Afternoon, the Tea Banquet
The palace's rear garden was bathed in golden light from the setting sun. A fountain danced in the center, while stone cranes stood still among the blooming lavender.
Amidst the chatter of the concubine candidates, Aerith stood frozen beneath the shade of a magnolia tree, alone. She wore a worn-out gown of gray-blue, the sleeves far too long at the ends. No one spoke to her, no one greeted her; she felt like a lost child stumbling into an adult's banquet.
Not far from where she stood, King Lucien walked across the pebble path, his gaze fixed straight ahead as if nothing to his left or right existed, including Aerith who stood stiff and solitary.
"Aerith pays respect to His Majesty," Aerith greeted with a deep bow. She was not permitted to address the King directly, but failing to give respect was the same as courting death.
At the sound of her voice, Lucien halted his step without turning. His eyes remained calm, as though the world had never managed to surprise him.
"You came," Lucien said without looking at her.
It was not a greeting. More like a statement of fact.
Aerith nodded faintly, and the King moved as if to continue walking. Yet something within him made him pause. He turned slightly toward Aerith, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe.
"You have looked as if you wanted to flee since the moment you arrived here. Am I mistaken?"
Aerith nearly choked on air. "W-what?" she stammered, glancing up in panic.
The King stared at her, truly stared, sharp enough to peel her apart. "Even from a distance, I can sense your reluctance. You want to leave, do you not?"
Her heart stopped for a beat. She wanted to deny it. But lying would be more dangerous. So she lifted her shoulders slightly. "I only… I do not belong here, Your Majesty."
Lucien studied her face, then replied flatly, "You do not belong here? That is an honest judgment." His lips curved into a faint, mocking smile, as though confirming how unworthy she was to stand in that place.
Aerith lowered her head. Silence lingered. Then, with a trembling whisper, she dared to ask, "If Your Majesty thinks so as well, then why…" She paused, holding her breath, before forcing the question out. "Why was I placed third? I was hoping to be last."
Lucien's brow arched, his pride pricked. "You wish to be eliminated from the selection?"
Do you truly not wish to be my woman? he thought in disbelief.
Aerith did not answer, but her silence spoke clearly enough. She longed to be cast out.
Lucien drew in a deep breath, his eyes following a bird soaring across the garden. His lips curled into a cutting smile as he muttered, "Many women beg to be in your position. And you… wish to leave?"
"Because I know my place, Your Majesty," Aerith replied without thinking. "And I do not wish to be a laughingstock."
Lucien smiled faintly, though it held no warmth. "If you had a brain in your head, you would never have entered in the first place. Unless, of course, you do not have one."
Aerith clamped her mouth shut. From his tone, she knew she had offended him. She opened her lips to apologize, but Lucien waved his hand curtly, a gesture that told her to hold her tongue.
His smile was cold as he murmured sharply, "You are not wanted at this banquet. Leave."
Aerith lifted her face, her eyes glistening. From the very beginning she had desired rejection, yet when it was given, she realized how painful and uncomfortable it felt.
"Forgive me…"
"Enough," Lucien cut her off. "Go at once, it is better that way."
Having dismissed Aerith from the tea banquet, Lucien strode away, his black cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of a night bird.
From afar, Lady Venetia watched with narrowed eyes as Aerith walked out of the garden.
"Lady Moonstone seems to be quite favored," she whispered scornfully to Lady Mirabelle.
Lady Mirabelle sipped her unsweetened tea, murmuring with a thin smile, "Perhaps she has bewitched him."
"How long will we sit and watch like this?" Venetia asked. She leaned closer to Mirabelle's ear. "We must do something."
In the midst of their whispers, both were startled by a sudden announcement from King Lucien.
"The tea banquet is over. Everyone may leave."
The candidates exchanged puzzled looks. The gathering had barely begun, and yet it was already ended.
Three days had passed since that tea banquet. And for those three days, Aerith had not been able to sleep soundly, for now she knew one thing with certainty: King Lucien despised her. And that terrified her.
Seeing Aerith show signs of minor depression, Madam Gwenevere felt a flicker of pity. She brought her a storybook and suggested she read it in the inner garden. It would help refresh her mind, or so she said.
So it was that on that afternoon, Aerith sat alone in the inner garden, reading a romance novel while chewing raw mint leaves. The story was sweet and filled with happiness, but Aerith read it with dim eyes and a tangled heart.
Then a shadow fell across her book. Aerith looked up. Her heart sank.
King Lucien stood there.
She scrambled to her feet and bent into a deep bow. She chose to remain bowed, hoping he would simply pass by. But Lucien did not move.
"You make it far too obvious that you do not wish to see me."
Aerith almost choked on the mint. "I… I dare not, Your Majesty."
Lucien stepped closer, just one pace. His footsteps were almost soundless against the garden stones.
"Is that so? Or are you simply uninterested?"
Aerith slowly lifted her face, and there he was, only a few steps away.
A face as though carved from midnight marble. Silver eyes that could never be understood. Cold. Piercing. And because of that… terrifying. She quickly lowered her gaze again.
"I only… wish to survive, Your Majesty."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. There it was again. Always a distance in her voice. Not a distance born of politeness, but one born of her desire to escape. He was the King. His face alone had been enough to drive the daughters of seven kingdoms into delirium.
But she, Aerith? Not at all. An anomaly.
"Leave this place. You are spoiling the view of the garden," Lucien said, his tone sharp and cutting.
"Yes, Your Majesty." If not for the restraints of etiquette, Aerith would have run away in panic.
Watching her departure made Lucien's chest pound strangely, a confusion stirring in his heart. He was accustomed to ignoring women. Never before had he been accustomed to being ignored.
Moments later, when he returned to his main tower, he stood before a great mirror. His gaze was as sharp as ever, and he studied his own face. Everything appeared the same as always. He had been born with a beauty capable of driving women to madness.
A thin smile curved across his lips. Not a warm smile, but one that promised a plan was already forming.
Let us see… how long you can keep up that attitude in front of me.