The Dining Hall was bursting with energy, befitting the jubilant celebration. Musicians were placed in the corner, their fingers dancing over strings and keys to entertain the bustling crowd. A sea of nobles adorned in their finest attire painted the room emerald, sapphire, ruby and gold.
This was Gabriel’s first supper amidst the nobles since his world was turned upside down. As he walked through the crowd, he felt the lingering glances and the ripples of hushed whispers in his wake. His friends and sister flanked him. The nobles flocked to Sarah, their wishes for her Name Day ringing with mirth and warmth. Jessinta and Lovren also seemed to be enjoying their fair share of cordiality. But when it came to Gabriel, there was a deafening hesitancy, a distance, as if a mere conversation with him could blemish their reputation.
The ladies marveled at Sarah’s blossoming beauty. They cooed over her dress, each stitch exuding royalty. One lady even complimented her brooch, which made Gabriel grit his teeth. Lords bowed with formal grace, their praises drawing forth a radiant joy within Sarah.
As the evening progressed, she bloomed under the spotlight, her back straighter and her smile sharper. Her audience extended to the little ones too. An assembly of boys and girls advanced, and her friend’s curtseys and bows ranged from awkward to surprisingly refined. Sarah reveled in their adoration, becoming a chatterbox, and barely allowed anyone else to speak.
When Lord Carnahy approached, Gabriel felt an unspoken sting. The lord wished Sarah well and greeted his children, but his gaze skated past Gabriel as if he were a ghost. A knot of confusion wound itself in Gabriel’s stomach. Was his transgression so grave that he warranted such cold disregard? It hurt him to see a man he respected so dearly ignore him.
Tugging at his sleeve, he asked, “Lord Carnahy, I trust your recent travels have been pleasant?” His voice wavered, giving away his unease.
“Indeed. They went... well,” came the curt reply. Carnahy then cast his glance over the group, his smile returning like a sun peeking from behind the clouds. “Enjoy your evening, everyone.” Jessinta tracked her father’s departure, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. Lovren exchanged a puzzled look with Gabriel before he shrugged his shoulders.
“Do we know when the performances will begin?” Jessinta asked, attempting to diffuse the uncomfortable tension that hung in the air.
Gabriel felt a creeping sense of alienation as they indulged in casual banter. It wasn’t that he was loved by the nobility before, but today was a stark reminder of how deep he had sunk in their estimation. He was an outcast. Fear crept into his mind, painting grim pictures of his future. He knew he needed to re-establish his standing but was torn between conforming to the kingdom’s expectations and staying true to his desires. The longing for acceptance and respect wrestled with his reluctance to become someone he was not.
The evening was a cascade of festivities. A feast was laid out, succulent hogs on wooden platters, the aroma mingled with the scent of decadent wine. His glass filled with juice, Gabriel eyed the crimson wine, plotting a covert mission to swap his drink when the performances began.
Jugglers opened the show, their skilled hands weaving a symphony of flying balls. The crowd erupted in applause, their excitement feeding the performers’ spirit. The musicians picked up the pace, their lively melody setting feet tapping and hands clapping in rhythm. Inspired by the display, Sarah picked up a few dinner rolls from a nearby tray. “Watch this,” she said, mischief glinting in her eyes.
They all exchanged a knowing glance before turning their attention to Sarah. Gabriel watched as his sister readied herself for an attempt at juggling. With an overconfident smirk, Sarah tossed a roll into the air, quickly following it with the other. The dinner rolls jumped in the air, flowing from one hand to another. For a moment, it seemed as if she could keep it up. But as the piece of bread came hurtling down, her coordination faltered. She lurched forward, her hand swiping air as the roll bounced off her fingers and tumbled onto a startled noble’s lap.
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A burst of laughter echoed around their small circle. Even Gabriel couldn’t help but chuckle, his previous worries momentarily forgotten amidst the private show.
“Oh, Sarah,” Lovren managed through his laughter, “You’d give the jester a run for his money!”
Jessinta was rubbing her stomach as she laughed. “I’m sure the Lord enjoyed another piece of bread.”
Their amusement was infectious, causing even Sarah to join in, her failed juggling attempt sparking a beacon of joy amongst them. The shared mirth reminded them of their camaraderie, an element that stood firm amidst the sea of nobility and their shifting alliances. At this moment, they were just a group of friends, unburdened by titles and expectations, soaking in the magic of the evening.
The dancers and acrobats took to the stage, their bodies adorned with glittering costumes that shimmered under the grand chandelier. They moved in perfect harmony with the music, a spectacle of fluid grace and unwavering precision. The spotlight fell on a solitary dancer in the center as the melody reached its crescendo. She launched herself into an intricate pirouette with an elegant twirl, spinning with unearthly grace.
In a move that held the audience spellbound, she leaped high into the air, her body unfurling into a spectacular grand jeté, her limbs stretching to their utmost as she seemed to momentarily defy gravity. Then, just as gracefully as she rose, she landed, her movements fluid and sure. Gabriel found himself lost in the performance, the dancers’ unadulterated joy resonating deeply within him.
“Doesn’t look that hard, nothing I couldn’t do at least,” Lovren said with a chuckle.
Sarah couldn’t control her laughter. “I’d pay a gold crown to see you try that on stage,” she chimed in, giving Lovren a playful nudge. Caught in their jest, Gabriel let out a content smile, the warmth cutting through the thick tension he’d felt.
Gabriel was left with a newfound respect for these artists as the dancers and acrobats wrapped up their performance to thunderous applause. Their radiant smiles and the crowd’s adulation were a testament to their dedication and skill. He yearned for a similar sense of purpose, a desire to bring joy and be respected for his true self.
As the grandeur of the evening’s performance concluded, the king, dressed in opulent attire, advanced from the ornate backdrop of the towering dais. The grand hall echoed with silence as their collective gaze was drawn by the regal figure preparing to speak.
The king began in his rich, commanding voice, echoing under the intricate, high-vaulted ceiling. “Tonight, we bask in the glow of our Princess’s Name Day.” He gestured gracefully towards Sarah. Bidden by the king’s beckoning, she hesitantly rose to her feet, feeling the weight of countless scrutinizing eyes on her. Sarah’s slender fingers nervously twitched at her dress, causing the jewels adorning her gown to shimmer.
“Our Princess,” he continued with undeniable pride, “brings boundless honor to this throne and our kingdom. I invite you all to join me in raising a toast to celebrate her.”
As if in synchronized motion, the king and the sea of nobles lifted their goblets. Gabriel looked upon the scene with bittersweet joy. His heart warmed for his sister’s recognition, but the chilly sting of exclusion bit at him. The respect and adoration accorded to her were privileges he had never experienced.
The king’s booming voice cut through his thoughts, “To our cherished Sarah.”
Before the droplets of the wine could kiss the crowd’s lips, a resounding crash of the hall doors shattered the joyous atmosphere. The sound echoed menacingly, its resonance lingering heavily in the silence that followed.
There, by the immense doors, stood Artus. His once pristine military attire was smeared with dirt and blood, making his silver armor less a symbol of pride and more a chilling testament of battle. His eyes, usually calm and determined, held a frenzied gleam, and his disheveled appearance starkly contrasted the opulence around him.
Gabriel’s heart plummeted into the hollow abyss of dread. The horrifying sight of Artus confirmed his worst fears. Artus advanced toward the king with a nearly feral urgency despite his evident exhaustion, his body swaying with every heavy footfall. The expression on his face held a loss Gabriel had never seen before.
Even the king, ordinarily immovable, seemed taken aback. “What has happened?” His voice, though steady, revealed a hint of fear, each syllable echoing ominously throughout the hall.
Artus, now standing before the king, took a moment to draw a deep shuddering breath. He bowed his head low and uttered what would forever alter the course of Gabriel’s life. “Leoman, Heir of Accamania, is dead.”