The Feast

by Rowan Bree

  You hold the necklace to your chest. The stone feels warm against your skin—alive, even. A deep foreboding fills you.

  “Tonight?” you ask.

  “The feast,” Vale replies. “And our chance to secure the Order’s hold over the king and his kingdom. Do you want to see a bit of the new world you’ve helped me create?” he asks, a dark gleam in his eye.

  You feel a sudden desire to run, followed by a sensation like needles in your body. You can’t even flex a finger. Vale must be controlling you with his magic.

  Vale looks at you expectantly.

  You nod and follow him from the room, unable to do anything else.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  He leads you out a narrow service entrance to a garden hidden in the middle of the castle. It is more like a wood than a proper garden, however, the king having let it run wild in the time since the queen’s death. The stars and moon are barely visible through the canopy above, and thorny brambles have begun to crowd the stone path to the large stone gazebo in the center. You are so overwhelmed by the wildness of the place that you fail to immediately notice the signs that you are not alone in the garden.

  Vale pulls you behind a crumbling stone statue as something large and hoofed stalks past.

  “By completing the ritual and opening our world to the Old Ones, we have allowed their children to roam free here. These creatures follow no masters but their own dark natures. They may be our kin, but they are not to be trusted.”

  Something rustles in the bushes.

  “Look there. You will understand.”

  You pull back some branches to see a pale young woman lying there, her nightgown hiked up around her thighs. A small humanoid creature laps at her pussy with its long thick tongue.

  You look away.

  “Let’s not linger,” Vale says, “There’s more to see.” He moves off towards the gazebo.

  Follow Vale.

  Don’t follow him.

  PART III: MERCY FOR YOUR SINS

  The underground corridor seems to stretch on forever in front of you. Behind you lies Jasper’s hideout, and in front of you the unknown. Jasper squeezes your hand reassuringly.

  “We’re almost there,” he says.

  “Where?” you ask.

  He smiles and points ahead “We’ve got an appointment with a dressmaker who’s going to be very angry that I haven’t arrived yet.”

  Jasper stops abruptly, reaches up to the ceiling and pulls down a hatch door. A wooden ladder unfolds in front of you and you follow Jasper up, finding yourself in a dusty basement full of bolts of the finest fabric you have ever seen.

  Moments later you are standing in a dress shop with a gnome-like old woman fussing over you. She pulls a tape measure from her sleeve and proceeds to take your measurements, squinting at the numbers through her small round glasses. When she gets to your waist she stops. “Clothes off, dear,” she says.

  You glance towards Jasper who grins at you and shrugs.

  “Is there somewhere I can undress?” you ask. In the harsh light of the dressmaker’s shop you are feeling a bit bashful.

  The old woman tuts. “We’re already working on borrowed time as it is, dear. If the rogue sneaks a peek I’ll use my sharpest shears on his nethers.”

  Jasper turns away and busies himself with examining the delicate lace dress on the window mannequin in front of him. You undress and the old woman finishes her measurements.

  “Lucky for you, I’ve got a cancelled order that nearly fits your size. All I have to do is put on the finishing touches. It’s the best I can do on such short notice. But it’s a real head-turner and I’m sure you’ll look lovely in it.”

  The woman winks at you and disappears into another room. In the blink of an eye she is back with a dress of black and midnight blue, with long sleeves and a deep neckline.

  “Gods be glad someone in this town has the same measurements as you.”

  The gown fits beautifully. Jasper turns around as you struggle to do up the back.

  “Let me,” he says, hooking the clasps that hold the back together. His fingers graze your skin, sending tingles up your neck.

  “I want you,” he whispers into your ear.

  The old woman loudly clears her throat and Jasper goes to the counter to pay for the dress. You can still feel the lingering energy from him in the air around you.

  Back out on the street, Jasper circles his arm around your waist.

  “I know a shortcut,” he says, pulling you towards a narrow gap between buildings. “It will keep us away from the busy thoroughfares. Less chance of any of the Order’s monsters catching us.”

  It’s hard to feel safe in the capital anymore, but you trust Jasper. He seems to have a sixth sense for knowing when the monsters are nearby.

  As you leave sight of the main street Jasper pulls you into a kiss.

  “I though we had to be careful,” you say.

  He grins. “I’m being careful. All the creatures will be drawn to the castle. We’re safer out here.”

  You make a face but kiss him back anyway. Jasper’s tongue tastes faintly of peppermint leaves as you make out on the dark street.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

  You bite his lower lip and he moans.

  “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  He does his best to be delicate with your fine dress but you can tell he wants more.

  You tease him. “I’m sure that’s what you say every time.”

  “No,” Jasper pants. “I’m usually the one in control. But with you—“ You grind your hips against his and feel his growing arousal. “—I’m completely under your spell.”

  Voices drift through the night as guests make their way to the castle. The loud clatter of hooves reminds you of how close the street is. Jasper seems to be holding himself back, so it’s up to you whether or not you dare go further.

  Keep going.

  Stop.

  PART III: THE INNER CIRCLE

  Guests are streaming into the great hall as you enter the castle.

  “That’s the prince of Ollvyn.” Vale points out a serious man with dark curly hair. “He is a friend of ours. I’ve been working on him all week. He has already allied his lands to ours, and finds the changes we’ve brought to the realm most welcoming.”

  You still can’t believe Vale has brought you to the king’s feast. He has told you this is an important chance for the Order to make some valuable allies. The king of Tyven is key, but he alone will not be enough to secure the support of the kingdom.

  There is a commotion at the front doors opposite the great hall. The guards are furiously trying to block the entrance while onlookers watch in mixed horror and disgust.

  “Please let me in! I have an invitation! The king is expecting me!” Through a break in the crowd you see a horribly disfigured woman being driven back by the points of the guards’ swords. There is a large, writhing lump on her back with protrusions that wrap around to the front of her body. The guards poke at one of the protrusions and it extends towards them, then the whole lump detaches. You realize that it wasn’t a disfigurement at all but a separate entity. The creature looks like a mix between a spider and a goblin, humanoid in shape but with too many limbs. It challenges the guards with a hiss.

  A third guard hurries towards them from the hall. He starts to close the doors.

  “What are you doing?” one of the door guards asks.

  “The king said to close the doors. No more guests. We can’t risk any more of the creatures getting in.”

  The woman continues to plead to be let in even as the doors close on her. A final few other guests manage to slip in at the last moment, including the spider-goblin whom no one seems to notice. Vale chuckles as it skitters past you and up the stairs.

  “Vermin,” Sybil tuts.

  The great hall is a little emptier than you would have expected, no doubt due to the ki
ng’s decision to close the doors early. Even so, the vast tables are lively with food, drink, and fine nobles being boisterous as fits a celebration such as this.

  Vale touches the small of your back as he nods to an acquaintance, an elderly man swathed in indulgent silk robes. The man’s eyes roam over you, appraising and approving. You feel like the highest of royalty standing next to Vale. If only everyone knew what part you played in creating this new world.

  A serving girl passes with a tray of wine glasses. You reach for one but Vale stays your hand. “I have a job for you,” he tells you. He pulls you to the side where it is quieter. “The Order is hosting our own more private party upstairs. I need you to invite a few select nobles to join us. The more we can sway to our side the better, but be wary of those who might not be so sympathetic to our cause. Sybil is around if you need her, but don’t trust her too dearly.”

  “Where will you be?” you ask, your heart sinking at the thought of being alone for the feast.

  Vale smiles. “I’ll be attending the festivities upstairs. But don't worry, kitten. You can join me as soon as you’ve done your job. Just be sure to come upstairs when the bell strikes the next hour. I’ll need you by my side for something very special.”

  He leaves you standing alone and uncertain amidst the festivities of the feast. The king is at the far end of the hall at a special table on a dais. His son sits beside him, shy but already red-cheeked from the ale. Recruiting the king of Tyven is better left to others, you think. You cast your gaze around the room for an easier target.

  Sitting much closer is a more portly man in rich robes, his sausage-fingers stuffed into a multitude of gleaming golden rings. He waves his hands wildly trying to get the serving staff to notice him, but unfortunately their attention is being drawn elsewhere. He swears at the young man at his side, his ward or page, “Shit-eating simpletons! You’d think they should know how to properly treat a duke!”

  Unfortunately for the duke, he has some stiff competition. Sitting further down is a tanned, bare-chested Adonis of a man already surrounded by a flock of beautiful women all vying for his attention. The maidens among the serving staff are doing their best to catch his eye as they ply him with food and drink. He accepts the food politely, smiling at each in turn. You are keen enough to notice the subtle looks of embarrassment as the women run their hands along his fine muscles to try and coax a response out of him.

  You weigh your options. While the duke might be an easy target—the kind of man who would jump at the chance to feel special—the shirtless hunk might be a smarter ally. He has the same sort of magnetic charm that Vale does, making him useful for further recruitment. But he will also be harder to sway, and if you fail you risk Vale’s disappointment in you.

  Approach the duke.

  Approach Mr. Popular.

  You follow Vale to the gazebo. He presses his finger to his lips for you to keep quiet as you approach.

  “Thought you’d sneak a peek did you?” A woman in a beautiful gold dress and black lace emerges from the dark gazebo. “Well you’re out of luck. I’m not so base as to indulge those creatures. I was only enjoying the night air and the glory of the new world.”

  Vale sucks in a breath. “Sybil,” he says.

  Her smile is sickly sweet. She runs a hand down Vale’s cheek. Jealousy burns inside of you. Why can she touch him? Vale told you he can’t touch anyone directly unless the Old Ones are possessing his body. Was he lying to you?

  He swats her hand away.

  She touches his chest, undeterred. “There’s no need to fear a jealous ex,” she croons. “He’s long gone by now. Though who knows? Maybe he’ll be at the feast.”

  Vale scowls. “Did you get her dress and invitation?”

  Sybil withdraws her hand. She looks hurt. “Yes, I did. They’re right there,” she nods back towards the gazebo. “You don’t know how hard it was. The old dressmaker took forever and charged me an arm and a leg, and then the castle wanted to know why we needed another invitation. They are already suspicious of us. I don’t like giving them more reason for doubt. Is she really worth all this trouble?”

  Vale replies dismissively, “The sacrifices you’ve made for our Order will be immortalized in song. And yes I do believe the woman who opened the portal to the Old Ones deserves to be treated with the utmost care. But now we must go to the feast.”

  He touches the small of your back. “Go get dressed, kitten.”

  You go into the gazebo and find the dress you are meant to wear to the feast. Long creeper vines shelter the structure from outside view so you do not feel vulnerable stripping down to get dressed. The gown is a midnight blue with black embroidery, with long sleeves and a deep neckline. It fits you perfectly. You slip the invitation under the neckline of your dress and exit the gazebo.

  Vale comes to take your arm. “You look exquisite,” he says. “Truly.”

  You ignore the feeling of Sybil’s jealous eyes boring into your back as you head towards the feast. Guests are streaming into the great hall as you enter.

  “That’s the prince of Ollvyn.” Vale points out a serious man with dark curly hair. “He is a friend of ours. I’ve been working on him all week. He has already allied his lands to ours, and finds the changes we’ve brought to the realm most welcoming.”

  There is a commotion at the front doors opposite the great hall. The guards are furiously trying to block the entrance while onlookers watch in mixed horror and disgust.

  “Please let me in! I have an invitation! The king is expecting me!” Through a break in the crowd you see a horribly disfigured woman being driven back by the points of the guards’ swords. There is a large, writhing lump on her back with protrusions that wrap around to the front of her body. The guards poke at one of the protrusions and it extends towards them, then the whole lump detaches. You realize that it wasn’t a disfigurement at all but a separate entity. The creature looks like a mix between a spider and a goblin, humanoid in shape but with too many limbs. It challenges the guards with a hiss.

  A third guard hurries towards them from the hall. He starts to close the doors.

  “What are you doing?” one of the door guards asks.

  “The king said to close the doors. No more guests. We can’t risk any more of them getting in.”

  The woman continues to plead to be let in even as the doors close on her. A final few other guests manage to slip in at the last moment, including the spider-goblin whom no one seems to notice. Vale chuckles as it skitters past you and up the stairs.

  “Vermin,” Sybil tuts.

  The great hall is a little emptier than you would have expected, no doubt due to the king’s decision to close the doors early. Even so, the vast tables are lively with food, drink, and fine nobles being boisterous as fits a celebration such as this.

  Vale touches the small of your back as he nods to an acquaintance, an elderly man swathed in indulgent silk robes. The man’s eyes roam over you, appraising and approving. You feel like the highest of royalty standing next to Vale. If only everyone knew what part you played in creating this new world.

  A serving girl passes with a tray of wine glasses. You reach for one but Vale stays your hand. “I have a job for you,” he tells you. He pulls you to the side where it is quieter. “The Order is hosting our own more private party upstairs. I need you to invite a few select nobles to join us. The more we can sway to our side the better, but be wary of those who might not be so sympathetic to our cause. Sybil is around if you need her, but don’t trust her too dearly.”

  “Where will you be?” you ask, your heart sinking at the thought of being alone for the feast.

  Vale smiles. “I’ll be attending the festivities upstairs. But don't worry, kitten. You can join me as soon as you’ve done your job. Just be sure to come upstairs before the bell strikes the next hour. I’ll need you by my side for something very special.”

  He leaves you standing alone and uncertain amidst the fes
tivities of the feast. The king is at the far end of the hall at a special table on a dais. His son sits beside him, shy but already red-cheeked from the ale. Recruiting the king of Tyven is better left to Vale, you think. You cast your gaze around the room for an easier target.

  Sitting much closer is a more portly man in rich robes, his sausage-fingers stuffed into a multitude of gleaming golden rings. He waves his hands wildly trying to get the serving staff to notice him, but unfortunately their attention is being drawn elsewhere. He swears at the young man at his side, his ward or page, “Shit-eating simpletons! You’d think they should know how to properly treat a duke!”

  Unfortunately for the duke, he has some stiff competition. Sitting further down is a tanned, bare-chested Adonis of a man already surrounded by a flock of beautiful women all vying for his attention. The maidens among the serving staff are doing their best to catch his eye as they ply him with food and drink. He accepts the food politely, smiling at each in turn. You are keen enough to notice the subtle looks of embarrassment as the women run their hands along his fine muscles to try and coax a response out of him.

  You weigh your options for who to go for. While the duke might be an easy target—the kind of man who would jump at the chance to feel special—the shirtless hunk might be a smarter ally. He has the same sort of magnetic charm that Vale does, making him useful for further recruitment. But he will also be harder to sway, and if you fail you risk Vale’s disappointment in you.

  Approach the duke.

  Approach Mr. Popular.

  You follow Vale to the gazebo knowing that you would have been forced to obey him anyway. He presses his finger to his lips for you to keep quiet as you approach.