That Time the USA Got Transported to Another World!

Chapter 9: The Royal Dinner

The royal chefs had finished preparing the feast: over two pounds of pig—the tender meat cooked over an open fire, accompanied by a heaping of marinated salad; the flames stripped the charcoal naked, sending the ashy exterior seeping within the crusty pork. By seven o'clock, every man in the palace had made their way towards the dining hall: a sizable, shiny marble room—who's floors lacked any furnishing—that is, except for a lengthy wooden table, with a white cloth laying on top; expensive, handcrafted plates were situated at each seat: a proud display of the Empire's wealth!

At the very end of the table sat King William II (alongside Alfred and James); their chairs—unlike the other nobles, had cushions, and a large backside. Once everyone had their plates filled, the King said:

"Before we begin, may all of us be blessed by Lord Barista!—come, gather hands." Everyone (with much reluctance) interlocked their fingers with one another... that is, except for Alfred: his old, piercing eyes stared in disgust; this "blessing"... the hard-spoken words, ones which he couldn't even understand, manoeuvred its way into his ears—cutting them from the inside. Oh, Lord... that state visit to India had made him hurl, but this was far worse: to see such... heathenism on display could make any man's stomach quarrel: a sacrifice of civility.

***

After supper, the King announced that a party in the honer of their guests would be thrown; with the snap of his fingers, two guards scurried in with a barrel of alcohol. The Senators (being the pompous idiots they were) had all gotten intoxicated. The King and Ezax had not; instead, they used this opportunity to observe their guests.

"You know," the King said, "Mr. President seems—far different from my expectations: I thought he would be a tall and barbaric monster... yet, he seems so innocent; even during the negotiations, it was the Vice President who stood his ground (such a scary man). Do you think the Land of Warriors has a puppet king?—that the President is just the Vice President's toy?" Ezax—seeming unfazed, replied:—

"You ratchet fool! Do you not see we've been deceived? Knowing you, such a thought has plagued your mind, hasn't it? Look at that man, the President: wearing luxury clothing."

"Okay," the King said; "He's royalty: he's bound to show off his wealth: even for a man who radiates with phony humbleness—no nobleman can resist impressing others."

"That's not what I meant. That outfit... its black—a deep, deep black: in all my years I've only seen this colour one time: the cloak of the demigod Flarus; that colour can only be created via a spell, one which even I cannot cast." The kings eyes-widened.

"You—you don't think..."

"That's right," said Ezax. "The King of the Land of Warriors is a barbarian, but not in raw strength. No, he's a grand wizard taught by Flarus himself!—a student of the Devine. We had been blinded by his frail age, unaware of the true chaos inside him." The king pumped his chest out (letting his fatty belly bounce around); he placed one hand on Ezax shoulder and said,

"Here's what we'll do: you, being the magic guy, talk to the President; I, being a man of great wealth, will talk to the Vice President. We must find out more about their country: even the best empires have their weak spots. I fear they won't be friendly to us forever (they barely are now); they've already taken a good chunk of our land, who's to say they won't take more? We must be prepared for when that day comes."