The Feast

On the Princess' orders, Elodie summons the servants, who are quick to load the table with food and drink. If the meagre meal of soup you had shared with the King had been unexpected for a kingdom of great wealth like Sinnabarrow, this was more in line with what you had envisioned.

There were plates full of roasted meat, beef, pork and venison, oranges, pineapples and other fruits from the Amazon Islands and further afield, sliced and extravagantly arranged. Delicate little sweetrolls piped full of chocolate and topped with a sprinkling of sugar.

Libations flowed freely as well, wines and other spirits, as well as some non-alcoholic mixtures, which Madeleine was currently favouring, on the advice of Ben Swain.

“Any chance of an ale?” Donald asked, surveying the options provided. Madeleine scoffs.

“Really, Donald. I know, I know it's a Beathan tradition, like annihilating people with war axes and dying of exposure, but I do wish you wouldn't drink that fucking swill. It's so... common. You'll be a King any day now, you should act like it!” Madeleine insists.

“Perhaps we will take up wine as our sup o' choice.” Kara reasons. “When there's a vineyard capable of producin' a bottle in the Beathan climate.”

“Ah, perhaps.” Madeleine says, resigned. “Ellie, have the help see if there's any ale to be found. More wine for the rest of us, I suppose.”

“Ah, speaking of which, Edward, you must try the wine. I had it specially imported from Itheria. From the personal vineyard of Lady Alanna Florence.”

Your goblet filled, you take a sip. Sure enough, it's the taste you remember from her vineyard growing up. And from sharing with your advisor more recently during your amorous entanglements.

“Perhaps we should all try some?” Madeleine decides. On cue, servants fill each diner's cup. Madeleine looks down at the crystal goblet, before placing her hand over the rim.

“Just to clarify... she doesn't use magic to make this stuff, does she?” Madeleine asks, a look of genuine concern crossing her countenance.

You shrug.

“As far as I can recall, everything's done by hand.” you tell her.

“Capital.” Madeleine responds. “I simply do not trust mages. Duplicitous mountebanks who'll promise you the moon but fail to deliver, every time. I apologise Edward, I know you and Lady Florence are close, and perhaps she's different, I don't know the woman personally. But still-” Madeleine rambles.

“I spent a month with some elven vinomancers on my travels.” Ben chimes in. “but I'll be buggered if I can remember any of the specifics.”

Her curiosity satisfied, Madeleine takes a swig of the wine.

“Ah, that's definitely not produced with any advanced techniques.” the Princess notes. “Actually something of a relief. So, what was I saying?”

“The topic of magic, Your Excellency.” Marguerite Tournesol intones.

“Of course!” Madeleine continues. Despite herself, she takes another sip of her wine. "I think my dislike of magic must stem back to what happened to Francois. After my brother's... crossbow accident, I remember asking our magical advisor at the time, why he couldn't just heal Francois's damaged brain or stop him from slipping away from us with a spell. The bastard sorceror just leaned down and told me things were far more complicated than that. Bah, more like he didn't have the right goat's entrails or a powerful enough demonic familiar to do anything." Madeleine stews morosely.

"Perhaps that event was what led to your... academic interests, Excellency." Ben intones, trying to salvage the conversation after Madeleine's turn.

"Oh yes, undoubtedly." Madeleine nods, taking a swig of apple juice. "Alchemy, Botany, Anatomy... the natural sciences may not produce fireballs, or armies of the undead, but they are based in consistent and replicable processes."

"Do you spend much of your time in study?" You ask.

"Practically all of it!" Madeleine enthuses. "Well, until recently. I'm my father's sixth child, his youngest, and his only girl, of course. The idea of me being his heir had always seemed the most remote possibility imaginable. Then dear Arno had his accident and, suddenly... well, here we are." Madeleine explains. "I don't have much time for my little indulgences anymore. Instead, Chancellor Bistodeau is always consulting me on this, instructing me on that, having me sign what have you... To tell the truth, I simply never wanted to be Queen." Madeleine admits.

Madeleine sits glumly for a moment, staring down at her plate.

"But I'm being a terrible host! Such illustrious company deserves merriment." Madeleine says, doing her best to perk up. "Benjamin, fetch your lyre. We'll have music with our wine! Why, I know just the song you can play." Madeleine smiles wickedly.

"Does Your Excellency mean Jarl Hjordis' Defeat?" Swain asks, his tone guarded.

"Gods yes!" Madeleine says, unable to contain a giggle as her eyes flick from you to Donald. "I'm sure some of our party could shed light on the number's accuracy"

"I'm not sure that would be... appropriate, Your Excellency." Swain says.

"You can be such a bore sometimes, Benjamin!" Madeleine rolls her eyes. "Very well, I know another way to perk us all up..."