HIS RUIN

Chapter 4 — The Banquet of Shadows

The palace had a way of outshining itself on nights of spectacle. Lanterns dangled from carved pillars, spilling light like molten gold across marble floors. Servants, dressed in crimson livery, glided silently with trays of wine that glistened like rubies. Every scent — roasted lamb, cardamom, honeyed figs — was heavy, intoxicating, meant to blur minds into docility. But Ayérí did not come to be blurred. She came to see clearly.She wore green silk that shimmered with each movement, the fabric whispering around her legs. The pearls around her neck were carefully chosen — not too many to tempt suspicion, but enough to announce presence. To anyone else, she was Lady Eshiké: new to court, untested, inconsequential. But in her bones she carried fire, and tonight she meant to see where it might spread

At the high table, Queen Mother Adùnní sat draped in black, her crown glinting like thorns. Her smile was the kind that froze blood in veins. “Lady Eshiké,” she said as Ayérí approached. “We are honored.”“The honor is mine, Your Grace,” Ayérí replied smoothly, bowing low, though her heart pressed against her ribs like a trapped bird.Prince Òsàze sat two seats down, his posture stiff, his fingers wrapped around a goblet as if it alone tethered him to calm. His eyes betrayed him though; they flicked to Ayérí too often, too quickly. He drank but tasted nothing.Around them the hall brimmed with courtiers. Lady Isemide gleamed in amethysts, whispering into Queen Mother Adùnní’s ear with the smugness of a woman who thought herself untouchable. Lord Jubreel bellowed laughter loud enough to draw stares. Foreign envoys, cloaked in silks and suspicion, watched the court with hawk-like intensity, their translators murmuring into their ears.The Oracle, Òbírí, had been given no official seat, yet there he was, leaning on his staff by the hearth as if the fire itself had called him there. Blind eyes, ancient and pale, reflected flickers of flame. He spoke nothing yet, but his silence was more dangerous than any speech.

The food began to flow: roasted quails dusted with saffron, spiced venison, steaming bowls of rice sweetened with cloves. The air thickened with heat and perfume until even breathing seemed costly.When Lord Jubreel rose with his goblet, silence rolled through the room. His voice boomed, too loud, too eager.“A toast!” he cried. “To the crown, steady as stone! And to our Queen Mother, whose will is sharper than any blade.”The courtiers clapped. Òsàze’s lips curled into a thin smile. Ayérí stayed still.Jubreel’s eyes slid to her. “And to our newest jewel in this court. Lady Eshiké, was it? Though one wonders… some jewels shine brighter than their worth.”A low murmur, half laugh, half gasp.Ayérí tilted her head, her voice even. “Even the smallest jewel reflects the sun, my lord — if polished with care.”The court inhaled sharply. Òsàze smothered a grin. The Queen Mother’s fingers tightened on her goblet.The musicians plucked at strings, the sound sharp, brittle. But the tension had already gripped the hall.Servants moved in quiet rhythm, refilling cups, carrying platters. Ayérí’s eyes tracked each hand, each pitcher. In the palace, wine was never just wine — it was power, trust, sometimes death in liquid form.

Midway through the feast, a servant stumbled, spilling red wine across the tablecloth. The Queen Mother’s gaze darted instantly to Ayérí, sharp as a hawk’s.Ayérí’s lips barely moved as she dabbed her napkin on her lap. “A shame,” she murmured, steady as stone, though her pulse raced.The Queen Mother’s smile returned, thin, watching.Lady Isemide leaned forward, her voice dripping with venom disguised as sweetness. “My Queen, it is said newcomers carry luck. Perhaps we should invite Lady Eshiké to draw the first lot for tonight’s entertainment?”The courtiers clapped, eager for mischief.A golden bowl was brought forth, filled with folded slips of parchment. Ayérí’s hand dipped in, her fingers brushing paper after paper. She drew one, unfolding it slowly.Her stomach coiled.The parchment read: “The Betrayer’s Dance.”Whispers rippled across the room. Òsàze’s eyes darkened. The Queen Mother’s smile deepened.A troupe of masked dancers entered the hall, their drums echoing like war beats. They swirled in crimson masks, acting out the tale of a woman who betrayed her kingdom for love — and was executed by fire. The courtiers laughed, clapped, tossed coins, entertained.But Ayérí’s chest burned. This was no entertainment. It was a message. A warning.The Oracle’s staff struck the ground. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The shadow eats the crown,” his voice rang out, jagged, ancient. “And the crown swallows the heart. Beware the banquet. Not all who drink rise again.”Gasps tore through the hall. A few goblets stilled in mid-air. The Queen Mother hissed at the musicians to play louder, but the words already bled into the marrow of every guest.Ayérí raised her goblet, deliberate, slow. She met the Queen Mother’s eyes across the table. And she drank.The silence cracked into a roar of nervous laughter, as if the court could swallow fear by noise. But the Queen Mother’s gaze lingered on Ayérí, sharp as steel.Later, as dishes were cleared, something shifted. A servant collapsed, the tray clattering across the floor. Wine spilled, staining the marble black. Murmurs rose, fear threading through the hall.Ayérí’s pulse quickened. Was it poison meant for her? Was it warning, or accident?The Queen Mother’s lips parted in a smile that promised blood. Òsàze pushed back his chair, rising, his hand on his sword. The Oracle only tapped his staff again, once — the sound echoing into the night.The banquet continued, laughter forced, wine bitter. But no one would forget the sight of the fallen servant.And when the last candle guttered out, the Queen Mother’s eyes still burned into Ayérí’s back like fire.The game had begun, and the shadows were already choosing sides.