The banquet didn't falter despite a few missing attendees; instead, it grew more boisterous with time. The aristocrats pushed and exchanged glasses, their laughter and chatter filling the hall.
Rhea leaned back in her chair, irritated by the noise. She drained her glass of wine, intending to get up and leave.
Her husband, Gerold, sat nearby, fiddling with his knife and fork. Rhea had forbidden him from drinking, warning him that he wouldn't be allowed to go to bed if he did.
"My lord, have a drink!" a waiter whispered, approaching with a flask of wine.
Gerold waved him off impatiently. "Go away, don't bother me!"
The smell of the wine made him feel as if worms were writhing in his stomach, his heart itching with desire. Shaking his head, he gazed at the table and suddenly froze.
He noticed the footwear of the head waiter - a pair of fine buckskin boots, far too luxurious for a mere servant.
Upon closer inspection, he saw dark red stains on the boots. Gerold's frown deepened. He recognized the color as dried blood.
Lifting his head, Gerold stared at the male servant's face. The man kept his head down as if to avoid recognition. Sensing Gerold's gaze, the attendant slowly raised his head, revealing a familiar, smiling face.
"Lord Gerold, long time no see!"
It was the face of a teenager Gerold knew only too well. "Arnold!!!" Gerold exclaimed, his voice a mixture of shock and anger.
Arnold was a former retainer of Runestone who had gone to the Eyrie to challenge Jeyne's authority, only to disappear after being driven away.
As Gerold called out his name, Arnold's smile turned grim, and he spun around to flee.
Gerold shouted, "Guards! There's a traitor in the castle, catch him!"
But no one responded.
Suddenly, a middle-aged man with his feet on the table, drinking from a wine bottle, collapsed to the ground, his body limp. His neighbor nudged him, only to find black blood seeping from his mouth, emitting a thick, fishy odor.
"Poison in the wine!" someone bellowed, overturning the table in front of them. Panic erupted as nobles realized the danger, their revelry turning to chaos.
Plop plop...
As the shout echoed, a series of thuds followed. Black blood streamed from people's mouths as they collapsed to the ground, their necks contorted in death. Within moments, the hall was strewn with dozens of corpses.
Horrified, Gerold turned his head to see Rhea slumped over the dining table, her body convulsing in pain, clearly poisoned as well.
"Rhea!" Gerold cried, desperately shaking his wife. He had loved his valiant cousin since childhood. When he became an adult, Rhea had married Prince Daemon of the royal family, leaving Gerold to wait over ten years for his chance to be with her. They had just shared their first night together.
"No! Rhea, please, stay with me..." Gerold trembled, his voice breaking.
The old gods did not favor him. Rhea's mouth opened wide, black blood spilling out, her eyes bulging. Soon, her neck lolled, her legs stilled, and she stopped breathing.
"No! No, no, no!!!" Gerold wailed in despair, clutching Rhea's lifeless body. He hadn't even had a chance to tell her his final regret.
Rhea was dead. Painfully dead.
"Draw your weapons and run!" someone shouted.
A few who hadn't drunk the poisoned wine drew their weapons, attempting to push open the castle gate to escape. In the chaos, more people succumbed to the poison, dying horrifically at the table.
From the shadows, dozens of men dressed in animal skins emerged, wielding clubs and axes, attacking the survivors.
Arnold hid behind a pillar in the hall, clutching a wine bottle, his face twisted with madness. "You didn't support me. I'm the rightful heir to the Eyrie. You all deserve to die!"
"Bastard! Bastard!" Gerold's eyes were red with fury as he held Rhea's body, glaring at the murderer.
He and Rhea had been married for just one day, and now this bastard had poisoned his new wife.
"Rhea! Wait for me. I'll make him pay for your life!" Gerold stood up, his grief-stricken body trembling. He picked up a dead man's sword.
Arnold, startled, called out to the Mountain Clansmen, "Kill him! Someone, come and kill him!"
A dozen or so Mountain Clansmen glanced back and chose to ignore him.
"He's a fool leading the way. Dead is dead," one muttered, grabbing a piece of mutton and stuffing it into his mouth. "Go open the gate and inform the others to attack."
"Get lost! If you want to go, you go. Don't order me around!" another wildling snapped, walking towards the remaining survivors with his weapon.
"Kill them!" he shouted.
...
In a Canyon
Rhaegar rode his white horse, leading his party into the narrow mouth of the canyon. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. Overwhelmed by the sensation, he felt a profound sense of unease.
"What's going on?" he muttered, rolling up his sleeves. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end, something that had never happened to him before.
As the group continued to move forward, Rhaegar looked up at the sky, puzzled. The sky was blue and clear, but there was no sight of the dark figure of Cannibal. The dragon had flown ahead and was hunting near the Bay of Crabs, unable to wait for the slow-moving convoy.
Despite this, Rhaegar wasn't overly concerned. Runestone and Gulltown were built north and south of each other, and they had already traveled half the distance. With Cannibal's speed, it would take only ten minutes for the dragon to return.
Gada Gada...
The wagon wheels crunched over the gravel, creating a piercing sound as the group entered the middle of the canyon. Rhaegar held the reins tightly, his agitation growing with every step. He had a bad feeling.
Prompted by his instincts, he pulled the reins, stopping his white horse. The carriage behind him gradually slowed to a halt. Rhaenyra poked her head out of the carriage curtain, smiling.
"Why have you stopped, Rhaegar?"
"Where is Syrax?" Rhaegar asked directly, not wasting any words.
"Syrax?" Rhaenyra paused, confused. "She went hunting."
"Can you sense her and call her back?" Rhaegar suggested, while mentally calling out to Cannibal himself. He trusted his premonition. Something was terribly wrong.
"I'll try," Rhaenyra said, her expression uneasy. She focused on sensing Syrax.
With a nudge of his horse's belly, Rhaegar rode to the back of the line and found a lean soldier. "Send someone to the front to find out what's going on!"
"Yes, Your Highness!" The soldier responded quickly, turning to call for men.
Whoosh—
A bone arrow flew in, landing at the soldier's feet. Rhaegar's pupils contracted, and he immediately drew his Dragon Claw sword.
Swish swish swish...
In the next second, a rain of dense bone arrows fell from the sky.
"Ah!..." The soldiers in the queue barely had time to react before they were struck by the arrows, letting out cries of pain.
The lean soldier was just about to draw his sword when a bone arrow struck the back of his neck, the tip emerging from his mouth. He collapsed, lifeless.
(Word count: 1,203)