Set Your Sails...to Atlantis || Peter Pan, OUAT

Chapter Four - A Banquet of Betrayal

 ~ Davina

The guard reattaches my shackles the moment I meet him in the doorway, whilst one of his colleagues confiscates my sword from my hands. Before I can protest, they hold me firmly by my arms, and begin pulling me down more narrow corridors. Eventually, the corridors widen and become even more extravagant, the doors themselves almost stretching from floor to ceiling. My feet barely have time to touch the ground as I'm pulled along, which doesn't even give me a chance to try and break free. So I let them escort me, partially ready to make my move the second an opportune moment arises, but partially curious to hear what he has to say.

Finally, we come to a set of large, floor-to-ceiling doors, inlaid with powered blue panelling with a gold rose in the centre of each square. The guards shove me towards the doors, and I almost stumble on the plush carpet.

"Careful boys, you'll ruin this...expensive outfit His Majesty has gifted me," I joke.

I dust myself down from their filthy hands, the chains jangling aggressively loudly in the silent hallway.

Two other guards open both doors simultaneously to reveal an overly spacious dining room, decorated with heavy golden curtains and paintings lining the walls. An extravagant banquet is laid out before us, stretching from end to end of the dining table, and only four chairs prepared for guests. Guards stand with bayonets at every entrance - or exit, depending on how you look at it. Everywhere I look, my eyes are assaulted with poor choices of wealth. The King clearly likes to show off his status as monarch, and it's not like anyone can stop him from doing so. I just wish he did it in a more tasteful way. Even the chair I'm pushed to sit down into has been covered with muted gold silk on the cushions, and gilded with gold on the frame. I'm sat down the far end, to the right of the King, where his chair, bordering on a secondary throne, sits much larger than rest, and across from another chair similar to mine. Down the other end of a table, another chair waits for an occupant, glittering in the window that spans almost from floor to ceiling. Despite these large windows, the room is dark, and the candles with their large flames provide barely any light. To my surprise, the guards leave my shackles as they are. I thought they would have bound me to the chair, but instead, they push the chair closer to the table, and take their leave.

I sigh. Why is it always me getting into these messes?

Every movement makes me flinch, my muscles tensing until I feel as though I've turned to stone with the silence that fills the cavernous room. I can't even hear anything that might be occurring behind the closed doors. If there is anything - what if this is a trap? Even the guards won't meet my gaze as I scan around. I couldn't imagine anything worse than having to stand still and stare into the distance for hours on end every day. I'd much rather be battling a storm than being paid to pretend to be brave.

With an abrupt click that echoes throughout the dining room, two guards pull the doors behind the King's seat open, a small army of soldiers spilling through with bayonets in hand, and then His Majesty himself waddles in, flanked by more guards with those ridiculous powdered wigs and embroidered garb. The soldiers fill the room, standing to attention behind my seat and the chair that faces the King's. I stand, huffing and rolling my eyes as I push myself up and offer a half-hearted curtsey as the King joins me at the table. He is dressed in more garish gold, his hands covered by layers of lace adorning the cuffs and collar of his jacket, and buttons threaten to fling themselves across the room against the strain of his stomach. Is the banquet to be shared or...?

He pauses as his seat, and then flops down rather ungracefully.

"George Augustus, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, Arch-Treasurer and prince-elector of the Holy Roman Empire, King of Great Britain and Ireland," his herald announces.