A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Heart Kingdom]

[Pulchritudo]

[Banquet]

Hearing the constant stream of insincere praise was finally beginning to wear Gretel down.

At first, she had found it mildly amusing, then it had become repetitive. Now, after standing there for what felt like far too long, she was beginning to wonder whether listening to the same empty compliments over and over again might actually be more exhausting than whatever they had come here to accomplish.

Gretel had eventually given up on trying to remain close to the crowd. She had chosen instead to lean against the wall a short distance away, arms loosely folded as she watched everything unfold from the side.

Nothing of note was happening.

If anything, the entire gathering seemed to follow the same predictable pattern. A wealthy-looking man or woman would approach the Duke with a carefully prepared smile. They would offer some compliment about his wealth, his banquet, his influence, or some other aspect of his reputation. The Duke would respond with a few words of his own, usually accompanied by a laugh or some smug little remark.

Then everyone around him would laugh, even when nothing funny had been said. Then another person would step forward, and the entire process would begin again.

Gretel’s silver eyes had become increasingly dry as the minutes passed.

("Honestly, they might manage to bore me to death before I even get the chance to do anything.") She suppressed another sigh and shifted her weight against the wall. ("Aren’t they getting tired of this yet?")

Apparently not, the nobles surrounding Duke Bluebeard continued to wear eager expressions, each one seemingly desperate to establish some kind of relationship with a man whose influence and wealth clearly made him worth courting.

Some were subtle about it, and others were not. Gretel could practically see the calculation behind several of their smiles. It was clear they were not here because they particularly liked the Duke. They wanted something from him, whether that be connections, money, protection, or influence. Perhaps all of the above.

And the Duke seemed perfectly aware of it. Oddly enough, he did not look particularly enthusiastic about most of the people speaking to him. There was a small weariness around his eyes, and his responses had become increasingly automatic, yet he still entertained them.

More than that, he seemed to enjoy the attention despite his apparent fatigue. Gretel watched him for a moment longer, trying to understand the contradiction.

("So you’re tired of them, but you still like being surrounded by them.")

She could not decide whether that was simply how wealthy people behaved or whether the Duke himself was simply a strange man. Before she could settle on an answer, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

"Oi, Gretel."

Gretel blinked; the voice was pleasant enough and familiar enough that she recognized it immediately.

Her silver eyes shifted toward the sound; Ella was approaching. That alone was not surprising; what was surprising was that she was not alone. Gretel’s eyes moved past Ella and settled on the considerably taller figure walking beside her.

A man wearing a golden mask, Gretel’s brows drew together. Of all the things she had expected to see during this banquet, Ella casually walking around with an unfamiliar man had not been particularly high on the list. And the fact that the man was wearing such an elaborate mask did very little to make the situation seem normal.

Ella continued toward her without any visible concern, her steps unhurried. The raven-haired girl came to a stop a few paces away.

The masked man stopped with her; Gretel’s gaze moved between them. She waited, but Ella seemed perfectly comfortable, and the stranger was equally composed.

Finally, Gretel’s curiosity won.

"Who’s this?" Her eyes briefly shifted toward the man as she asked, studying his golden mask and imposing height.

Ella answered as casually as if she were introducing someone she had known for years.

"This here is Hermes. He’s a Royal Guard, and apparently he’s buddies with the Duke."

Gretel froze.

"Huh?" Her eyes widened, for a brief moment; they nearly seemed to bulge out of her head before she managed to regain control of herself. She could stop herself from reacting physically, but she could not quite stop the look of surprise that crossed her face.

Her eyes returned to the supposed Royal Guard.

A Royal Guard, someone that was not merely a soldier or some minor noble’s personal guard.

A member of the Queen’s Royal Guard.

And Ella had apparently decided that the appropriate way to handle meeting one was to walk around with him as though there were nothing remotely unusual about it.

Gretel slowly looked back toward Ella, then toward Hermes and then back toward Ella again. Her expression said everything she did not bother asking aloud.

’What the hell are you doing with this guy?’

The masked man gave a small, courteous nod.

"Hermes Trismegistus. A pleasure." His introduction was short and formal, accompanied by nothing more than the slight inclination of his head.

Gretel immediately straightened from the wall.

"Y-yes. A pleasure." She cleared her throat, trying to recover some of the composure that had vanished the instant Ella had introduced him; her gaze returned to the girl.

There was no mistaking the question in it or the four questions in it. As in just what the hell was she doing? Why was she with a Royal Guard? And how did this even happen? And, perhaps most importantly, why are you acting like this is completely normal?

Ella merely shrugged, a small movement. As if she had not just been walking through the banquet beside a powerful Royal Guard who directly served the Queen.

Gretel slowly exhaled through her nose.

("Of course.") She had expected Ella to somehow turn an ordinary situation into something complicated, but she had not expected her to somehow make a Royal Guard look ordinary.

Her silver eyes shifted toward Hermes once more. He remained silent, his golden mask concealing whatever expression might have been beneath it. That made the entire situation even more difficult to read.

Gretel folded her arms again, though this time the gesture was less relaxed than before.

"So that’s the Duke, huh?" Ella asked.

Her red eyes shifted toward the seated man at the center of the gathering, taking him in for only a few seconds before the interest in her expression seemed to disappear entirely. There was no admiration in her gaze, no curiosity, and certainly none of the awe that surrounded him from nearly everyone else in the room.

"He’s way less interesting than I imagined," she added, her tone dismissive. "After everything I’ve heard, I was expecting someone a little more noteworthy." She turned her attention back toward Trismegistus, her expression remaining relaxed. "You’re really pals with someone like him?"

Trismegistus did not appear offended by the wording.

"Scholars rarely choose their friends," he replied, folding his hands neatly behind his back as he continued standing beside her. His voice retained that measured, somewhat formal quality that seemed almost habitual. "Sometimes friendship is not the deciding factor. Sometimes circumstances simply place certain people in convenient positions, and one learns to make use of what is available." He paused briefly. "Some things merely fall into a convenient place."

Ella stared at him for a moment.

"Just say he’s convenient to have around." There was no hostility in her voice, though there was an impatience with the unnecessary wording.

Trismegistus gave a small chuckle beneath his mask.

"Yes, I suppose being blunt would save us both some time." He inclined his head slightly, considering his own words. "Perhaps my age has simply made me accustomed to dressing simple thoughts in unnecessarily elaborate language."

"You just want to sound fancy," Ella stated.

"Perhaps."

The answer was so simple that Ella’s expression barely changed.

Gretel, however, continued staring at the two of them.

Her brows remained furrowed.

There was something deeply strange about the interaction.

If she did not know any better, she would have assumed Ella and Trismegistus had known each other for years. They spoke too casually with one another. There was none of the stiffness Gretel would have expected from someone standing beside a Royal Guard, and Trismegistus seemed perfectly willing to tolerate Ella’s bluntness without taking offense.

Ella, for her part, did not appear particularly impressed by his position. She spoke to him as though he were simply another person and not a member of the Queen’s personal guard. Or one of the most trusted soldiers in the Heart Kingdom.

Just some man she happened to be walking beside.

And Gretel knew that could not possibly be the whole story.

That was what bothered her.

("Ella of all people being like this?")

Gretel watched the raven-haired girl carefully.

Ella’s expression was unusually relaxed. There was none of the irritation or distant moodiness Gretel had grown accustomed to seeing from her. Even her posture seemed looser than usual.

It was almost unsettling.

("She’s usually so moody.") Gretel’s gaze briefly drifted downstair. Ella had separated from her and Paimon earlier, all to no doubt stuff her face with chocolate. ("Maybe it was because she ate sweets.") The thought lingered. Gretel’s expression became somewhat thoughtful. ("Is that really the way to temper her?")

She almost found the idea absurd; then again, after everything she had witnessed today, she was beginning to think very little was impossible.

Gretel slowly shook her head.

("The more one knows...")

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