"Congratulation, Duke Burgundy. For the victory against the demon king. We as…." The speech continues. Pleasantries, more pleasantries. Hundreds of them. Meaningless. Congratulation, Duke Burgundy. Same template, repeated like broken record. Even his stomach weight more than the whole sentence.
"Thank you, for your kind words, Father. And for your guidance"
"Well…" the priest continued. He stood silent, a smile practiced for years, facing the white ceiling stacked with chandeliers - three of them, sparkling along the corridor with equal pause. As expected of Chalcara. The decoration, flawless.
He wished to do the same to his home. Yet, the paperwork. His money would surely be questioned. "Forgive me, Duke Burgundy. I have something that need my…"
"Do not worry, Father," he cut in, then bowed. The priest slowly retreated, the clack of shoes against the ceramic floor echoing through the corridor, followed by an exhale from Burgundy's nose. Free. At least for now. He used to like them - the lickers. Now they were no different than clowns.
"Today was a good day" He murmured, glancing at the balcony. He closed his eyes. Indulging his ears in the quiet night, devoid of whispers. A faint smile adorned his lips as his hand stroked the smooth surface - a letter he had received this morning.
"Your grace, Duke of Burgundy. The king humbly request your presence at court"
So, it was time. The maid faded as he drifted past, gliding into the hallway until he came upon a door guarded by two soldiers. A blade made of gold strapped into each of their waists, a lion head at its handle. Imperial sword, sworn to the highest people in order.
"Gentleman" He nodded, low. Eyes locked to the sword "Make sure no one enters!" Both responded. No words, just bow. And that was enough.
With a bam, the door closed behind him. A room of white greeted him: an agarwood table sat the middle, hidden beneath a white cloth. Fancy – but not why he was here. He strode inside, hand reaching out to feel the smooth plaster walls. A bump. He need to search a bump - a protrusion among the flat surface.
His finger halted. Bingo.
"It is nice to see you here, Burgundy" he flinched, jaw tightened. The voice… out of all people why him?
"Canti…."
"Well… well… my friend…" Canti smiled. His ghostlike hands stretching the cloth, tracing a circle. Slow. Feeling the cotton as if caressing a lover.
"I'm not your pawn, Canti… "
"I know" His slit like eyes shrank.
"Then say your piece. Or I'm leaving"
"Well, well… don't be so hasty… Burgundy. I just want your…" His finger halted, abandoning the circle "…opinion"
Bluffing. The guy was bluffing. He knew Canti. They had played the same game, for three years at least. He knew his habits, his tricks, his way of thinking. A snake hidden beneath human skin. And as a duke who had too much to think, he refused to entertain him.
"I'm leaving"
He pushed the bump. The floor shook, dust raining from the roof. The ground burst open beneath his feet, eating and clawing the wall like a beast of hunger – unveiling a passage of awe. Dwarven magic. Wasted miracle in the hands of booze and rust.
"Fascinating isn't it"
"Shut…your… mouth" A snort escape from his nose. Low. Meant to threaten. He walked into the opening. Head straight, refusing to look at Canti. The scenery in front of him was far better: staircases stacked to each other like a puzzle, dug deeper into the dungeon. Ravishing. A long walk down. What could be better than this?
Alas, he descended – someone waited, one whose anger he couldn't bear. His journey down was more of a chore. Accompanied by a snake-like man mocking him at every heave of breath. Annoyed? He was way past that. Now, he could strangle the man, leaving his body sprawled on the ground to be eaten by stone and moss. All while wearing a serene face. Shame he couldn't. The guy still had his uses.
For example: to welcome him, inside the chamber lit by candles. A table stood in the middle - dark circular stone carved into the ground, ringed by eight seats connected to the walls. Iron walls, black and jagged with spikes. Perfect for discussion fit only for whispers.
Burgundy's finger curled, hiding his wet palm. Looks like some whisperer had arrive before him.
"I greet thee, Burguny…" A man stood. Out of four people who had claimed their seat, Karakal was the maddest. He used the grandest shoes, wore the best silk, and held the most gold. He also had the most ways to claimed wealth - from selling clothes to slaving man. Everything goes. Moreover, he even sacrificed his own body. Tearing his own arm just to change it with prosthetic made of gold. A contest of wealth, he called it.
And guess what…the gilded limb was stretched, pointing at him. Was he
Mocking?
"Drop your act, Karakal. I am not interested" He sat, the cold of stone searing against his back
"Cease the fuming, Burgundy. I wish to congratulate thee. For thy new son. I must admit, to come here just weeks after the labor. A fine father thou art" Karakal followed, dropping his whole body to seat like a carapace made of skin and flesh. Dangerous. An ache crept out of his heart.
When it comes to emotion the guy was better than Canti.
"I said drop the…ACT" He growled
"But I'm not acting…"
"Enough. Karakal…" Burgundy's shoulder loosened, slumping into the embrace of stone - Almost. His hand trembled; pieces of earth rose from the floor, threatening to puncture Karakal's throat. He was not afraid what Karakal might do, but for the king: he was a member of council. Bound to have a role. Thank the heavens Arthur managed to take control.
"…the king will arrive at any second now" Arthur's words shook the room – heavy, like his whole body. A fighting machine, steel armour cladding his body. Tight muscle with veins bulging at every inch of skin. Yet still, the king's dog. Burgundy's stomach churned every time the guy spoke. He'd never understood - how could someone be that loyal?
And like general - when he spoke, silence answered.