The morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the Astraia palace corridors, yet its warmth was utterly unable to dispel the chill enveloping Constantine Soren’s new physical form. His footsteps sounded soft against the marble floor, which was slightly cracked in several places. Behind him, Seraphina walked with her head bowed, her hands trembling violently beneath the sleeves of her maid’s uniform. Constantine marched with his back straight, ignoring the ache that still throbbed along his spine. The princely garments he wore felt a little loose on his thin frame, yet he wore them with the elegance of an emperor about to oversee a battlefield.
The air around the main dining hall began to carry a scent; a blend of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the fragrant incense usually burned to welcome the king. However, to Constantine, those aromas only masked the stench of betrayal that filled the atmosphere of this palace. He stopped directly in front of the double oak doors guarded by two soldiers in dull bronze armour. Both soldiers stared, their jaws nearly dropping at the sight of the figure who should have been a corpse now standing before them with a sharp, piercing gaze.
"P-Prince Constantine?" whispered one of the guards, his voice shaking.
Constantine did not reply. He merely stared at the guard with a look so cold that the man immediately looked away and hurriedly pushed open the great doors. The doors creaked wide, revealing a vast room with a long dining table in the centre. There, the atmosphere that had been filled with low laughter and the clinking of cutlery suddenly fell silent.
At the end of the table sat King Alaric. The man looked older than Constantine’s blurred memories suggested, with a face beginning to sag from excessive wine consumption and worldly pleasures. To his left and right sat the royal consorts in shimmering, colourful silk gowns. One of them, a woman with fox-like eyes and heavy makeup known as the Grand Consort, appeared to hold her wine glass with a hand that suddenly froze in mid-air. Her once-triumphant face turned deathly pale, as if she had just seen a ghost rise from the grave.
"Good morning, Father. Good morning, distinguished ladies," Constantine’s voice echoed through the silent room.
His voice was calm, flat, yet possessed a resonance of authority that the third prince of Astraia had never owned before. Constantine walked slowly toward the empty chair prepared for him in the middle of the table, directly opposite the Grand Consort who had poisoned him the night before. Every step he took felt like the tolling of a death bell echoing in the heads of everyone present.
King Alaric set down his fork awkwardly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his son. "Constantine? I heard word from the servants that you were gravely ill last night. They said you would not be able to stir from your bed."
Constantine pulled out his chair with a smooth motion, making no annoying screeching sound. He sat calmly, leaning back while staring straight at the Grand Consort, who was now beginning to break into a cold sweat beneath her white powder.
"That word was indeed true, Father. Last night was a very long and exhausting night for this weak body of mine," Constantine replied with a thin smile, one that did not reach his ice-cold eyes. "Someone seemed to care for me deeply enough to send a very potent concoction to my chambers."
The Grand Consort tightened her grip on her wine glass until her knuckles turned white. "What do you mean, Prince? You should be grateful you can still stand here rather than speaking of nonsense before His Majesty the King."
Constantine ignored the comment. His eyes were now fixed on the porcelain plate before him, which contained cuts of venison and fresh vegetables. On the other side, in front of the Grand Consort, sat a similar plate recently served by the palace staff. A heavy silence blanketed the dining table. The other consorts exchanged anxious glances, while King Alaric appeared confused and slightly uncomfortable with the sudden tension.
Without saying a single word, Constantine reached out his slender hand. With a movement that was relaxed yet full of psychological pressure, he slid his own plate toward the centre of the table, then reached for the Grand Consort’s plate.
"Last night’s concoction left my tongue feeling a bit dull," Constantine said casually. "It seems your plate looks far more appetising, Grand Consort. You do not mind if we exchange meals, do you? As a token of gratitude for my miraculous recovery."
The Grand Consort’s face turned from pale to a sickly green. Her eyes darted wildly toward the plate now sitting in front of her—the plate Constantine was supposed to consume. She knew perfectly well that her trusted servant had sprinkled something onto Constantine’s plate before the banquet began, a follow-up dose to ensure the prince truly died if the previous night’s poison failed.
"You... you are being disrespectful, Prince!" the Grand Consort shrieked, her voice slightly shrill with panic. "How dare you switch food in the presence of His Majesty the King! It is an insult to my status!"
King Alaric frowned, looking at his son with displeasure. "Constantine, stop this jesting. What are you doing?"
Constantine did not shift his gaze from the Grand Consort for a second. He took his silver fork and twirled it elegantly. "Jesting, Father? There is nothing funny about a son’s hunger. Why does the Grand Consort appear so terrified? Is there something in this food that makes her not want to eat it?"
"Do not speak such rubbish!" The Grand Consort bolted from her chair, her hands trembling so much that the wine in her glass spilled slightly onto her fingers. "I feel insulted! Your Majesty, look at how coarse your son is being!"
"Eat," Constantine said shortly.
The word was not a request, but an absolute command he used to give when passing death sentences in his past. The pressure of the aura emanating from Constantine’s body suddenly surged, as if the air in the room had abruptly become heavy and difficult to breathe. The Grand Consort gasped; she felt as though she were being stared down by an ancient predator ready to tear her throat out at any moment.
"Eat this piece of meat, Grand Consort. If this is just ordinary food, why must you scream like someone being paraded to the gallows?" Constantine continued, stabbing a piece of meat on his new plate—the consort’s original one—and thrusting it toward the woman.
The Grand Consort took a step back, her breath coming in gasps. She glanced toward King Alaric, hoping for protection, but the King himself seemed transfixed by the drastic change in the personality of his son, who had always been known as quiet and timid. The other consorts held their breath, some beginning to realise that something was very wrong at this dining table.
"Enough!" King Alaric slammed his hand on the table, making the cutlery clatter loudly. "What is the meaning of this? Constantine, give that plate back!"
Constantine turned slowly toward his father. The look in his eyes made King Alaric fall suddenly silent. There was an authority there that far surpassed the title of king he held in this small realm. "Father, if she is innocent, she will eat it without hesitation. But look at her now. She trembles as if this plate contains a deadly poison. Is that not highly suspicious?"
The Grand Consort could no longer withstand the pressure. She felt her heart thumping so hard that her ears rang. She knew that if she ate that meat, she would be dead within minutes. Yet if she refused, she was admitting her crime before the King.
"I... I feel unwell! I must leave!" the Grand Consort cried out, turning and running out of the dining room with frantic steps, leaving the atmosphere at the table in a silent chaos.
Constantine placed his fork back onto the plate with a soft clink that sounded remarkably clear in the quiet room. He did not chase her. He did not need to chase her now. The fear he had planted was enough to slowly dismantle her position. He then took a piece of bread from his original plate—which now sat before the Grand Consort’s empty chair—and examined it closely before setting it down.
"It seems my appetite has truly vanished now," Constantine said, standing up calmly.
King Alaric stared at his son with an expression difficult to decipher; a mixture of fear, confusion, and disbelief. "Constantine... what happened to you last night?"
Constantine looked at his father, then swept his gaze toward the other consorts who were now looking down, not daring to meet his eyes. "Only an epiphany, Father. I realised that in this palace, it is better to be a feared wolf than a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. If Father will excuse me, I still have several matters to attend to."
Without waiting for his father’s permission, Constantine turned and strode out of the dining room. Seraphina, who had been standing stiffly in the corner of the room, immediately followed him with quick steps. As soon as the door closed behind them, Constantine could feel the tension inside that room break into panicked whispers.
Constantine walked down the corridor with a steady stride. His first strategy had been successful. He had not only survived, but he had openly declared war against those who tried to poison him. He had intentionally not executed the Grand Consort right then and there; he wanted the woman to live in terror every time she saw Constantine’s shadow in this palace.
"My Lord," Seraphina whispered once they were far enough from the dining room. "That was... truly extraordinary. However, the Grand Consort will surely find another way to seek revenge."
Constantine stopped for a moment and turned toward Seraphina. The morning sunlight illuminated his pale face, giving it an impenetrable coldness. "Let her try, Seraphina. Every step she takes now will only tighten the noose I have placed around her neck. However, right now I need something more important than the affairs of those women."
"What is that, my Lord?"
"Information," Constantine replied shortly. "I need to know what has happened to the world while I was 'asleep'. I need to know Valerion’s position and what Elara is doing now."
Constantine continued his pace toward the royal library. He knew that to take back his world’s throne, he could not rely solely on intimidation at a dining table. He had to understand the new political map and devise a long-term plan to destroy his old enemy who was now at the pinnacle of power. His new form might still be weak, but the tyrant’s soul was now fully awake and ready to swallow anyone who dared stand in his path back to the obsidian peak once more. This morning banquet was merely the appetiser for the blood feast he was soon to serve in Astraia. He walked with a lethal confidence, leaving behind an aroma of fear that would continue to haunt every inhabitant of the palace throughout that day.
Aksara