The soft clinking of silverware filled the grand dining hall, each metallic ring subtly punctuating the tension in the air. The room, vast and ornate, was alive with flickering candlelight that cast long shadows over the richly adorned table. Despite the luxury of the setting, an unspoken game of power was already being played—every glance, every word veiled with a deeper intent.
Asher sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over his guests. He cut his meat with practiced elegance, though it was clear his focus was not on the food. His grey eyes, cold and ever-watchful, settled momentarily on Catherine, who sat closest to him, her gaze lingering on him with all the warmth and seduction she could muster. But Asher saw through it—just as he saw through every cunning smile in the room.
"Isn't the venison delightful tonight, Milord?" Catherine asked softly, her voice honeyed. She raised her glass delicately, taking a sip before letting her dark eyes wander over his face. "But I suspect it's the company that truly makes the meal."
Asher's lips curled into a thin, knowing smile. "I do find company can add a certain flavor, Catherine," he said coolly. "Though I imagine what it adds depends entirely on the guest."
Catherine's laugh was light, though her eyes flickered with frustration at his guarded response. She leaned in slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. "A king deserves more than just flavor, don't you think? Perhaps something more… substantial." She tilted her head, her gaze lingering on him as her meaning hung in the air.
Asher did not respond immediately, letting the moment stretch out as he watched her through half-lidded eyes. When he did speak, his voice was low and cynical. "Substance is rare in a world where ambition is served with every meal," he murmured. "But I suppose you would know that better than anyone, wouldn't you, Catherina?"
Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, though she quickly masked it with a girlish giggle. "Oh, Milord, always so witty," she said, but the tension in her voice was unmistakable. "But truly, a king like you should consider his future... His legacy."
Asher set down his fork and knife with deliberate slowness, his gaze sliding over to Lady Margaret, who sat across from him. Her sharp features were set in a practiced expression of calm, but her eyes betrayed her constant calculations. She took a measured sip of wine before joining the conversation.
"Catherine is right, Asher," Margaret said smoothly, her voice the very picture of maternal concern. "A king must think beyond the present. Your rule has been strong, but strength must be secured with family... with alliances."
Asher leaned back in his chair, folding his arms casually as his eyes narrowed on her. His smile returned, colder this time. "Ah, alliances. I had forgotten how much you love to remind me of those." He paused for effect. "And marriage. Is that what we're discussing here, Margaret? The importance of legacy, or the importance of a crown on a certain niece's head?"
Margaret's smile never wavered, though her eyes hardened just a fraction. "I merely speak for the good of the kingdom, Asher," she replied, her tone light. "A strong ruler with a suitable queen ensures stability. Nothing more."
Catherine chimed in eagerly, her hand resting lightly on Asher's arm. "Of course, Milord. I have always admired your strength. It's... inspiring," she breathed, her dark lashes fluttering as she leaned in. "I can't imagine what you might achieve with the right... partner by your side."
Asher chuckled darkly, his eyes flicking briefly to her hand before returning to her face. "How fascinating," he said softly. "Everyone is so interested in who I marry, yet no one seems to consider whether I have any interest at all." His gaze turned to Margaret, his tone pointed. "And I can't help but wonder, dear sister, if this concern is truly for the kingdom... or for your own ambitions."
Margaret smiled, her lips thinning. "Asher, we all want what's best for you and Eldranor. Nothing more."
Asher leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Of course, Margaret. After all, what would your family want with the throne?" He glanced at Catherine, who flushed but forced a playful laugh as if she hadn't caught the sting in his words. Marcel, her brother, smirked quietly from his seat, watching the exchange with detached amusement as he flicked a gold coin between his fingers.
As the tension swelled, one of the servants timidly approached, refilling Catherine's glass. She snapped her head to the maid, her eyes narrowing. "Be careful, you clumsy fool," she hissed. "Do you know how much this dress costs?"
The maid's face paled, and she quickly retreated, head bowed. Around the table, the other servants moved with heightened caution, sensing the growing unease in the room. Asher watched the scene unfold, his amusement deepening as Catherine turned back to him with a sickly-sweet smile, as though the harshness of her words had vanished with the maid.
Margaret chimed in, her voice dripping with disdain. "Servants these days. You give them shelter, feed them, and still, they bumble about like mindless thieves. One wonders if they even deserve what little they have."
Catherine nodded eagerly, eager to agree. "Exactly. They have no understanding of refinement, of the responsibilities we bear. They are simply... not like us."
Asher's smile didn't waver, but his eyes darkened with a cruel edge. "No, they're not like you," he agreed, his voice soft yet dangerous. "They work. They understand their place. Unlike some."
The comment hung in the air, its meaning unmistakable. Catherine's lips parted, but she couldn't form a retort without sounding defensive. Instead, she forced another soft laugh, masking her irritation. "You're always so... insightful, Milord."
Across the table, Damon and Hadrien exchanged knowing glances, both observing the dinner's descent into thinly veiled insults and power plays. Marcel, meanwhile, simply watched with detached amusement, flicking his coin with practiced skill.
Asher caught his eye and smirked. "Enjoying the show, Marcel?"
Marcel raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Dinner conversations in this family are always so... entertaining."
Margaret shot her son a sharp look, but Marcel merely shrugged, clearly unbothered by his mother's silent rebuke. He leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling with mischief as he tossed the coin into the air, catching it effortlessly.
Asher turned his attention back to Margaret and Catherine, his tone turning icy once more. "And yet, with all this talk of alliances and legacies, it seems none of you care to speak plainly. I wonder why that is?"
Catherine's smile tightened, but she refused to give up her pursuit. "I only want to serve you, Milord," she said softly, her fingers brushing his once again. "To be by your side... in every way."
Asher's expression hardened, and this time, he pulled his hand away deliberately, his smile turning into a cold sneer. "I don't mix politics with pleasure, Catherina. Nor do I entertain distractions dressed as devotion."
The rejection was clear, and Catherine's face flushed with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. Margaret quickly intervened, sensing the danger of pushing further. "We would never presume to distract you, Asher. Our only concern is for your well-being... and the future of Eldranor."
Asher stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor as he loomed over them, his presence commanding. "How thoughtful of you, Margaret. But I think I've had enough concern for one evening."
Margaret stood as well, her forced smile still in place, though her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table. "Perhaps it's time we took our leave, then. We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."
Catherine followed suit, though her gaze lingered on Asher, her lips pressed into a tight line as she curtsied. "Until next time, Milord."
Marcel, still smirking, stood leisurely and pocketed his coin, offering a casual bow. "Always a pleasure, cousin."
Asher gave them one last glance, his eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. "Do come again. Though next time, I'd suggest sending a letter ahead."
As the royal family filed out of the dining hall, the heavy doors closing behind them, the room seemed to lighten. Asher turned to Damon and Hadrien, his lips twisting into a cruel grin.
"They never tire of dancing around the truth," Asher remarked, his voice low and amused.
Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "It's quite the performance, Milord."
Asher's gaze darkened with satisfaction. "Let them play their games. In the end, it's always the king who sets the rules."
With that, he turned and strode from the dining hall, leaving the maids and servants to tremble in the weight of his aura and tension.