The Royal Dining Hall was less a room and more a cathedral dedicated to the art of eating.
Elian stood by the long mahogany table, adjusting the silverware with laser precision. He had arrived twenty minutes early to secure the terrain.
'Fork on the left. Knife on the right. Napkin folded into a swan. No, a swan is too Ambrose. Fold it into a... a sharp, military triangle. Yes. Very masculine. Very Alpha.'
He checked his stats.
[Heart Meter: 4.5 / 1000][Life Points (LP): 35][Time Until Death: 65 Hours, 10 Minutes.]
He had earned a decent chunk of LP from the "Bath Incident," mostly due to unlocking the [Intimacy Milestone: Naked & Wet]. He felt stronger, less like he was about to faint, but the anxiety of the timer was a constant hum in the back of his skull.
The heavy doors creaked open.
Elian braced himself. 'Here comes the circus.'
It was Ambrose. Of course it was Ambrose.
The White Lotus glided into the room carrying a covered porcelain tureen. He wasn't walking; he was drifting, surrounded by a faint, shimmering halo that Elian recognized immediately as the [Skill: Morning Glow (Cost: 50 LP)].
"Good morning, Player Three," Ambrose said, his voice saccharine sweet. He set the tureen down right in front of the Prince's chair.
"Ambrose," Elian nodded politely. "You're glowing. Radioactive leak?"
Ambrose's smile tightened. "It's called 'ethereal beauty'. You wouldn't understand. You look like you slept in a ditch."
"I slept in a basement, actually. Thanks for the reminder." Elian eyed the tureen. "What's in the bowl? Tears of orphans?"
"Sweet Ginseng Porridge," Ambrose declared proudly. "I spent all morning simmering it. It boosts vitality and cures fatigue."
Elian's eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air. It smelled... synthetic. Like vanilla extract and desperation.
'He didn't simmer that,' Elian realized. 'That's a System Shop item. [Instant Recovery Porridge].'
"The Prince hates sweets in the morning," Elian lied smoothly. He actually had no idea what the Prince liked, but he knew Cassian was a grumpy Alpha who drank black coffee. Sweets seemed off-brand.
Ambrose scoffed. "Please. Everyone likes sweet things. It's comforting. Something you know nothing about, clearly."
Before Elian could retort, the guards stamped their spears.
"His Royal Highness, Prince Cassian!"
Elian and Ambrose snapped to attention. Elian bowed deep, engaging his core to keep his balance, while Ambrose did a delicate curtsy-bow that made him look like a wilting flower.
Cassian strode in. He was dressed in a crisp black military uniform today, the silver buttons gleaming under the chandelier. He looked powerful, dangerous, and—to Elian's delight—extremely hungry.
'Look at that stride,' Elian thought, biting his lip. 'The man walks like he owns the planet. Which, I guess, he basically does.'
Cassian sat at the head of the table. He looked at the two of them.
"Food," Cassian said simply.
"Your Highness!" Ambrose stepped forward, whipping the lid off the tureen. Steam billowed out, smelling aggressively of sugar. "I prepared this Sweet Ginseng Porridge with my own hands. It will restore your energy."
He ladled a bowl and placed it in front of Cassian, offering a silver spoon with a trembling hand.
[System Alert: Player 1 attempting 'Feeding Event'. Success Rate: 70%.]
Elian saw the look on Cassian's face. It was subtle, but the Prince's nose twitched. The smell was too strong.
'He hates it,' Elian realized with glee. 'He absolutely hates it.'
But Cassian was polite. He picked up the spoon.
'Not on my watch.'
"Stop!" Elian shouted, diving forward.
Cassian froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. Ambrose looked like he'd been slapped.
"What is it, Valet?" Cassian asked, annoyed.
"Safety protocol, Sire," Elian panted, standing between Cassian and the bowl. "You cannot eat that."
"I made it myself!" Ambrose shrieked. "Are you accusing me of poisoning him?"
"Not intentionally," Elian said gravely. "But ingredients can spoil. Ginseng is volatile. As your personal valet, it is my sworn duty to ensure nothing harmful passes the royal lips."
He looked Cassian dead in the eye. "I must taste-test it."
Cassian lowered the spoon. He looked amused. "You want to eat my breakfast, Elian?"
"I want to save you, Your Highness. It's a sacrifice I am willing to make."
Without waiting for permission, Elian grabbed the spoon from Cassian's hand—[Contact: +5 Seconds]—and shoveled a massive mouthful of porridge into his mouth.
He chewed. He swallowed.
It was disgusting. It tasted like liquid sugar and perfume.
"Well?" Ambrose demanded, his face red.
Elian made a show of contemplating the flavor. He smacked his lips. He frowned.
"Too sweet," Elian declared. "Way too sweet. It would spike your glycemic index, Sire. You'd crash before lunch. And the texture... cloying."
He took another bite. "Yes. Definitely cloying. Terrible mouthfeel."
"Stop eating it then!" Ambrose yelled.
"I have to be sure!" Elian argued, taking a third bite. "The poison might be at the bottom!"
Cassian watched Elian aggressively devour the "gift." The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"Enough," Cassian said. He pushed the bowl toward Elian. "If you are so determined to protect me, you may finish it. I have lost my appetite for porridge."
Ambrose looked devastated. [System Notification: Ambrose -2 Hearts (Failed Event).]
"But Your Highness..." Ambrose whispered, eyes filling with those expensive tears again.
"Elian is right," Cassian said, turning to the valet. "I dislike sweet things in the morning. It ruins the palate."
He looked at Elian, who was currently trying not to gag on the third spoonful. "Coffee, Valet. And something savory. Meat."
Elian dropped the spoon into the empty bowl with a clang. "At once, Sire."
He rushed to the sideboard. He poured the premium coffee (thanks, Barista Mastery) and grabbed a plate of simple roasted venison and eggs.
He placed it in front of Cassian.
"Black coffee. Rare steak. Eggs," Elian announced. "Fuel for a conqueror."
Cassian took a sip of the coffee and sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He cut into the steak. He ate with efficient, predatory grace.
[System Notification: Target Satisfaction High. Elian +1 Heart.]
Elian stood back, beaming. He checked the leaderboard.
1. Ambrose: 302. Rowena: 263. Elian: 5.5
Ambrose was fuming silently on the other side of the table. He glared at Elian.
"You ate my 50 LP item," Ambrose mouthed silently.
Elian winked.
"Elian," Cassian said between bites.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"You have porridge on your chin."
Elian froze. He reached up to wipe it, but Cassian was faster. The Prince reached out, snagging a linen napkin, and leaned over. He dabbed the spot on Elian's chin firmly.
[Contact: +10 Seconds.]
The dining hall went silent. Servants stopped moving. Ambrose looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.
Cassian dropped the napkin. "Messy," he muttered. But his eyes lingered on Elian's mouth for a fraction of a second too long.
"Thank you, Sire," Elian squeaked, his face burning.
'Okay,' Elian thought, his heart doing a victory lap in his chest. 'He touched me. He fed me. I blocked the White Lotus. Today is a good day.'
Cassian stood up, wiping his mouth. "I am going to the training grounds. Ambrose, stay here. Elian, with me."
"Why does he get to go?" Ambrose whined, breaking character for a second.
"Because," Cassian said, adjusting his gloves. "He needs to work off that breakfast. And I need a moving target."
Elian's smile dropped. "A what now?"
Cassian smirked. It was a terrifying, wolfish grin. "You said you wanted to be useful, Valet. Today, you learn to dodge."
[System Alert: New Quest - 'Survive the Training Grounds'. Reward: 50 LP. Failure Penalty: Bruises.]
Elian looked at the retreating Prince, then at the smug Ambrose.
"Well," Elian sighed. "At least he wants my body. Even if it is just to hit it with a stick."