The cold grip of morning tugged at me, reluctant to release its hold as dull, amber-colored light spilled through my bedroom window. My eyelids felt heavy; part of me wanted to remain anchored in the luxurious comforts of my bed, far from the responsibilities that awaited me. But a different kind of hunger—a deep, grumbling void—gnawed at my insides, urging me forward into consciousness. I could smell it even before stepping foot into the present world: the rich aroma of bread still baking somewhere distant.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the chilled stone floor stark against the warmth of my skin. I let out a quiet sigh as I braced myself for the day ahead. To the left, my battered armor gleamed dully in the morning light, revealing the scuffs and scratches marred on its surface. They were signs of my inadequacies and overzealousness. I couldn’t quite remember how I had even managed to fight so fiercely yesterday. An ember of rage had fueled my movements like a flame consuming dry kindling. Now, I felt hollow, as if the fire had been snuffed out, leaving only ash remains.

Pulling on my tunic, I cringed at the feel of coarse fabric against raw skin, and the way it agitated the remnants of my earlier scrapes as I moved. At least I’d had the luxury of a proper bath the night before—the first in what felt like ages. The warm water had been a blessing, washing away weeks of grime and easing my aching muscles. After rolling my shoulders back to shake off the still-familiar tension, I brushed knots from my freshly cleaned hair before some semblance of order could be restored. I caught my reflection in the mirror and grimaced at the wild locks and the stubble I had neglected for days. Despite the refreshing bath, I still looked like a scrappy vagabond. But there was no time for regret, the promise of breakfast wafted through the halls, beckoning me like a siren’s call.

I made my way down the stone corridors, my footsteps muted against the cool ground. My stomach growled louder than a bear’s. After spending many days in a cell living moldy bread and cheese, my body demanded a change. The delicious aroma of food eventually led me to the refectory, where the familiar resonance of laughter and chatter grew louder. The sounds and smells wrapped around me, combining into something intoxicating and welcoming.

The refectory was more magnificent than I’d imagined. Massive stone arches swept overhead, their weathered surfaces catching the morning light that streamed through tall, narrow windows. Thick tapestries adorned the walls, their rich colors depicting scenes of battles and victories I had yet to understand. The room buzzed with life, filled with the clatter of plates and the murmur of conversation.

At the center of it all stretched an enormous oak table, its surface barely visible beneath the abundance of food. Steam rose from fresh bread and porridge, while platters of eggs, cured meats, cheeses, and fruits created a colorful mosaic that made my mouth water instantly. Scattered between the platters were decanters of deep red wine, their surfaces catching the morning light like liquid rubies. Pitchers of fresh milk stood sentinel beside steaming pots of herbal tea and strong black coffee. Crystal goblets sparkled at each place setting and earthenware mugs waited to be filled with whatever morning brew their users preferred. Honey glistened in its comb, ready to sweeten both beverages and fresh bread, while small pots of preserves in various shades of crimson and purple added splashes of color to the already vibrant display. The sight alone caused my stomach to growl so loudly I feared others might hear.

The blackguards seated around the table weren’t wearing their usual armor, and I found myself struck by how different they looked. Without the intimidating metal shells, they seemed more... ordinary. A fair-skinned woman with braided hair threw her head back in laughter at something her companion said. Across from her, a man with burn scars trailing down his neck buttered his bread with surprising delicacy. An elf with silver-white hair carefully sectioned her fruit, her movements precise and measured.

At the head of the table sat Malachai, his presence commanding even without his armor. Corvus occupied the seat to his right, already halfway through his meal. Their attention turned to me as I approached, Malachai’s expression unreadable while Corvus’s blindfolded face seemed impassive.

I didn’t wait for an invitation. The hollow feeling in my gut had transformed into a ravenous beast. I found an empty seat and grabbed a plate, piling it high with everything within reach. Sausages, eggs, three different kinds of bread, cheese, fruit—I didn’t discriminate. The servings weren’t so much portions as they were small mountains of food.

“By the gods,” someone whispered, but I barely registered it.

My table manners were nonexistent as I tore into the feast. Juice from the sausages ran down my chin, and I used the back of my hand to wipe it away, barely pausing between bites. A few of the blackguards had stopped eating to stare, their expressions ranging from horrified fascination to barely concealed amusement. One young blackguard, a stocky dwarf with a rust-colored beard, elbowed his companion and gestured at my plate with widened eyes.

“Someone’s hungry,” he muttered, earning a few snickers from those nearby.

I ignored them all, focused solely on filling the void that seemed to have taken up residence in my stomach. The food was incredible, far better than anything I’d eaten in recent memory. Each bite was a reminder of just how long I’d subsisted on meager portions and whatever I could scavenge as a prisoner in my old life. In mere minutes, my plate was clean, and I immediately reached for seconds.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Malachai watched me with an expression that might have been concern, might have been disgust. It was hard to tell with him.

Corvus, on the other hand, who had his fork suspended halfway to his mouth, made no attempt to hide his incredulity. He tilted his blindfolded face in my direction. “From the amount of scraping I hear, that’s your second massive helping,” he remarked dryly. “Did you even taste any of that first serving?”

“Yef,” I said with my mouth full, not missing a moment of shoveling forkfuls of eggs and grits into my mouth.

A dark-skinned woman with intricate tattoos decorating her forearms leaned away slightly as I tore into a particularly juicy piece of meat. “I’ve seen starving wolves with better table manners,” she commented to a red-haired man seated next to her, though there was more humor than malice in her tone.

“I thought you were from noble stock,” a tall man with white-streaked hair commented, his cultured accent making the observation sound more pointed. “Did your family not feed you properly, or do all Western aristocrats eat like sewer rats?”

The question caught me mid-bite, and I forced myself to swallow carefully as I scrambled for a response. The other blackguards had grown quieter, clearly interested in my answer. Even Malachai seemed to be paying closer attention, though his expression remained unchanged.

“The food was never this good at home,” I managed, trying to keep my voice casual. “Our own cooks couldn’t compare to yours.” I gestured at the spread before us, hoping the compliment would deflect further questions.

Most of the blackguards seemed satisfied with this explanation, returning to their own meals with occasional glances my way. Malachai’s expression stayed neutral, but I noticed his eyes narrow slightly at my response.

Corvus, however, made his disbelief clear even through his blindfold. His head tilted in that unsettling way that somehow conveyed skepticism without needing eyes, and the set of his shoulders spoke volumes about what he thought of my excuse.

I pushed the concern to the back of my mind and returned to eating, though with slightly more measured movements. The food was too good to let uncomfortable questions spoil my appetite.

By my third plate, the initial shock had worn off among most of the blackguards, though they still cast occasional glances my way. The food was beginning to do its work, filling not just my stomach but something deeper, that hollow space where yesterday’s rage had burned itself out. Each bite felt like it was rebuilding something inside me, replacing the emptiness with substance.

Finally satisfied, I sat back in my chair, feeling truly full for the first time in what felt like ages. Without thinking, I let out a thunderous belch that echoed off the stone walls of the dining hall. The conversation around the table stopped dead.

In the sudden silence, I felt heat creep up my neck as I realized what I’d done. My eyes darted around the table. The tattooed woman’s mouth hung open in shock. The dwarf had dissolved into silent shoulder-shaking laughter, while his companion pressed her lips together, clearly trying to maintain her composure. The elf with silver hair looked absolutely mortified, her delicate features twisted in disgust.

Corvus dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders trembled, whether from laughter or second-hand embarrassment, I couldn’t tell.

But it was Malachai’s reaction that surprised me most. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and for a moment, I could have sworn I saw amusement playing in his usually stern eyes.

“Well,” he said, breaking the silence, “I suppose that’s one way to show appreciation for the meal.”

A wave of laughter rippled around the table, breaking the tension. The dwarf wiped tears from his eyes, finally letting his mirth loose. “By the dark gods, that was magnificent! Finally, someone who knows how to properly end a feast!” he roared, slapping the table.

The silver-haired elf shot him an exasperated look. “Don’t encourage him, Baylin.”

I felt my face burning, but I managed a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” I muttered, though I wasn’t entirely sure I meant it. The food had been too good to feel truly apologetic about enjoying it.

“At least we know he’s not going to waste away,” the tattooed woman said, shaking her head with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Though we might need to increase the kitchen’s budget if he keeps eating like that.”

“Or perhaps some lessons in etiquette might be in order,” the silver-haired elf suggested primly, though even she had softened enough to offer a slight smile.

Looking down at my empty plate, I realized I’d probably eaten enough for three people. The warmth in my belly matched the warmth that had begun to spread through the room, not just from the food, but from the casual banter and shared laughter. It was strange, sitting here among people who had, until recently, been my captors. Stranger still was how normal it felt, how the simple act of sharing a meal could transform enemies into... well, if not friends, then at least something less hostile.

I caught Malachai’s eye again, and he gave me a slight nod. Whether it was approval for my appetite or acknowledgment of something else, I wasn’t sure. But as I sat there, surrounded by the gentle chaos of breakfast and the lingering echoes of laughter, I felt something shift inside me. It wasn’t just the satisfying fullness of a good meal—it was something more profound, a subtle unwinding of the tension that had been my constant companion for so long.

“Thank you,” I said, finally remembering my manners. “For the food, I mean. All of it.”

“Just don’t make a habit of eating us out of house and home,” Corvus replied, but there was a warmth in his voice that belied the warning.

“I trust you’ll be better prepared for today’s training now that you’re properly fed,” Malachai said, rising from his seat. His words carried a hint of dry humor that I wouldn’t have thought him capable of just yesterday. “Though perhaps we should wait an hour or two, lest all that food makes an unexpected reappearance. Meet me at the training grounds before the mid-morning bell strikes. Don’t be late—tardiness and swordsmanship tend to be poor companions.”

More chuckles rippled around the table, but they felt different now—less at my expense and more inclusive, as if I’d somehow passed some unspoken test.

As the others began to rise and the servants came in to clear the table, I remained seated for a moment longer, savoring the last dregs of this unexpected morning. My stomach was full, my body was rested, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt something dangerously close to contentment. It wouldn’t last, of course. There was training ahead, and countless challenges to face. But for now, it was enough.

At least if Malachai killed me during training, I’d die well-fed—a luxury my executioner hadn’t afforded me.