Later in the night, everyone was invited off the ship to attend a banquet with the King and his people.
The hall was vast and the table stretched endlessly, laden with delicacies that Northern himself had never imagined existed. There were what looked like crabs but weren’t exactly crabs—they were rather squishy, and one’s teeth just sank into them, spilling juice that tasted like honeyed wine. Roasted birds glazed with sothing iridescent. Steaming bowls of broth that slled like morning fog over a forest. Bread that was sohow both crispy and impossibly soft.
The ceiling arched high above them, painted with murals of loongs and ancient warriors whose nas had probably been forgotten centuries ago. Lanterns hung from chains, casting warm golden light across the faces gathered around the table.
Northern sat near the head, positioned deliberately—close enough to the King to speak, far enough to not seem presumptuous. A careful calculation. The kind of distance that said ’I belong here’ without saying ’I think I’m your equal’.
Sael, along with everyone else, was seated three places down. They had apparently decided that diplomacy ant eating everything in sight. Nyssira alone had already gone through what Northern estimated to be her body weight in food and showed no signs of stopping.
"You’re going to rupture sothing," Northern comnted idly.
She didn’t even look up. "Impossible." She shoved another handful of sothing purple and gelatinous into her mouth. "Besides, when’s the last ti we had food that wasn’t dried at or whatever Shae burned?"
"I heard that," Shae said from across the table, though he didn’t seem particularly offended. He was picking at his plate with more restraint, eyes occasionally flicking toward the Ryugan guards positioned near the walls.
Ellis sat beside him, looking relaxed and free of all burden as he enjoyed the food delicately.
Sael was examining a piece of fruit with the intensity of soone trying to determine if it was poisonous or rely ugly. "This has teeth marks," he announced.
"It’s supposed to," one of the Ryugan servants clarified gently. "The Biting Pear. A delicacy."
Sael stared at him.
Then at the fruit.
Then ate it anyway.
Northern’s mother sat further down with Silver, conversing quietly with one of the Ryugan noblewon who seed utterly fascinated by the baby. Shin remained on the ship—Eisha had refused to let him attend, citing that if he coughed up blood at a diplomatic dinner, it would "set a bad precedent."
Northern couldn’t argue with that logic.
The King of Ryugan sat at the head of the table. His son—Prince Rieran, the one who had fallen for the Empire’s obvious bait—was notably absent.
Northern suspected that was intentional. A father’s quiet punishnt, perhaps. Or simply sha kept behind closed doors where foreign eyes couldn’t witness it.
"You eat little for soone who requested this feast," King Ruger observed, his voice carrying the practiced neutrality of a man who had learned to say nothing while appearing to say sothing.
Northern set down his chopsticks. "I find that overeating before difficult conversations dulls the mind."
"Difficult conversations." The King’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile. "Is that what this is to be?"
"That depends entirely on you, Your Majesty."
The ambient noise of the banquet continued—Nyssira’s enthusiastic chewing, the clink of cups, murmured conversations between Ryugan nobles and Northern’s companions—but there was a subtle shift. A sharpening of attention from those close enough to hear.
Northern t the King’s gaze directly.
"I want land."
King Ruger blinked. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that.
"Land," he repeated.
"A territory. Not particularly large. Sowhere with defensible terrain, preferably. Access to water would be nice but isn’t essential. I can work with barren if necessary."
The King’s eyebrows rose slightly. "You want to grant you territory... in Ryugan."
"Yes."
"And in exchange?"
Northern leaned back in his chair.
"In exchange, when the Reimgard Empire marches—and they will march, Your Majesty, we both know this—you’ll have sothing they don’t expect. Sothing that will make them reconsider their tiline. Their strategy. Possibly their entire campaign."
"And what would that be?"
Northern smiled. It wasn’t a particularly warm expression.
"."
Silence settled over their end of the table.
Then King Ruger laughed—a short, sharp sound that held more exhaustion than humor.
"Indeed. Indeed." He nodded slowly. "Lord Northern, you alone would be a significant addition to our ranks." His expression shifted, sothing guarded sliding into place. "But you can’t be too certain I’m even considering war."
Northern frowned.
"So you intend to give up without a fight?"
King Ruger looked down for a mont, then smiled. It was a smile that Northern did not like—a smile of weakness disguised as sacrifice.
"I rely put my people first..." He breathed slowly. "It burns my heart to watch my people die."
Northern kept his expression neutral, but sothing cold settled in his chest. The words sounded noble on the surface, but beneath them was sothing else entirely. Sothing that bordered on childlike. Naive.
But the man was still speaking.
"I’m sure you noticed Roma is not here tonight. Nor her brother. The other three princes have not been around either."
Northern nodded, paying close attention.
"It’s because the Prince and Princess are nursing their sick mother. The three princes... they’ve been searching for a cure to her disease, using the connections we have with Caevlyn Citadel. But they’ve been hitting a dead wall."
He spoke wistfully now, his voice losing the practiced cadence of a king and becoming sothing rawer. Sothing more human.
"Roma had also run away from ho, for the sa reason. Tracing a certain stimulant in order to find the source so she could identify the origination of the disease. But the disaster at Lithia overshadowed so many things. I had to prioritize her safety."
The man smiled coldly, painfully, and looked away from Northern.
"Lord Northern... I’m a very selfish man. I love my country." A pause. "But I love my wife more. If giving Ryugan to the Empire will stop unnecessary death and give more ti to care for my wife... I’m willing to do that."
He sighed, the weight of it audible.
"I’m unfit to be King, Lord Northern."
Northern stared at him, genuinely dumbfounded.
’He doesn’t have the will to fight. Not because he’s weak—because he’s already grieving. He’s chosen his wife over his kingdom, and he’s made peace with that choice. He’s not asking for my help. He’s explaining why he won’t accept it.’
The realization hit him like cold water.
’This is a crisis.’
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