The Witch's Cursed Daughter

84. Family Meal

Leaving the rumble of cheers and praises behind after directing the soldiers to move the horses and Cielo to the stables, Julian headed into Warrick Palace. Similar to the expansion of the town, the palace's interior had transformed into an undeniable symbol of affluence. The walls were lined in paintings, carvings, and plaques from places he had conquered; the floors, which had become quilted in fur rugs, supported statues and museum-worthy items placed on pillars for display.

Julian found his feet were taking him in the direction of the Addend Wing; momentarily, he paused, staring towards the corridor taken to reach the office of the man who raised him. An icy tension slithered through his bones as he recalled the sight of Lucienne Ad Henos hanging on the outer wall. Chewing his lip to keep a cry from escaping, he forced his feet in the opposite direction.

Barely two minutes passed before Julian halted at Eten Hall's luxurious gold-panelled double door. The shapes overlapped to reveal an image of a hilly landscape, intricate and peaceful. Julian examined the door for a while before his thoughts were interrupted.

"Glad to see you back, Your Imperial Highness," Kallin called warmly as he arrived by Julian's side.

"You can drop the 'Imperial'; others close to me don't use it," Julian grinned.

"In the palace, I must," the steward replied firmly. Julian laughed; he hated the title that came from endless violence, yet he could not deny its existence, nor his part in its use. Kallin cleared his throat softly, aware of the spiralling thoughts in the prince to his left, "Are you ready?" Catching Kallin's eye, Julian's grin returned. Causing the steward to wear a smile of his own, he boisterously pronounced, "Announcing the arrival of His Imperial Highness, Second Prince Julian Dominic Oran Del Waldemar."

As the doors opened slowly due to their weight, the brightness inside revealed a long dining table that held impatient-seeming royal faces. Walking towards his seat, Julian noticed that since his last visit to the dining hall, it had become a bastion of jewels. The windows held precious stones to the light, creating streams of rainbow-coloured rays pouring into the hall; the seats were studded with gems rather than buttons and the table seemed to bend at the weight of the stones lining its surface. Reaching his chair, Julian placed his hand on his chest to greet the Emperor; however, his attention was torn away by the sudden yanking of his arm.

Illea spun Julian happily as she gracefully pulled him by the wrist, "Dear brother, I'm so glad of your survival. Did my well wishes reach you?"

"They must have done, dear sister. After all, I, too, am surprised by the continual beating of my heart," Julian replied, vomit rising as his eyes failed to spot during the process of spinning.

"Perhaps this is a dream, and you have yet to wake up," Illea said cheekily as she released Julian, sending him staggering backwards. Laughing like a songbird at dawn, the princess returned to her seat without another word.

Finding his balance, Julian retorted, "A wonderful dream it is then."

"Quiet both of you," the Emperor boomed as Julian reached his chair for a second time. "Are you not going to greet the First Prince? Your manners have slacked further in your absence from the palace." The Emperor's green eyes pulsed like a python's as he glared at Julian.

The second prince neatly nodded, "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. Brother, I trust you have been well?"

"Don't call me by such vile terms," the first prince countered, gripping the steak knife already prepared in front of him. Glancing at his own table setting, Julian's nose tingled internally as the sight of the jewel-encrusted cutlery sent resentment coursing through him.

Before his aura had a chance to flair independently, the doors opened once more, ushering in a man with reddish hair streaked with grey wearing a white and blue knight's uniform, complete with chainmail and blades.

"Announcing the arrival of His Grace, Duke Everett Vol Fassie," Kallin's belated introduction came after the head of the Order of Anzu halted just inside the doorway.

The Emperor raised a hand to beckon the visitor forward, "Ah, Duke Fassie, would you care to join us?"

"I appreciate the offer, Your Imperial Majesty, but I would hate to intrude on such a long-awaited reunion," the man's low voice unexpectedly carried softly to the ears of all present. Stopping his conversation with the Emperor, Duke Fassie faced Julian and bowed his head politely, "Welcome home and congratulations on your many triumphs, Your Imperial Highness." Not expecting a response, he then turned to face the head of the table; lowering his eyes away from the Emperor to follow palace etiquette correctly. He spoke, "I have come to report that I have concluded the day's work. I welcomed and arranged the soldiers, structured the Guard Units accordingly and written my reports which I will hand over to His Imperial Highness, Prince Wen in the morning."

"Excellent, if I have one more man as competent as you in my staff, this empire would engulf all other powers," the Emperor praised as he clapped his ring-covered hands.

"Your praise is too gracious," was the Duke's brief reply.

An expression of wonder crossed the bearded royal face, "Have you reunited with your son yet?"

"I have not, Your Imperial Majesty," Duke Fassie answered.

"How old is that boy now?"

Thinking, the red-haired man glanced at Julian, who raised his fingers; two on his right hand and one on his left. "I believe his twenty-first birthday passed while he was in battle."

"I see, and with him in line to inherit your title, I wish to make a proposal to the Duke of Fassie," the Emperor's smile reminded Julian of a snake that was surrounded by all the food it could eat but still wanted more. "Would you agree to an engagement between your son, Romile Vol Fassie, and my daughter, Illea Cadence Del Waldemar?"

Illea shot out from her seat, knocking it off its legs. Excitedly she nodded her head.

"I must admit that is an offer I did not expect. May I reply at a later date?" The Duke replied after watching the princess's reaction along with Julian's. The second prince knew that the horror he felt was painted clearly on his face, but he didn't care.

Catching his angry son's eye, the Emperor's lips curled more. "Of course, you may be excused," he agreed merrily.

"Have a pleasant evening, Your Imperial Majesty, Your Imperial Highnesses." Duke Fassie retreated from Eten Hall with his parting words, not once looking back to reassure Julian.

Just as the golden doors met in silence, side passages opened up to release many servants pushing rattling trollies teeming with sweet-smelling meats, tantalisingly sour aromas, and nostalgic scents of food that Julian had not tasted in years.

Not an inch of the surface could be seen as the servants finished setting the table. The colourful display of fruits, vegetables, poultry, red meats, fish, and decanters of wines, explained to Julian why the slum had come into existence.

A chime repeated mercilessly around the hall as the Emperor knocked a jewel-crested fork against his glass, "I anticipate great things will come tomorrow. Come eat and make merry; the youngest has returned."

As Julian lifted his glass to accept the toast, he caught the Emperor's eye; a taunting stare met his gaze. This would be the last meal for one of them, but neither would concede their lives so readily.