The dining tables were arranged as meticulously as any other Hall. Above, a sweeping mural spanned the entire ceiling, a dazzling tapestry of color and myth that depicted the eight kingdoms. Creatures embodying each kingdom's ancestry—a griffin soaring, a massive, skeletal wolf baring its teeth, a leviathan coiling—were painted mid-motion.
Daniela tilted her head, admiring every inch of the room. The ceiling alone was a sprawling beauty she could lose herself in for hours and still not perceive every detail. The table itself was exceptionally long, a seemingly kilometer-long stretch of polished wood. Massive candelabras cast flickering light onto gorgeous flowers and an unsettling, interesting grass that looked covered in fresh blood, yet somehow appeared opulent in this setting.
The jade-green floors, a shade as vibrant as her own eyes, gleamed, polished to a mirror finish. At the very end of the hall, a floor-to-ceiling glass window and balcony offered a dizzying view of the ocean. Tiny ships dotted the water, ropes securing them to distant docks. Large, impossible creatures that couldn't be typical whales crested out of the waves only to dive back into the depths. Birds, some as large as a person, circled under the beautiful night sky that stretched for an eternity.
This was what Daniela loved about this place. It was Wonder personified. Anyone who loved fantasy and ethereal beauty would be touched by the imagery. Nothing was left to chance. The walls were lined with carved stones bearing etchings of ancient script that glowed with a soft, internal light, illuminating the space while giving it an intimate, sacred feel.
The current ruling King and Queen sat in the two seats at the head of the table, their posture regal and unwavering. They were followed by the other Kingdoms, each represented by a Prince who sat next to their parents. The Prince's chosen Princess was placed on their right, until the seating reached the remaining single Princesses, who could choose their own seats—closer to power or further away. It all depended on each woman's quiet, unspoken goals.
Josephine, Daniela's personal attendant, pulled out the chair next to Jasper's. She bowed her head deeply, her skin crawling at the sensation Jasper was emitting. He was a tightly coiled spring of dangerous, aggressive energy, the kind that silently warned of a brutal retaliation for imaginary offenses.
Once her Princess was firmly in her seat, Josephine gave her a gentle, steadying push toward the table and retreated to the back of the hall with the other maids.
"You have managed to capture quite a few Princes!" Queen Griselda's voice was the first to slice through the heavy silence, an edge of brittle humor in her tone. She didn't name Daniela, but everyone knew to whom she spoke. There was only one formidable Princess this year, and she was the most unexpected flower of all. A sharp, pretty thing, but clearly not of true noble blood, Griselda thought with a dismissive downturn of her lip, glancing at Daniela's simple, though beautifully tailored, gown.
Jasper, seated rigidly beside Daniela, found himself gripping his knee under the table, his knuckles white. The Queen's grating voice, the sudden rustle of silk as a King shifted in his chair—it was all an auditory torment. Every second spent here was a second wasted, an hour further from the private conversation he desperately craved with the woman beside him. Get on with it, he thought, his jaw clenching.
Daniela didn't look up, instead choosing to let her gaze drift along the ceiling, as if lost in the architecture—which, in truth, she partially was. It was beautiful. To look up would be to acknowledge the Queen's presumptuousness in expecting the girl who had drawn all the eyes was herself. It was much more fun this way.
Griselda's blood simmered at the perceived disrespect. She leaned forward, the scraping sound of her chair against the polished floor sending a jolt of pure irritation through Jasper. "Are you so bored as to ignore a Queen Daniela!" she demanded, her voice rising.
Hiding a small, secretive smile, Daniela turned a face of complete, innocent confusion toward the Queen. "I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty," she said, her voice lilting and deceptively soft. "I had not known you were speaking to me. I thought everyone here was quite formidable, and I did not know you were singling me out. I thank you for your praise." Daniela held the vengeful eyes of the Queen without flinching. Kingdoms were not friends; everyone was in competition, bearing visible and invisible grudges. As Deacon was not a Prince she was even mildly interested in, she had no reason to care about his parents' ire.
Across the table, Dahlia shared a look with her husband, King Michael. In this single interaction, she instantly understood why their son was so enamored by Daniela. She was just like him: complete, unadulterated trouble and utterly lacking in respect. It was a combination that would surely always capture their son's dark attention. He would burn the world if he could, and worse, he wouldn't even regret it, Dahlia mused, observing the fire in Daniela's quiet defiance.
Michael patted his wife's hand, trying to calm her. It was not outside the realm of possibility for Jasper to have skewed, unexpected tastes. Not that he could blame him, Michael thought, feeling a thrill of appreciation for Daniela's audacity. If his son was rather generous with his affections, he would soon know exactly how devious this little girl was.
The food arrived quickly. Each Princess's attendant, like Josephine, placed the plate before her. The Princes, Kings, and Queens had their own dedicated staff who brought out their varied meals.
They all waited, a heavy, uncomfortable quiet settling over the hall, for the King to take his first bite. The moment he did, a wave of scraping cutlery and quiet, forced conversation erupted. Jasper flinched, the cacophony a dull, throbbing headache behind his eyes. The clinking of silver against porcelain, the soft, wet sounds of people chewing, the muffled polite coughs—it was all an irritating barrier between him and his goal.
Daniela noticed that the food given to each person was vastly different. The women had more traditional, identifiable cuisine. For the men, however, it varied wildly. She observed that Prince Landon and King London's plates held raw meat, not just uncooked, but with fur and skin still intact, bones and all. Each looked like an entire leg of an ox.
The Vampire King had an assorted plate of rare, bloody meats and a large goblet she could only assume was blood. Prince Eric's plate was vastly different, holding meat that looked lightly grilled, alongside a large stemmed glass of wine that was likely mixed with blood. His tastes seemed to lean toward a more human presentation. He caught her eye as she looked at his plate and smiled, and in that moment, she knew this was a pretense. He had engineered his plate to look more human for her benefit, hoping to draw her in with silly notions of a similarity that didn't exist.
Deacon and his father were only given wine, their plates completely devoid of food, making her wonder if shades even ate anything at all.
Prince Miguel's plate was by far the most intriguing. She had wondered if he would take off his bone mask to eat, but he didn't. The lower part, which she had assumed was solid bone, was actually just his mouth. His lips, like polished bone, pulled open to expose sharp, animalistic teeth as he bit into meat that she knew was of his own kind. He ate like a delicate little cannibal, she thought, a spark of dark amusement in her jade eyes.
Then there was Jasper, rigid next to her. His food was identical to her own. She knew this had to do with his actual diet. He didn't need traditional food to gain strength; intimate contact was enough. This was merely water, a pretense. His parents' plates were nearly the same, though his mother opted for some cooked meats.
"Eat!" The word fell from his mouth like a chilling hiss, sharp and low enough only for her to hear. He needed to be out of this hall, and she hadn't touched a single piece of food yet.
Picking up her silverware, Daniela cut small, precise bites. She ate her steak with relish. Every few bites, she would sigh, her breath growing deep and heavy, her eyes fluttering closed just a little bit, as if to savor the exquisite taste.
In truth, the steak was perfectly average, but the joy of making these Royals uncomfortable—of performing a display of indulgence that was utterly vulgar by their standards—was delicious. After a lifetime of being tortured, why not have a little fun? Bite after bite, she enjoyed herself immensely until half of her food had been finished.
She already felt full, having eaten much more than she regularly would. In her previous lives, food had always been a careful balance: too much and she'd get sick; too little and she'd lack the stamina to run away. Fighting with a full stomach was always deadly.
"I'm done!" she declared, speaking over the polite, hushed dinner murmurs. She had finished her food far faster than any of the other women, who were taking the world's smallest bites, striving to look demure and classy. She had simply indulged.
Jasper pushed back his chair, the legs screeching sharply on the polished floor—a sound that only intensified his already frayed nerves. He stood to his feet, just as rigid as when the dinner began. He hadn't moved his hands from his lap or eaten a single bite, choosing instead to listen to the agonizing, irritating sounds and watch Daniela groan and sigh through each mouthful. He felt slightly more relaxed now; he had sent out a piece of his soul earlier. That part of himself had feasted and violated one of the maids, leaving her bathed in his essence and her own blood—a surprise for the next person who would walk into the room. She hadn't lasted long, but it was enough to sate him, to give him the clear mind he always seemed to need when dealing with Daniela.
Josephine was about to move to pull out Daniela's chair, but Jasper's icy glare kept her glued to the wall. He pulled the chair back himself, the movement quick and jerky, lacking any gentlemanly tenderness.
Daniela chuckled softly at the abrupt, rough way Jasper handled the chair. It was intriguing to meet someone from a time of magic and Regency who lacked all sense of chivalry. He was rough, like a boar prowling through the forest, breaking everything in sight. Nothing about him was delicate or refined, beyond the dark edges of his looks.
Smiling, she stood up, preparing to leave the oppressive hall with him.
"Princess Jaden, shall we walk?" Eric's voice was smooth, a velvet threat in the air. He smiled and held his hand out for Princess Jaden. Every word the demon spoke to his princess, Eric would hear. He wouldn't let the two out of his sight. Ultimately, if Jasper thought he could take Daniela from him, Eric would kill them both.
The fork suspended before Jaden's lips paused as her eyes flicked up to Prince Eric. She was still eating, having barely had four bites. Swallowing down her protest, she quickly rested her fork on the table and wiped her lips.
"Yes, Prince. I am quite full," she blushed, allowing him to take her hand, pulling her up from her chair. He rested his hand on her lower back as he directed her from the hall. She felt instantly honored that he wanted to spend time with her so quickly—that he couldn't even wait for the meal to properly conclude. She would gladly miss the meal for his company.