Chapter 229: The disaster at the banquet

The night of the official banquet was quite suffocating. Alaric had tried to be

polite

to the delegation as per customs, but he spent every moment wishing he hadn’t done it.

Why? Because of the disaster that unfolded.

The dining hall had been scrubbed of its usual rough, Northern character and draped in the heavy silks of diplomacy, but the air remained freezing.

Julian sat at the high table, and beside him were Alaric—who looked as though he were ready to snap his silver fork in half—and Lucius. Lucius was right in the center for both men to care for.

Then, as for the rest of the table, it was very much a guest list that felt like a death sentence.

On one side was Purifier Elian, looking ethereal in his pristine white robes, and on the other side was Prince Zane, who had arrived in a storm of gold embroidery and sandalwood incense.

He just didn’t know when to quit it with the peacock lifestyle.

"Tell me, Priest," Zane drawled, his voice a melodic, mocking purr. "I’ve heard rumors in the South about the ’Purity’ your kind cherishes so dearly. They say that a high-ranking member of the Holy Empire doesn’t even have red blood in his veins—that if one were to cut your stomach open, your insides would be white. Is it true? Or do you bleed like the rest of us common sinners?"

Julian’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He felt a sharp frown pull at his brow. The conversation was growing morbid and entirely inappropriate, especially considering the small, attentive figure sat between him and Alaric.

"Prince Zane," Julian said, his voice carrying a warning edge. "This isn’t the place for such talk."

He glanced down at Lucius, expecting the boy to be frightened or uncomfortable. To his surprise, Lucius wasn’t cowering.

Instead, the child was leaning forward, his chin resting in his palms, his wide eyes darting between the Prince and the Purifier with an intense, unblinking fascination.

He looked like a child watching a new kind of cartoon with so much fascination.

What did he even like about seeing these grown men argue?

Elian didn’t look at Zane. He didn’t even acknowledge the threat in the Prince’s words. He simply took a slow, deliberate sip of water—never wine—before setting the glass down with a soft clink.

"The ’white’ you hear of is not the color of our flesh, Prince Zane, it is the color of our soul," Elian replied, his voice calm and smooth as falling snow. "It is the absence of the stains that men like you wear as jewelry. We do not drink wine because we do not seek to drown our clarity. We do not fear the blade because we know that the vessel is temporary, while the Light is eternal."

Zane let out a sharp, jagged laugh.

"Eternal. How terribly exhausting." He mocked. "I prefer a vessel that can feel the heat of a good vintage and the silk of a warm bed. But I suppose a marble statue wouldn’t understand the appeal of actually being alive."

"Being alive and being awake are two different things," Elian countered.

He finally turned his gaze away from the table, his pale blue eyes landing on Lucius. His expression softened into something that looked like genuine kindness, yet it made the hair on the back of Julian’s neck stand up.

"Is that not right, Young Lord? You seem like a child who is very much awake."

Lucius blinked, a small flush creeping into his cheeks, and his fingers idly tracing a pattern on the tablecloth that looked suspiciously like a crooked cross.

"He cannot speak, so do not expect a response," Alaric stated. The fork he had successfully bent lay on the table like a discarded tool, and he picked up his wine to drink.

"What is your point?" Julian asked.

Elian tilted his head slightly, his silver hair shimmering in the firelight. He seemed regretful that he had not known the fact that the boy was mute, but knew he held no sins, as he was oblivious, so he did not speak on Lucius’s matter further.

Instead, he stated his point.

"My point, Saint, is that children are the only ones among us who truly possess a pure soul. They are innocent. They are very much awake as they are alive, unburdened by the weight of the world’s sins. That is the state we seek for ourselves—to bring our souls back to that absolute, pure purity. It is a journey to return to the beginning."

As Elian spoke, his eyes remained fixed on Lucius, as if he were observing a specimen of holy potential rather than a child.

Alaric’s hand gripped the edge of the table until the wood let out a long, pained groan.

The muscles in his forearm bunched under his sleeve. To Alaric, Lucius wasn’t a metaphor for purity or a spiritual goal; he was his son, and he would not have him used as an example in a priest’s philosophical game.

Julian felt the temperature in the room plummet. He could feel the vibration of Alaric’s fury through the table, and he knew that if he didn’t intervene, the Duke would do more than just bend silverware.

"I believe this is enough for tonight," Julian stated, his tone professional and final.

He placed a hand on Lucius’s shoulder, a grounding touch that pulled the boy’s attention away from the silver-haired priest.

"Lucius has classes early tomorrow morning, and we should probably retire now."

Alaric didn’t wait for a second invitation. He stood up, his heavy chair scraping across the stone floor with a sound like a snarl.

"The North is a place of rest for some, and work for others," Alaric growled, his voice a low, heavy rumble. "See to it that you find yours, Purifier."

As Julian stood up, he could feel Elian’s eyes following him—not with anger, but with a patient, terrifying expectation.

Just what did he want?

Zane, on the other hand, had his eyes burning with a frustrated, competitive heat—he hated that he couldn’t rattle the priest.

Sigh.

I feel exhausted just thinking about how their characters don’t mix.

How long will they stay for anyway?

Alaric was holding Lucius in his arms, the boy’s head resting against his father’s broad shoulders as the food digested in his stomach.

He loved his father’s arms so much. They were warm, big, and sturdy. But it didn’t mean he didn’t like Julian’s arms any less.

Then, Alaric turned to Julian and asked,

"Are you okay?"