my fault. I should’ve shown you how these things go."

She swallowed. Her chest ached, not from embarrassment anymore, but from the weight of being seen, truly seen, by him. He didn’t care about what they said. He cared about her.

He gave her a small smile.

She tried to smile back. Her eyes shimmered faintly.

He would not forget this. Not Selene’s pettiness. Not Darius’s arrogance. Not the way they had mocked Lira without shame.

The banquet hall had grown louder as more cups were emptied and more wine poured. Nobles laughed freely now, their voices rising above the orchestra playing soft notes from the far corner. But Lucas’s table had taken a darker tone.

Prince Darius had become steadily more loose-tongued. The wine had dulled his regal mask and sharpened his tongue. His shoulders slouched just slightly now, and his expression was painted with that drunken confidence of a man used to saying whatever he pleased.

Princess Nyx, seated not far from him, had noticed.

"I’m surprised, Xavier," Darius said with a faint slur, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. "I didn’t think you’d bring your... baggage to such a formal gathering." He continued to tease Lucas and Lira.

A few nearby nobles chuckled behind their hands. Selene looked down at her plate, smug and silent. Lira didn’t respond. She sat perfectly still, eyes cast downward, lips pressed together, doing her best to keep her composure.

Lucas had had enough.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and even, too calm for the tension in the room. "Lira is no longer a servant. She was formally released by the House of Alden. Her freedom is her own. She came here as my guest."

The chuckling faded. Several heads turned. A few mouths opened slightly in surprise.

Lucas’s words carried weight—not only because of their content, but because of how he said them. There was no bluster, no aggression. Just quiet, steady truth. It landed like a stone dropped in a still pond.

But Darius... Darius scoffed.

"Is that so?" he muttered, clearly unimpressed. He glanced sideways at Lira with an exaggerated air of disdain. "Then what is she now? Your sex thing?"

There it was....A single line too far.

Lira’s spine went stiff. The words hit her like a slap, even though she didn’t move or respond. Lucas’s jaw tightened. The corner of his eye twitched. His fingers curled under the table.

Princess Nyx’s eyes narrowed. "Darius," she said sharply, "that’s enough."

But Darius ignored her. "I’m just speaking the truth," he said, his voice louder now, sloppier. "She was a servant, now she’s dressed up like a lady, sitting at a noble table, what do you expect people to say?"

"Darius," Nyx repeated, her voice low but commanding.

Lucas hadn’t moved yet. He was still staring straight ahead at his wine, but everyone could feel the heat building under his stillness.

Darius suddenly froze and his face shifted....his smug smirk twitched, then faltered. He blinked.



His hand reached for his throat....At first, it looked like he was choking. He straightened in his seat, chest rising sharply like he was trying to breathe, but something wasn’t working right. His eyes widened, confusion first, then discomfort. Then fear.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came.

Then his face twisted.

He looked down at his stomach, then at his glass, like he was trying to make sense of what was happening to him.

"What...what’s wrong with him?" someone whispered.

Darius suddenly coughed, hard. The sound echoed in the hall. Then another cough, deeper this time. His hand knocked over his goblet in a spasm. Red wine spilled across the white tablecloth like blood.

Everyone watched as the prince...the prince...slumped forward slightly, eyes wide, one hand clutching his gut, the other clawing for something, anything, to stop the sensation overtaking him.

Princess Nyx stood up instantly, her eyes locked on her brother, sharp and alert.

"Get the physician," she commanded to no one in particular.

Servants scattered.

Darius grabbed at a napkin, his face pale, lips pressed tight like something was rising in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. He coughed again, this time weaker. The cup he’d dropped rolled across the table before falling with a clatter to the floor.

Lucas was taken aback, but he remained still...He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak...But deep within...he knew Darius has been poisoned. But who would be so brazen to try it?