Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

68 - Chapter LXVIII: A Chord in B Minor

Meanwhile...

Sixty feet below the surface of the Oppenheim Den, the second feast of Midsummer Eve was packed to the brim with nearly a hundred souls. Illustrious tapestries on the walls. Twelve grand tables covered in candles and wreaths, lighting the faces of revellers on their way out, while the hungry and the weary came to eat. Every inch of the stone room filled with the smell of mead, ale, blood and the lavish remains of eleven courses that were still being eaten down to the sauce.

The twelfth—or ninth course as it had originally been dubbed—lay untouched as Gustav was refusing to start it. The stag at every table now likely to rot in its juices for if Gustav would not taste it, then no one would. The stag momentarily forgotten as the boar's head from the morning hunt was carried over shoulders and heads into the centre of the feasting hall. Tusks pointing at the head table, its skin glazed to a crisp finish, and a red apple stuck between its jaws. It felt like it was stalking him through the crowd.

More so when Freyja rose to her feet, offering it as a gift to the lord of the feast. The traditional response forcing him to stand, raising his glass to her honour before in turn, offering the kill to his people. All of them responding in turn, accepting his gift...before once again, every eye was on Freyja.

She had pulled out all the stops. Choosing to wear the traditional rural clothing of her people rather than the modern evening gowns of the other women. The bodice and skirt simple, but the colours—red, gold and white—causing her to stand out. The Midsummer garland making her seem like a queen from another age.

The sudden appearance of the rest of the boar, the twelve portions of meat divided on platters, prompting another dirge of activity as Gustav raised a glass, offering a toast to the hunter of the day. It turned out to be the first of four. First Gustav. Then Borya. Then Dante. Then Goar. Like clockwork, one after the other they spoke of her speed, her bravery, her beauty, her accuracy. His role as lord of the feast forcing him to honour the hunter in the same way she had honoured him. So he stood with the rest of the crowd, raised his glass, said something about honour...and drank. Plunked his glass down and sat. Conscious of every eye following his movements. The barest trace of interest in Danielle's scent.

Not jealousy, thank the bloods. Like everyone, she had to have some sense of what was going on in the hall. The number of looks going back and forth between the different tables. Everyone keen to have first rights to the Northern Pass, and Gottfrid likely having made the same offer for Freyja's hand to at least four other pack-leaders. The politics meant to be kept under wraps during the feasting days, but the practice in their blood so much that a simple toast could mean an alliance.

Still...

...he'd made his choice, so there was no sense thinking on the matter until it stabbed him in the back. Even if Allegra kept eying him with some frustration as though she could will him into enjoying himself. For the past forty-eight minutes, she'd been prowling the room, socialising with the other tables. Celebrating with those who were joyful. Commiserating with those who had lost. She was like a salve upon the wounded, her voice, her prowess in the court helping them to forget for a moment why his entire council was refusing to eat stag. A good many of them starting to see Gustav's point of view.

All of them still frustrated by the events of seven years past. His house arrest representing the least of their worries while they dealt with the ramifications of an explosion in the middle of a mortal world. Covers. Transfers. Bribes. A number of them forced to give into the demands of Kraven's death-dealers for the sake of secrecy, while the entire Horde locked itself down into a state of curfew and safety. The tension between exiles and lycans starting to build as the movement of exiles ground to a halt.