"I think the king is going to be fucking dead soon."
Valeria dropped the sentence into the middle of dinner as casually as one might comment on the weather.
The words did not simply land.
They detonated.
For a brief moment, the only sound on the terrace was the faint clink of silver against porcelain and the distant murmur of the lake and river below. Even the twin moons seemed to hang still in the sky.
"Lady Valeria!" Arina snapped, her chair scraping sharply against stone as she straightened. "You must not speak of His Majesty like that!"
Her voice rang across the terrace, sharp and indignant, and the atmosphere shifted yet again—like a blade being drawn halfway from its sheath.
Elena and I, however, did not react outwardly. We continued eating, slow and deliberate. My spoon moved through the glossy black risotto, lifting grains stained like midnight. Elena tore a small piece of bread, dipping it lightly before taking a calm bite.
But our eyes and ears were attentive.
Valeria swirled her wine lazily, amber eyes glinting behind her ivory half-mask.
"He is not "our" king," she replied smoothly. "I am an independent lord. Remember?"
She sipped her wine as if she had merely corrected a minor social misunderstanding.
"Even so," Arina pressed, her voice tight with emotion, "he is still the merciful king of Hyfelt. You should not speak of him in such a disgraceful manner!"
She reached for her vodka and downed another glass in one determined motion, as if liquid courage would steady her argument.
"Merciful?" Valeria's tone sharpened ever so slightly. "You should ask him"—she gestured lightly toward me with her glass—"how the kingdom's royalty handled the pox plague. And the goblin infestation."
Her eyes turned toward me fully now.
All three women looked in my direction.
I set my spoon down.
"They handled it badly," I answered simply.
There was no embellishment. No anger. Just truth.
Valeria smiled in satisfaction.
"Yes. Exactly. They handled it very badly. Damn them and their royal incompetence."
She continue.
Arina froze, then something shifted inside her.
"Yes! They handled it terribly!" she burst out suddenly, slamming her glass down with surprising force. "People died because of their delays! Entire villages abandoned! Damn the royalty!"
It was such a sharp reversal that I nearly dropped my spoon.
A moment ago she had defended the king.
Now she was cursing him louder than even Valeria, Still I don't know why my anwser affect her opinion that's much.
The tension that had coiled tightly around the table loosened—but not into calm. It transformed instead into a loud, heated unraveling.
Voices overlapped.
Wine flowed more freely.
Vodka flowed even more.
Complaints surfaced one after another.
High taxes levied on commoners and nobles alike.
Royal officials demanding payment even during famine.
Plague quarantines enforced too late, too harshly, or sometimes not at all.
Court laws bent around royal blood so frequently that they barely functioned as laws anymore.
Trade restrictions imposed without understanding local economies.
Military drafts demanded while goblins still roamed unchecked.
Most of it, though angry, was understandable. Political frustration. Noble dissatisfaction. Grievances layered over years.
Then Arina spoke again.
And this time, the tone changed.
"They are a bunch of aliens who stole our land!" she shouted, her words slightly slurred but fierce. "Incestuous half-blooded tyrants!"
Her vodka glass struck the table with a hollow thud.
The word lingered.
Alien.
"Wait," I said slowly, brow furrowing. "Alien?"
Every pair of eyes except Elena's turned toward me.
The expressions on their faces were almost identical—surprise, confusion, perhaps even suspicion.
"You… don't know?" Valeria asked carefully.
Elena chewed her bread calmly before speaking.
"Sir John mentioned he suffered memory loss after surviving the plague," she said, voice steady. "It would be helpful if you two explained the origin of the monarchy to him."
Valeria and Arina exchanged a glance.
Then they both nodded.
Arina leaned forward first, though she paused to refill her vodka before beginning.
"Thousands of years ago," she started, "this land was chaos. Warlords everywhere. No unity. Constant fighting."
She took another drink.
"Then the fae came."
Valeria continued where Arina's explanation wavered.
"They descended from beyond the mythical forests, magical and powerful"
"They united the land," Arina added, gesturing with her glass. "Not with diplomacy. With magic."
"They conquered, yes," Valeria corrected softly. "But they also reorganized. Built cities. Established structure."
"They mingled with the natives," Arina said bluntly. "Bred with them. That's how the royal line began."
Valeria nodded once.
"The royal family are half-fae. Half-elf, to be precise. Not fully immortal. Not fully elven. But long-lived. Gifted."
"And humans," Arina muttered, "cannot use magic."
"But they can," Valeria finished.
I leaned back slowly.
"So the only reason people respect them," I said, thinking aloud, "is because they wield magic humans cannot."
"Precisely," Valeria replied.
"And because they live long enough to consolidate power over generations," Elena added quietly with a nod.
I considered this.
Then the thought left my mouth before I fully processed it.
"Then why don't we just kill them and replace the crown with a human one?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any before it.
Arina's face drained of color.
"Wh-what you just said… that is straight up rebellion," she whispered.
Elena shifted slightly, unease breaking her usual composure.
"I may not favor the idea of half-fae rulers," she admitted, "but open rebellion would drown this land in blood."
Valeria set her wine glass down carefully.
"And without proper claim to the throne" she added calmly, "No noble would support you"
She folded her hands on the table. "Besides. The old king is already dying." She continue.
The table fell quiet again.
We all waited.
I was the one who broke the silence.
"How do you know he is dying?"
Valeria's expression changed.
The playfulness faded.
Her voice lowered.
"The last time I had an audience with the royal family was years ago. I was negotiating Venetia's independence."
Her amber eye seemed distant for a moment, recalling.
"The king was already ill, pale and weak. He barely spoke."
"The princess handled negotiations," she continued. "Not the prince."
"The prince is the heir, isn't he?" I asked.
"Yes," Valeria replied. "But he is… unstable and maybe an idiot, he called the idea of city independence 'beneath royal dignity.'"
"So he refused to attend," I said.
"He dismissed it entirely," Valeria corrected. "Which is why his younger sister took control."
"And she granted your independence?" I pressed.
"Yes."
"In exchange for?"
Valeria smiled slowly.
"In exchange for clearing a significant portion of the kingdom's debt."
She paused deliberately.
"And?"
All three of us leaned forward slightly.
"And," she said, savoring the moment, "my financial support in the coming civil war."
The word settled over the terrace like frost.
Civil war.
The twin moons gleamed overhead.
The starry skies were twinkling.
And suddenly, dinner felt very small compared to what was coming.