Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

66 - Chapter LXVI: The Eve of Midsummer

Four months later.

It was a week before Midsummer Ball, and there was a hum in the Oppenheim Den. Most members of the Lycan Council had been arriving since the previous morning, some by carriage, others by underground passageways. Each pack-leader was allowed to bring a contingent of at most twenty, including decoys—creatures whose sole purpose was to provide cover for their respective leaders—save for the few who either did not care or no longer had the numbers to care.

For example, instead of decoys, Auguste had brought his chef and an additional staff of twelve to help bolster the kitchen ranks. This would have been less than problematic if Benoit had not had the same idea. The second of the chefs unfortunately relegated to the rank of sous-chef, but the insult still simmering. Hence the reason he—the most notorious leader ever to rule the lycan horde—was now standing at the doorway to a piping-hot kitchen, forced to review what had to be the most ridiculous menu he'd seen since the sixteenth century.

It was insanity.

There were twelve courses. Each course offering a pottage, a selection of meats, breads, vegetables, a side of spiced blood, and a specific blood-wine for those who were partaking. They were serving swan, peacock, hawk, pheasant, beef, mutton, venison...he had lost count. A part of his brain still trying to grapple with what the bloody hell he was doing in a kitchen in the week before Midsummer. But according to Allegra, both chefs outranked his housekeeper, he outranked both Auguste and Benoit, and most unfortunately, Raze was not arriving until the actual day, therefore it was up to him—he would say again, him—the master...of the blood-forsaken lycan horde, to review the menu...

...and approve it.

The majority of the food coming across as a dirge to rival a budgetary council meeting. The chefs providing detail about their respective courses, each voice going on and on in French as the one would sweep his hand, perfectly balanced, along the paper from line to line...followed by the other. The seventh course would be swan stuffed with the carcasses of six other birds (goose, mallard, chicken, partridge, pigeon and a woodcock), the eighth course would be smoked eel served with devil's milk, the ninth course would be the cat of nine tails. The tenth course would be...

Lucian jerked out of his reverie and raised two fingers, stopping both men short. "Cat of what?"

"Nine tails, sir." Both chefs had somehow merged into a scent of pride. "It is a..." The two chefs were for once, looking at one another without any animosity, the two of them nodding as though—yes, they could agree on this one thing. "...highlight of the new cuisine."

"A highlight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Elaborate."

The Parisian chef indicated the fireplace. "We begin with the animal—purebred of course—fed only milk, chicken and fish for its lifetime. The creature is skinned, marinated in its own blood, and roasted over the fire. It is then portioned into nine sections, each of which is served on a bed of wild salmon paired with asparagus and a sauce vierge."

He snapped his fingers for the menu.

The chef handed it to him. Each line item paired with a symbol. An indication of the den whose cuisine was being honoured.

Gustav.

He frowned, tapping the back of the menu with the same two fingers, thinking it through. Blood, the man had to have found out somehow. And insulting him was not the ideal way to start the festivities. Thinking, thinking, thinking. His fingers flicking in time to the clock...