The Banquet of False Peace
I left the prisoner tower without looking back.
The iron doors closed behind me with a low grinding sound that echoed once through the stone corridor and then vanished.
Only after I stepped into the open hall did my body finally remind me that I was injured.
A dull ache spread through my shoulder. My arm felt heavy. The cuts left behind by William’s wind magic had stopped bleeding, but the fabric of my clothes was stiff where blood had dried. During the fight, I had barely registered it. Adrenaline had drowned everything else out. Now, the pain crept back slowly.
I breathed out and forced myself to keep moving.
The infirmary was on the opposite side. As I walked, I became aware of the castle around me. Servants moved faster than usual. Guards stood straighter. Conversations stopped when I passed. People bowed. People watched.
They knew something was wrong. They just didn’t know how wrong.
The infirmary doors were open when I arrived. Light spilled out into the corridor along with the sharp scent of herbs. Inside, a healer looked up and froze the moment she saw me.
“My lord—”
“Quietly,” I said. “Heal the wounds.”
She nodded immediately and gestured for me to sit. I took a seat on the edge of a bed and turned to a nearby servant.
“Bring my banquet clothes,” I said. “The formal set prepared for tonight.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The servant hurried off.
The healer raised her hands, and warm light gathered between her palms. The magic touched my shoulder first. Heat sank into torn flesh. Pain dulled. I watched the process with distant eyes.
Healing magic always unsettled me. In my memories, pain lingered. Wounds left reminders and scars told stories. Magic erased all of that too cleanly, too easily.
The light faded.
“You’re healed, my lord,” the healer said softly. “There will be no lasting damage.”
“Good.”
I stood and rolled my shoulder. The movement was smooth. No resistance or pain.
Moments later, the servant returned carrying neatly folded formal clothes. It was dark fabric trimmed with the insignia of the Grand Duchy. I dismissed the healer and changed quickly.
When I stepped back into the corridor, the Knight Commander was already waiting. He straightened the moment he saw me.
“My lord,” he said. “Reports came in from the watchtower. Is it true we captured a traitor?”
“Yes,” I replied. “One of them.”
His eyes sharpened. “One?”
“There are two more infiltrators still active,” I said. “Their primary objective remains the same, assassination of the Everwinter Kingdom’s prince and their diplomats. Their secondary goal is to sabotage the castle defences and open the gates later tonight to let reinforcements in.”
Silence settled between us. Then he spoke. “William was under my command.”
“I approved his patrols,” he continued. “His evaluations. I never suspected him.” His jaw tightened.
I said nothing.
“We must inform the Everwinter delegation immediately. Lock down the hall and increase guard presence.”
“No.”
The word stopped him cold. I turned to face him fully.
“If we announce assassins now, panic will spread,” I said. “Nobles will scatter. Servants will run. Guards will be forced to split their attention.”
I held his gaze.
“That chaos will make the delegates easier targets.”
“But protecting them is our duty as knights.”
“And it is also my duty as Lord of the Grand Duchy,” I said. “I will attend the banquet. I will remain near the Everwinter delegation.”
He hesitated, so I continued. “You and the knights I trust will stay close. Observe. Report any suspicious individuals approaching them. Intervene only when absolutely necessary.”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he bowed his head. “…Understood, my lord.”
I nodded and turned away. After a few steps, I stopped. “And Commander.”
He looked up.
“What happened today,” I said, “was not your fault.”
I didn’t wait for a response.
When I arrived, the banquet hall was already full.
Crystal chandeliers filled the space with warm light. Long tables stretched across the hall, covered in polished silverware and expensive dishes. Laughter and conversation blended into a constant hum that felt almost alive.
Too alive.
I stepped inside and my chest tightened. I recognized the faces of the nobles who were laughing. These were the men and women who, in my memories, had been slaughtered where they stood. Some had screamed while others had fallen without ever understanding why.
They were alive. For now.
I moved forward, offering greetings where expected. Nobles turned toward me with curiosity, relief, or annoyance.
“Lord Julius, you look well.”
“We were beginning to wonder.”
“Recovered already from your collapse?”
I answered smoothly, automatically. My attention stayed sharp and outward.
At the head table, I finally saw them.
My father was speaking with an Everwinter diplomat, his posture straight and his voice calm.
My mother sat beside him, composed as always.
Both… alive.
Something inside my chest loosened. I approached and bowed.
My father’s gaze flicked toward me, sharp and disapproving. He coughed once, deliberately.
I straightened.
“Apologies for my lateness,” I said. “I am Julius, heir to the Grand Duchy. I welcome the Prince of the Everwinter Kingdom and the honored diplomats accompanying him.”
The Everwinter prince inclined his head. “The honor is ours.”
Formalities followed. The banquet officially began.
Servants moved between tables, serving food and drinks. I spoke when spoken to and listened when expected.
All the while, I watched. I signaled the Knight Commander. The response came moments later. No irregularities. Dining staff checked again. Food clean. No poison detected.
Two left.
If reinforcements hadn’t arrived yet, then the infiltrators were running out of time.
I did not relax. Running out of time did not mean failing, it meant adapting, and William had already proven that truth to me.
The plan I remembered was no longer intact as pieces had shifted and others had gone missing entirely.
I scanned the hall again, more slowly this time, observing the servants as they moved in practiced patterns with trays balanced carefully. Their expressions were neutral, professional, and far too practiced.
I noted each face one by one, recording their heights, their gaits, and the way their eyes moved across the room. Anyone who avoided looking at the delegates for too long stood out to me just as much as anyone who lingered too close to the tables.
Guards lined the walls at neat intervals, and though I trusted most of them, I did not trust the empty spaces between them.
Magic was the real problem. Steel could be stopped. Poison could be tested. Magic slipped through cracks no one saw until it was too late.
That worried me.
I lifted my goblet, pretended to drink, then set it down untouched. Around me, nobles laughed and spoke freely. Discussions drifted from politics to gossip. Some complained about tariffs while others boasted about successful hunts. They had no idea how fragile this moment was.
I listened while pretending not to, because information and tone mattered more than anything else.
I waited for a raised voice or a sudden silence, but nothing broke the surface. It was all far too clean.
My father leaned slightly toward me. “You seem distracted.”
“I am listening,” I replied.
He studied me for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded and returned to the conversation. I really wish I could tell him about the weight I carried.
Across the table, the Everwinter prince spoke calmly with one of the diplomats. His posture was relaxed. Unaware. Exactly how a target should look before the strike.
I memorized his position, the distance to every exit, every line of sight, and every scrap of cover.
If it came to it, I would be the one to move first instead of the guards or the Commander. Hesitation would kill him, and if he died here, everything after would collapse with him.
The banquet continued. Talk shifted from treaties to trade routes, from harvest yields to border disputes. I participated where required, offering neutral opinions and diplomatic answers.
Time passed. Then more.
When the final course was served, nobles began to rise. Conversations wound down. Servants cleared plates.
That was when it happened.
One noble swayed and fell backward. Another slumped forward onto the table. A third collapsed out of his chair. One by one, bodies began to fall.
I shot to my feet. My chair scraped backward loudly. “What—”
The air changed. Pressure settled over the hall. Darkness spread from nowhere and swallowed the light. The edges of the room blurred.
I staggered, but I did not fall. Everyone else did. Servants. Nobles. Guards. Diplomats. Plates shattered. Glass rolled across the floor.
“Father.”
I dropped to my knees and pressed two fingers to his neck. I felt it, a pulse.
I checked Mother next. She was also alive and breathing, just unconscious. Relief hit me so hard my hands shook.
This had not happened before. Not like this. In my memories, the massacre was immediate and bloody. This was different.
I stood slowly and looked around. Every person in the hall lay unconscious, all except one.
A black-haired noblewoman in a formal dress stood at the edge of the darkness. She was looking directly at me.
Her figure flickered, then slowly faded away as the illusion dissolved.
The noble vanished. In her place stood a woman clad in black robes.
The same robes. The same presence.
She stared at me without moving. My breath caught.
“I’m sure,” I whispered.
My hand tightened.
“It’s her.”
