Bab 5: The Feast
The walls of the Vircadian estate were thin enough that the echoes of the bustling banquet hall reached us even here. My stomach twisted with hunger, each gurgle a reminder of how little I had eaten in days. Trista, Vanja, and Genva had been no better off; the endless rumors about the upcoming feast had only worsened our impatience.
As we waited, cramped in the servant quarters, I glanced at the other girls. Genva sat beside me, picking at the corner of her dress, her delicate hands trembling. Trista paced back and forth, unable to hide her anxiety beneath her usual cool exterior. Vanja sat in a corner, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger as she mumbled something under her breath.
"I've heard the tables are draped in silk, with the finest cuts of meat," Trista muttered to no one in particular, her voice full of longing.
Genva nodded, her face pale. "I hope so. I feel like I'm fading away."
None of us had any idea what the evening truly held, but the thought of fresh food was enough to stir hope in our starved bodies. The door creaked open suddenly, and we all snapped to attention as the Grey Lady swept into the room, her long robes brushing the floor.
"Girls," she began, her voice as cold and sharp as ever, "it is time. You are to get ready for the King."
At the mention of the King, a shiver ran down my spine. Quellin Vircadian, the man who had taken everything from me. The man who ruled these lands with fire and fear. The thought of seeing him again made my hands tighten into fists, but I hid my reaction, knowing better than to show weakness.
The Grey Lady's stern gaze landed on me for a moment before she turned to the others. "The feast awaits."
We hurried to prepare ourselves, adjusting our simple dresses, brushing out our hair with whatever we could find. There were no jewels, no fine silks—not for us. We were meant to be seen but not noticed, after all. Even so, the promise of food, of sitting in a hall filled with laughter and music, was enough to push the worries aside, at least for the moment.
I followed the girls as the Grey Lady led us down the long stone corridors. My mind was still clouded by thoughts of the King—his cold eyes, the stories I'd heard of his cruelty. Yet, my stomach gnawed at me relentlessly, forcing me to focus on the only thing that seemed to matter tonight: survival.
When we reached the end of the corridor, I expected to be greeted by the glow of the banquet hall's torches, the murmur of voices rising with the clink of goblets and cutlery. But instead, we were led outside, into the back gardens.
"What is this?" Vanja whispered, her confusion mirroring my own.
The night air was cold against my skin as we were brought into a large clearing, the grass damp beneath our feet. The garden was lit by flickering lanterns, casting long shadows over the hedges and statues. And in the center of it all, seated on a stone bench, was Quellin.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He was barely clothed, a thin loincloth the only thing covering his powerful body. His skin glistened in the moonlight, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling as he shifted in his seat. But it was the mask that drew my gaze—a dragon's face, carved in intricate detail, with sharp eyes that seemed to follow our every movement. His scars crisscrossed his flesh, a brutal reminder of battles fought and won. Tattoos coiled around his arms, mysterious symbols and ancient marks that seemed to pulse with life.
I had never seen him like this—almost godlike in his appearance, but also terrifyingly primal. I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze away from the lines of his body and up to his face, though the mask concealed much of it. My mind was spinning with questions. Who was this man beneath the dragon's mask? What were the stories behind those scars?
Quellin's voice broke the silence. "Welcome, ladies," he said, his tone smooth but laced with danger. "I trust you've been enjoying yourselves."
I didn't dare answer, but I could feel the unease building between us. The other girls, too, seemed uncertain, their previous excitement now fading into wariness.
He smiled beneath the mask, though it never reached his eyes. "I must apologize for my earlier…cruelty. Tonight is meant to be a feast. A celebration. I hope you're all ready to dine with your King."
Trista, ever the bold one, took a hesitant step forward, her eyes wide with hope. "We… we are honored, Your Majesty."
Quellin clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the garden. Servants appeared from the shadows, carrying large silver platters. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope, to believe that perhaps this was just a strange, elaborate way to begin the feast. But as the servants set the trays down on the ground in front of us, my heart sank.
Each platter was covered with a gleaming lid, and when the lids were lifted, a wave of nausea washed over me. Raw liver, deer heart, and other organs, bloody and glistening, were laid out in small, crude bowls. My stomach twisted in horror, and I could hear Genva gagging beside me, struggling not to vomit.
Quellin rose from his seat, towering over us, his eyes gleaming from behind the mask. "This is a delicacy," he said, his voice calm, almost amused. "And as my pets, you should be thanking me."
The word pets sent a shudder through me. My hands clenched at my sides, but I kept my expression neutral, even as my body screamed to run.
To prove his point, Quellin snapped his fingers, and a servant stepped forward, holding a long, bloody strand of entrails. Without hesitation, Quellin opened his mouth, allowing the servant to feed him the entrails, which he devoured sloppily, blood smearing across his lips. He ate with a hunger that made my skin crawl.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at us expectantly. "Now, girls," he said, his voice like a knife slicing through the air. "On all fours. Eat."
The silence that followed was deafening. None of us moved. My heart raced, the thudding in my chest growing louder with each passing second.
Quellin sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. Then, he whistled—a low, sharp sound that cut through the night. Moments later, the sound of snarling filled the garden, and from the shadows emerged his hounds. Massive, black-furred beasts with glowing eyes and sharp teeth. They circled us, their breath hot and foul, drool dripping from their maws as they eyed the meat on the ground—and us.
"They haven't eaten in weeks," Quellin said, his voice casual, as if we were discussing the weather. "Eat, or be eaten. That's the way of life, isn't it?"
I could hear the other girls whimpering, their resolve crumbling under the weight of his threat. Slowly, one by one, they lowered themselves to the ground, tears streaming down their faces as they began to eat from the bowls like animals.
But I stood. I stood because I knew this was wrong, that this was nothing but a sick game to him. My body trembled with rage and fear, but I couldn't—wouldn't—bend to him.
Quellin's gaze settled on me, and he tilted his head. "Ah," he said softly, "still defiant, I see. Are you ready to meet your Gods, little slave?"
Our eyes locked, and for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped. His gaze burned into mine, challenging me, daring me to disobey. I could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on me, but I refused to break. Slowly, deliberately, I knelt on the ground. My hands touched the cool earth, and I lowered my head to the bowl in front of me. I had eaten worse in the streets, worse when I was a child scavenging for food.
The raw meat slid down my throat, the taste of blood filling my mouth, but I didn't flinch. I forced myself to eat, my every movement calculated and slow. When I finished, I wiped my bloody mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at him, meeting his gaze once more.
"It could use more salt," I said, my voice steady.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Quellin smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my stomach turn. "Good girl," he said softly. "A very good girl."
He rose from his seat and turned to the other girls, who were still choking down the last bits of raw meat. "As a reward," he said, "I'll let you decide, Amaris, which of these sisters should be fed to the dogs."
The words hit me like a blow, and the color drained from my face. The three sisters froze, their eyes wide with terror as they turned to me, pleading silently for mercy. My stomach churned, my bravado wavering as their desperation filled the air. I couldn't—I wouldn't—do this.
Quellin's patience was running thin. "Well?" he demanded. "Answer me."
Just as I opened my mouth, struggling to form the words, a voice cut through the night.
"Brother!" The Crown Prince, Evander, stormed into the garden, his face twisted in fury. "Have you no shame? Your depravity knows no limits."
Quellin's expression darkened, and he straightened, his muscles tensing as he faced his younger brother. But Evander wasn't intimidated. He glanced at us—at the girls, broken and humiliated—and then back at Quellin. "Is this what it takes for you to feel powerful? The defiling of innocents?"
For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, thick enough to choke on. Then, Quellin smiled coldly. "You always were the righteous one," he sneered. But the challenge in his brother's eyes was clear.
Without another word, Quellin nodded to the Grey Lady. "Take them back to their rooms," he ordered.
As we were led away, I caught Evander's gaze. He gave me a small, reassuring smile, and I mouthed a silent thank you before the garden disappeared behind us.
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
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Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone