A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Heart Kingdom]

[Pulchritudo]

[Banquet]

Reaching the third floor had been surprisingly easy, far easier than Gretel had expected.

She had spent much of the ascent waiting for someone to stop them. A guard stationed halfway up the stairs. A locked doorway. Some kind of magical barrier restricting access to the upper sections of the estate. At the very least, she had expected the security to become noticeably heavier the higher they climbed.

Instead, there had been nothing. She had not experienced any resistance or questions coming in her way.

No one had even bothered to ask where she was going.

The people around her simply continued upward as though reaching the third floor was an entirely ordinary part of attending the banquet.

Gretel found that almost more concerning than encountering guards would have been.

("Either they really don’t care who comes up here, or they’re confident enough in whatever their security is. So I guess they don’t need to worry about who goes where.")

She kept that thought to herself as she reached the top of the staircase.

The third floor was even more extravagant than the lower levels, though the difference was not immediately apparent because there was considerably less decoration. The walls were still immaculate, the floors polished to look almost excessively clean, and the furniture placed throughout the open halls was clearly made for people who considered ordinary luxury beneath them.

Yet there was more space between everything. As in there were fewer tables, servants, and people. It gave the upper floor a strange sense of exclusivity, as though the estate had gradually narrowed its attention toward the people considered important enough to be here.

That number, however, was steadily increasing.

More and more nobles were arriving, drawn by the same purpose as Gretel; they wanted to speak with the Duke.

Gretel slowed as she reached the edge of the growing crowd and eventually stopped several paces away from them.

She did not attempt to force her way closer; for now, watching was enough.

And it was immediately obvious who the Duke was.

There was no need for anyone to point him out.

He had claimed an enormous white couch positioned in the center of the room, lounging upon it with the comfortable attitude of a man who had never once questioned whether he belonged at the center of attention.

The man himself was rather portly, dressed in a finely tailored blue suit that extended into long tails behind him. Golden thread had been worked throughout the fabric in elaborate patterns; that alone seemed expensive. A white frill surrounded the collar of his shirt, adding another layer to the extravagance of an outfit that already seemed designed to announce his wealth before he ever opened his mouth.

His graying black hair had been carefully slicked back from his face, while a full beard covered his jaw.

The beard, Gretel noted absently, was not blue.

That seemed almost worth mentioning considering his name. Though Gretel realized how silly that train of thought was halfway.

She shook her head slightly as she focused back on him.

His hands were covered in golden rings; there were several. Each finger seemed to carry some piece of jewelry, some bearing gemstones while others were made entirely of gold. Around his neck rested several thick golden necklaces stacked over one another, each chain more elaborate than the last.

Gretel’s eyes lingered on them for a moment.

Even without knowing their exact value, she could tell the jewelry alone represented an absurd amount of money.

Enough, perhaps, to fund an entire town.

And the Duke wore it all as casually as another man might wear a simple necklace.

There were two young women sitting beside him.

Both were beautiful, both blonde, and both possessed striking blue eyes. Their clothing consisted of thin blue robes that exposed their toned stomachs and legs.

One held a plate of grapes and fed them to him one at a time, and the other held a golden goblet for him. The Duke appeared perfectly content with their attention; more notably, he seemed to have no concern whatsoever about the audience watching him.

Both of his hands rested on the women’s rears as though their presence there were the most natural thing in the world.

Gretel’s expression barely changed.

("Ugh.") Her eyes shifted away. ("I wouldn’t want to be in that position.")

She did not dwell on it; there was little point.

Instead, she focused on the people surrounding the couch.

They were practically falling over themselves to gain the Duke’s attention.

"Duke Bluebeard," a brown-haired nobleman began, offering a broad smile as he inclined himself slightly toward the seated man. "I must say, this is an absolutely exquisite banquet. The sheer variety alone is remarkable. So many imported delicacies, it must have cost you a fortune to arrange all of this."

"Indeed," a woman beside him added, her voice carrying a forced warmth. She gave the Duke a sultry smile. "I cannot even begin to imagine the expense involved. Though, of course, for a man with pockets as deep as yours, perhaps it amounts to little more than a generous gesture."

"Truly," another man said quickly, eager to contribute. "You have outdone yourself, Duke. I have attended many lavish gatherings, but this is something else entirely."

"Indeed."

"Absolutely."

"Quite remarkable."

"An unforgettable evening."

The praise continued with one voice after another. Compliments stacked upon compliments, each person trying to sound sincere while making sure the Duke heard exactly how impressed they were.

Gretel watched them; none of it sounded genuine. There was a forced quality to their voices. Every smile looked carefully made and very compliment seemed chosen with the expectation that it would eventually be rewarded.

The Duke appeared perfectly comfortable in the middle of it.

"Yes, yes," he finally said, lifting one hand as though trying to calm the chorus around him.

His voice was deep and gravelly, carrying easily through the gathering despite the relatively relaxed way he spoke.

"It was quite the hefty sum, I won’t deny that."

One of the young women lifted another grape toward his mouth; he leaned forward and accepted it without hesitation, chewing slowly before continuing.

"The teleportation devices throughout Pulchritudo alone were not inexpensive. Bringing everything here required a considerable amount of preparation, after all." He swallowed and settled back into the couch. "But I wanted this to be a special evening." His gaze wandered lazily across the banquet. "For the Princess." He paused, then gave a low chuckle. "Though, alas, our little Princess seems rather too shy to mingle with everyone."

A few people laughed softly.

Gretel’s eyes narrowed by the smallest amount.

"Too shy" did not sound like something the Duke actually knew. It sounded more like something he had decided was convenient to say.

"I am certain Her Highness appreciates all of this immensely, Duke," one of the nobles quickly assured him.

"Yes, I’m sure she does," another agreed.

The Duke smiled.

"I would certainly hope so." He reached for the goblet held beside him, taking a slow drink before continuing. "Even I don’t enjoy spending money without reason. I wanted the evening to have some purpose." He chuckled after saying it, apparently finding his own remark amusing.

The nobles immediately followed, and laughter spread through the group.

Obviously it was not because the statement had actually been funny; it was because the Duke had laughed.

Gretel watched the reaction in silence.

A man would say something mildly amusing, and everyone would laugh. Someone would compliment him, he would respond, and they would laugh again.

It was almost mechanical.

Her head tilted slightly.

("Is this really how nobility acts?") She looked from one face to another.

There were so many smiles and agreeable nods.

So many people are saying precisely what they thought the Duke wanted to hear.

("They’re all so insincere.")

Her attention returned to the Duke; he seemed completely at ease. More than that, he seemed to genuinely enjoy the attention. He leaned back against the couch, surrounded by expensive clothing, expensive jewelry, servants, and people competing for the privilege of speaking with him.

("And the Duke just seems to like being praised.")

There was something almost disappointing about it.

Gretel had heard enough about the man to imagine something more imposing. Maybe someone who was more calculating or whose influence would be immediately apparent the moment she saw him.

Instead, the Duke seemed painfully ordinary, though he was certainly not harmless. A man did not acquire this much wealth and influence by accident. But there was nothing particularly mysterious about him or anything immediately frightening. Nothing that made Gretel think she was standing in front of some extraordinary figure. He simply looked like another wealthy man who had accumulated enough power to surround himself with whatever he wanted.

Gretel’s silver eyes remained fixed on him for another few seconds.

("I don’t know what exactly I expected.") She folded her arms loosely. ("But it wasn’t this.")

The thought lingered as another noble stepped forward to offer the Duke yet another compliment. Gretel remained where she was, watching quietly and waiting for an opportunity to approach.

For now, the first impression was underwhelming.

Painfully so.

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