I left the Imperial council chamber with the same silence with which I had entered, yet something within me had changed.
It wasn't the meeting itself, with its tedious political details and blatant diplomatic hypocrisy, that caused this shift, but rather the growing realization of my situation.
I am here, in this body, in this world, and I have resources beyond imagination. And resources, in any world, mean power—or at the very least, comfort. In my case, comfort means good food, and plenty of it.
The personal attendant, who had been waiting like a silent shadow at the door, gave a slight bow and led me back through the gilded, velvet-lined corridors of the Imperial Palace.
Every step upon the thick red carpet only reinforced my resolve. The carpet that swallowed sound, the walls steeped in blood and intrigue, the stone faces of the guards… all of it screamed grandeur and oppression.
But what filled my mind was a long list of delicacies I had been deprived of for years in my previous life—dishes the original Nyr, with his pretentious austerity, would never have even considered.
The silver carriage awaited. The same silent servant, the same velvet seats.
But this time, my thoughts were not occupied with analyzing the absurdity of the novel or contemplating Alistair.
They were busy planning the first true feast of my new life.
"Young master," the servant suddenly said, breaking the long silence of the journey, "are there any special instructions upon our arrival at the palace?"
I looked at him, a barely visible smile tugging at my lips, heavy with expectation.
"Yes," I said softly, but with a tone of command impossible to mistake. "Tell the head chef to wait for me in my quarters the moment we arrive.
And he is to have a list prepared of the rarest and finest meats, birds, fish, fruits, and vegetables.
And do not forget the drinks. I want the best. Nothing less."
The servant's eyes widened for a fleeting moment before he quickly composed himself and bowed his head. "As you command, young master."
Perhaps he thought I had lost my mind. Or perhaps, more likely, he decided it was wiser not to dwell on my motives.
Servants in House Verton's palace learned quickly that questions could cost them far more than their jobs.
As soon as the carriage passed through the towering gates of Verton Palace, which looked like the jaws of a colossal stone beast, I felt the very air shift.
Here, the shadows were deeper, the silence heavier, every stone pulsing with an ancient and terrifying power. Yet today, none of it unsettled me. On the contrary, it felt like the perfect place to indulge my desires.
I stepped out of the carriage, ignoring the servants bowing in exaggerated displays of deference. My stride was brisk, directed straight toward my private chambers. And as I had ordered, Head Chef Monsieur Julien was waiting at my door.
Monsieur Julien was French—or the closest equivalent in this world—short and stout, with meticulously waxed curled mustaches and a towering white chef's hat that seemed to defy gravity. He wore a pristine white jacket, his expression a mix of unease and cautious curiosity.
"Young Master Nyr," he said in his lightly accented voice, "I am at your service."
I gestured for him to enter. My chambers were spacious, yet his nervous energy seemed to fill much of the room.
"Monsieur Julien," I began, pacing slowly as I examined the heavy furniture and rare artifacts as though seeing them for the first time, "I desire a feast. Not an ordinary feast. I want to taste all that is luxurious and rare in this world. I care neither for the cost nor the effort required. I want the best."
The chef swallowed hard, but a glimmer of excitement shone in his eyes. True chefs thrived on challenges and exquisite ingredients.
"Of course, young master. At once. Do you have any dishes in mind?"
"Let's begin with meat," I said, stopping before a massive window overlooking the black gardens of the palace. "I want a cut of young red dragon meat. Not the small portions from hatchlings served at festivals. I want a slab of rib from a dragon no older than fifty years—tender, juicy, roasted slowly over ancient oak wood, seasoned only with black rock salt and wild pepper from the Serpent Mountains."
Monsieur Julien dabbed at an imaginary bead of sweat on his forehead. "Young red dragon meat… That is exceedingly rare, my lord. It requires a special hunting permit from the duke…"
"Consider the permit granted," I cut in coldly. "My father will not deny his only son such a simple request." (A lie, of course. I had no idea if he would, but confidence in my voice was enough.)
"Next, I want griffin liver. They say it melts in the mouth like heavenly butter. Lightly seared with rare black truffles, served with a sauce made from ice wine of the northern lands."
The chef's eyes widened further. "Griffin liver! My word! We haven't prepared that in years! It… it requires utmost precision—one mistake and it is ruined!"
"I trust your skill, Monsieur Julien," I said with a faint smile. "Then, I want a roast young phoenix. The kind raised on special farms in the Sunlit Isles. Stuffed with aromatic herbs and dried fruits, its skin glazed with rare moonflower honey as it roasts."
"Young phoenix… yes, yes, that can be arranged. Utterly delicious." The chef was beginning to be swept away by enthusiasm.
"As for seafood, I want giant lobster from the Sea of Wraiths. The kind as large as a man's arm. Boiled in a special broth with black lemons and rare sea herbs.
And I also want golden mermaid caviar. Served on a thin bed of crushed ice, with wafers of bread baked from pearl flour."
"Golden mermaid caviar!" Julien nearly gasped. "My lord, that… that costs a fortune! A single vial takes weeks to obtain!"
"Fortune is no obstacle, and time is not an issue. Begin preparations immediately," I said, turning to face him.
"As for fruits, I want a basket of Eternal Apples, which never wither. Clusters of Starlight Grapes, glowing in the dark. And slices of Shifting-Sand Melon, said to change flavor with every bite.
For vegetables, I want hearts of Sun Artichokes, roots of Frost Yarrow, and leaves of Crystal Ferns."
The chef scribbled frantically into his notebook, his pen nearly flying across the pages.
"And the drinks, Monsieur Julien. Do not forget the drinks. I want Dragon's Blood wine, aged for a hundred years in casks made from the bones of ancient dragons. I want the purest Elixir of Life—not the diluted kind offered to common guests, but the concentrated version that restores youth and enhances strength.
And also bring me Moonwell Water, drawn only on moonlit nights from hidden springs in the Clouded Mountains."
Monsieur Julien paused, staring at the staggering list I had given him. Then he raised his head, eyes gleaming with challenge and delight.
"Young master, this will be a legendary feast! I shall surpass myself! Generations of chefs will speak of this banquet!"
"I expect nothing less," I said coolly. "Begin at once. I want everything ready by evening.
And should you require anything—anything at all—ask the butler. He has orders to provide whatever you need."
The chef bowed so deeply his hat nearly brushed the floor. "With pleasure, young master! With pleasure!"
Then he hurried out, as if afraid I might change my mind or add some even more outlandish request.
I smiled. This was the feeling. The sheer thrill of power in spending wealth without limit. Unexpectedly, it was… delightful.