7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Lillith
A few days later I find myself at a gathering for heroes, the last place I would ever want to be, trying my best to blend into the background as a simple servant. The gardens are exquisite, from the marble statues that adorn the pathways to the crystal chandeliers that sparkle overhead. My pulse quickens with each passing moment, and I fear someone will recognize me and expose me as the infamous villain I am.
"Would you care for some wine, miss?" I ask a finely dressed woman, offering her a glass with a steady hand.
She regards me with a smile and takes the drink, apparently oblivious to my true identity.
The air is filled with laughter and conversation, while musicians play jaunty tunes that make it near impossible not to tap one's foot. The scent of lilacs wafts through the air, mixing with the mouthwatering aroma of roast meats and spiced vegetables. As I move among the guests, I marvel at the lavishness of the decorations. Vibrant banners in shades of gold and azure flutter in the breeze, bearing the Sunbash family crest.
Carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, I offer them to the guests with a forced smile, keenly aware of the weight of my secret. The plump, juicy grapes glisten like precious gems, while the tender morsels of meat are seasoned to perfection. Each bite is a delicacy, designed to impress even the most refined palates. My own mouth waters from the smells. I am half tempted to slip into the protection of the manicured shrubs and sneak a few of them myself.
"Thank you," says a man in ornate armor, reaching for a pastry on my tray.
I give a nod, attempting to maintain my composure as I recognize him as Sir Eldric, a renowned hero whose exploits I have often followed. My father had been trapped in Sir Eldric's dungeons for a time in his youth. He had been caught while stealing something completely unimportant, of course. My mother had to break him out before the noose became an acquaintance.
Try to breathe, Lillith .
Beads of sweat form on my brow. My hands tremble slightly while gripping the ornate teapot, and the warmth of the liquid inside does not help ease my anxiety. It is a careful dance I have to perform. I must appear confident and composed while internally battling the fear of being recognized by anyone at this gathering of heroes.
I chuckle at the ridiculousness of this. I am not one to become nervous. I’ve faced heroes greater than most of those present, albeit, I used my full powers then and only took on a few at a time. If it comes to it, I’m not sure I can take on everyone here at the same time. That thought is what truly scares me.
"Tea, milady?" I ask with an overly cheerful smile, offering the steaming cup to a regal-looking woman with dark hair.
She nods in thanks, and I quickly move on to the next guest, trying to avoid any prolonged conversations.
"Ah, tea! Just what I needed after that last thrilling tale," booms the voice of an older gentleman with an impressive beard. He reaches for the cup with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, young lady, a good cup of tea can do wonders for one's spirit."
"Indeed, sir," I reply, nodding along enthusiastically. Inwardly, I chastise myself for engaging in conversation when all I want is to keep a low profile.
"Are you familiar with the story of the Enchanted Teapot?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Can't say that I am, sir," I admit, pouring another cup for a nearby hero whose attire makes it apparent she is skilled in the arcane arts .
"Ah, well, perhaps another time then," he says with a wink before turning back to his group of fellow adventurers.
As I move through the room, I can't help but overhear snippets of their grand exploits, making my already-pounding heart race faster with each step. I continue serving food to the heroes in attendance. Despite the raucous laughter and lively conversations all around me, I can't shake the feeling that someone will recognize me at any moment.
"Excuse me, miss," says a burly man with a bushy beard and more muscles than I can count. "Could you bring some more of those delicious stuffed mushrooms?"
"Of course, sir." My voice shakes slightly as I glance at his sword, which is adorned with intricate engravings of past battles. He looks familiar, but I can't quite place him. Have we crossed paths before?
I hurry away, offering him a polite smile while praying he won't look too closely at my face and pass word along to another server to bring him mushrooms.
"Ooh, is that roasted pheasant?" a woman clad in gleaming armor asks, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the dish I hold. "You must give me the recipe!"
"Unfortunately, I'm just the server, not the cook," I reply with a nervous giggle, "but I'll pass along your compliments to the chef."
"Please do!" she exclaims, heaping a generous portion onto her plate.
She peers at me for a moment, her brow furrowing, and my heart nearly stops. Then, she shrugs and turns back to the feast, dismissing me from her thoughts as quickly as I'd entered them.
"More tea, please!" a familiar voice calls out, causing me to freeze in place.
I turn to see Triston Cross, the son of a long lost villain, sitting amongst a group of heroes. I shouldn't be surprised. Rumor is, his father died of a broken heart from Triston going good. If that is even possible. Triston’s red hair and dark brown eyes stand out, making him impossible to miss.
He grins at me as I approach, oblivious to the potential danger he poses. "Ah, there you are," he says with a chuckle. "You've certainly perfected the art of brewing."
"Thank you, sir," I reply, desperately trying to keep my voice steady.
All I can think about is how close I am to having my secret revealed. Out of everyone here, he is the most likely to give me away. We went to the same school, but he was several years above me.
"Tell me, have we met before?" he asks, his gaze narrowing as if trying to place my face.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I fight the urge to bolt from the room .
"Perhaps in passing, sir," I answer, quickly filling his cup and moving away before he can inquire further.
As I continue serving tea to the guests, I feel as if I’m walking on a tightrope, teetering between anonymity and discovery. With each interaction, my anxiety grows, and I silently pray that I will make it through the night unscathed.
I return to the kitchen and retrieve a fresh pot of tea before heading back out.
My pulse quickens as I approach Prince Asher, his white hair a stark contrast against his dark attire. His blue eyes shimmer like sapphires. I am determined to serve him with the grace of a swan, but my hands can't stop shaking.
"Your Highness," I murmur, curtsying slightly before pouring tea into his cup. As I do so, a peculiar scent catches my attention. It is faint, nearly imperceptible, but I recognize it immediately.
The acrid tang of poison.
"Is something wrong?" Prince Asher asks, his eyes locked onto mine.
For a moment, I hesitate, unsure how to handle the situation without causing a scene.
"Your Highness, I'm so sorry," I say, feigning clumsiness as I accidentally-on-purpose spill the cup of tea all over his lap.
The garden goes quiet as gasps echo around us .
"Clumsy girl!" someone shouts from the crowd. "How dare you spill tea on the prince?"
"P-please forgive me," I stammer, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Inside, I feel a surge of relief for having potentially saved the prince's life. No one can kill him before I do. I just hope no one will catch on to my ruse.
"Enough," the prince commands, silencing the crowd. He looks down at his now tea-stained trousers and sighs. "Accidents happen. Let's not make a fuss over a little spilled tea."
"Thank you, your highness," I whisper, avoiding his gaze.
"Bring me another cup, would you?" he asks, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance.
I nod and hurry off.
As I prepare another cup of tea for the prince, I can't help but wonder who tried to poison him and why. Everyone here would have been vetted.
I return with a fresh cup of tea. This time, I make sure to smell it myself before handing it over. Satisfied that there is no trace of poison, I present it to him with a trembling hand.
"Here you are, sire," I say.
"Thank you," he says, his voice soft and sincere.
As he takes a sip, his eyes meet mine once more, and I can't help but feel a strange connection between us.
But that is impossible, isn't it?
"Your Highness," I murmur, bowing my head in reverence before continuing to serve the other guests.
Yet, as I move through the crowd, a lingering hunch tells me that something significant has just transpired, something that could change the course of both our lives forever.