Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1024: What trust can there be?(1)

The juice of the steer stakes bled into the silver platter, weeping under the pressure of the iron fork, as the guest took ravenous bites out of the meat that was growing smaller and smaller.

One might expect a man of his flamboyant eccentricities to dine with the fragile elegance of a peacock, but instead, he descended upon the feast with the primal ferocity of a wolf in a winter-starved glen. He tore at the fibers with his teeth, before washing the mass down with great, four-finger gulps of wine that stained his lips like fresh conquest.

Across the table, Alpheo was a study in stillness. He ate with the meticulous composure of a clockmaker, seemingly unbothered by the carnage across from him. His years in the mud of the trenches with legates and sellswords had steeled him against the brutishness of men;still he was a man of habit and kept on eating as he was taught long ago.

"Prince of Yarzat!" Merelao spoke slightly slamming his goblet down with a reverberating thud. "Is your appetite so minuscule, so withered , that you are not moved by this Palatine miracle? This is not mere cuisine; it is an epiphany! I offer you my most theatrical regrets for this display of gluttony I am presenting to you, but avarice is the master of men, and I am its most devoted, fawning slave at this very moment. Never have I tasted such sublimity!"

He leaned over the table.

"I beg you to not let this gray, academic composure be your shepherd! Our span on this wretched rock is but a flicker, a spark in an infinite dark! One should live each day until it groans under the weight of a thousand years.

When you eat, do so as if you never knew of it. When you kill, strike with such operatic flair that the Warrior of Warth himself stands in the rafters to cheer! And when you—"

He caught the wide, crystalline gaze of little Rosalind, who was watching him with a mixture of curiosity and awe. He coughed, a short, barking sound, and swept a hand through the air as if to clear a mist.

"....when you lay with love, do so with the desperate, bone-breaking passion of a man who knows the sun will never rise again!"

"I unfortunately possess a stomach of modest proportions," Alpheo replied, his voice a dry, laconic contrast to Merelao’s thunder.

"How dreadful! How utterly pedestrian!" Merelao sighed, his disappointment as dramatic as his joy. He turned his gaze toward Jasmine, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as if she were a statue in a conquered capital. "How can your husband be the nightmare that haunts the dreams of the South, the very monster that keeps kings trembling in their silks, while he lives with such lackluster restraint, Your Grace?"

Jasmine offered a thin, knowing smile. She knew the precariousness of their position; "I admit, one wouldn’t suspect the beast within if they only watched him count his ledgers or sip his broth," she said softly. "But perhaps you should hear how he won my hand. Most romances begin with a rose; ours began with a dagger pressed to my throat."

At that Merelao clapped, as if that was the proof he was looking for.

"Truly, a union forged in the sublime! I would have thought cold iron a poor wedding gift, but who am I to judge your poetry? If your sense of romance is as apt as that of theater, gods be good for they gave two gifts for the prince of only one curse." He laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated delight. "I have often wondered in which dark corner of his soul his grace hides that beast, the one so ravenous it sent the pride of Oizen and Herculia screaming into the night. I am eager, starved even, to see that beast loosed upon the world once more! To see if the fated couple of the ballads is a reality, or merely a well-sung lie."

He raised his cup again, draining the heavy vintage as if it were mountain water, his throat working with effortless power.

"You are a creature of fortune, Princess. To find in this world a companion who understands the scent of blood on the wind... You are truly a lucky woman."

He grinned at Alpheo, his eyes bright with wine and madness, completely missing the flicker of profound guilt that crossed Jasmine’s face, a brief, haunting shadow as she cast a single, pained look at her husband. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"If the occasion arises, I would be more than glad to share a battlefield with you. It is the only place where the truth cannot be dressed in silk," Alpheo replied setting his fork down with a final, metallic click. "Does this mean our hospitality has finally met your... exacting standards?"

Merelao tilted his head , a stray lock of his golden hair falling over his eyes. "To say it is to my liking would be a dismal understatement! I confess, Alpheo, I arrived at your gates expecting to find a brutish peasant tilling a field of ashes. Imagine my sublime shock to discover a culture so refined it verges on the decadent!

I have not been so thoroughly entertained by anything that did not involve the gutting a beast or a man. Were you not a sovereign in your own right, I would be tempted to snatch you away this very night, to confine you within my own walls as a private composer of nightmares, that you might bless my existence with your works forever!"

His eyes bore into Alpheo’s with a playful edge that somehow made the man feel strange.

"I have half a mind to steal you into the dark even now, bearing my most deep apologies to the Ladies. But alas," he turned his gaze toward little Rosalind, his expression softening into a tenderness, Alpheo would never have expected out of him "I could not bear to be the architect of sorrow for such a delightful flower."

Rosalind’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she shrank slightly into her chair.

’’Thank you, sir...’’ She managed in a small voice.

"You are truly favored by the Merciful Weaver," Merelao continued, his voice taking on a wistful, melodic quality. "I remain unblessed by heirs, so you must forgive the green glint of envy in my eyes when I look upon your scions. Though," he turned his head sharply toward Basil, "it appears your son finds more poetry in the grain of his steak than in our conversation. An avid reader, it seems, who finds the world written in the gristle.Especially when before you were quite the speaker..."

"The meat, at the very least, possesses a substance worth contemplating," Basil murmured, his voice low but startlingly clear.

"Basil!" Jasmine stood, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. She looked at her son with a mixture of bewilderment and rising panic; this was not the sweet, humble boy she knew, especially not with their princedom’s fate balanced on a knife’s edge. "My Lord Merelao, a thousand apologies. That was... uncouth. Entirely beneath him."

She shot a commanding look at the boy, her eyes screaming for a retraction.

Merelao, however, erupted into a gale of genuine laughter. "No! I beg of you, do not stifle him! I am not offended; on the contrary, I am enchanted! It is a rare and pleasing novelty to hear a soul speak the thoughts that dwell behind his teeth. Most children his age wag their tongues merely because they are enamored with the sound of their own chirping. It is refreshing to find a toad hiding among the mushrooms."

He leaned toward the table with his elbow , his smile widening. "I have had the pleasure, though the lad likely considers it a grievance, of exchanging words with your son already. He is a sharp one, my dear host.

Willful as a gale. But tell me, my dear flower," he said, addressing Basil directly, "you speak with such venom only because your mother and father are the walls at your back. You believe my status as a guest renders me toothless.

And you are correct in such thinking; I value my discourse with your father far too much to soil his rug with the blood of yours."

He wagged a long, elegant finger at the boy. "But you must learn, little falcon, that using the claws of your parents to strike your blows is a clumsy art. It is neither brave nor couth to hide behind a shield you did not forge."

Basil raised his head. He did not look at his mother’s frantic eyes or his father’s stoic face. He peered directly into the sapphire depths of the man whose reputation was a tapestry of blood and beauty.

"I am a boy," Basil said, his voice steadying. "But the sun does not stay at dawn forever. When I have grown, I shall forge my own claws. Until then, I shall make do with the weapons I have at hand."

Merelao’s eyes lit up with a terrifying, ecstatic glow. "Oh, I shall wait for that day with the hunger of a martyr! I eagerly await the man you are to become. Who knows? Perhaps you shall be the bridge that spans where your father falters. Or perhaps you shall merely prove the ancient tragedy true, that sons are destined to wither in the colossal shadow of the men who sired them. Grow quickly, Basil.’’

At that the boy rose up to say something more. The princess looked horrified, as if already knowing what was to come out of his mouth.

However, it was only the voice that stood silent for most that rose.

"Basil," the prince called,his tone not angry nor hurried, but just there like a mountain that stood long before humans came to be ’’Do not let the folly of arrogance get over you. Speak only what you are intending to claim responsibility for.Was that not what I always taught you?

I shall not stop or aid you in any way, this is your choice.Make it and live with it. You proved you are mature enough to make your own choices.’’

The boy looked up at his father, and then at the smiling man. He then nodded as if he made his throw ’’I too eagerly await to see what I’ll become, my lord.Then we shall see each other once more and understand which one of us two truly was speaking out of their as-’’ he looked at Rosalind—"bum."

At the challenge Merelao simply gave a contained smile.

"Delightful."