Chapter 29: Dinner with a Side of Pressure

After our bath, a few guards came to our room and escorted us through the palace to the central dining area. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, spaced only a few feet apart, bathing the room in heavy light. Everything gleamed beneath it.

I sat at one end of a moderately sized table. At the opposite end sat King Zeref, who had changed into his battle armor. Beside him rested a silver, horned helmet with a black streak running down the center.

The silence in the room was deafening, allowing my brain to overthink as I sat, sweating furiously.

Turning to Damara, I tried to talk, but the moment my mouth opened, Zeref shouted.

"Bring in the feast!"

A second later, a procession of maids entered, each carrying a large silver dish. They formed a line beside the table, stepped forward three times, and placed their dishes down in perfect unison. Then they stepped back, reformed their line, and filed out of the room.

"Wow..." I muttered, looking at the spread of food. To my surprise, it all looked normal. "Smells great, Sir," I said, my voice cracking.

"Of course it does," he shot back. "Only the Demon Realm’s finest chefs are allowed to work in our palace. Anything less won’t do." He gestured toward the food. "Please. Help yourselves."

Extending a clueless hand, Katrina grabbed the biggest fowl leg I had ever seen and began devouring it with reckless abandon. Zeref chuckled a few times before grabbing one of his own.

"What marvelous gusto," he exclaimed through a mouthful of food.

The massive dining hall felt entirely too quiet, save for the rhythmic clinking of silver against bone and Katrina’s enthusiastic tearing into her second fowl leg.

Beside me, Damara picked delicately at a roasted root vegetable, her crimson eyes occasionally flickering toward the head of the table to gauge her father’s shifting moods.

Across from us, Zeke was busy whispering something to an uncle down the line, but King Zeref’s piercing gaze remained locked squarely on me. Every chew felt like a calculated political statement under those sharp, horned eyes.

Leaning slightly closer to Damara, I kept my voice low. "So... does he usually glare at everyone who breathes, or am I just getting the VIP treatment?" I whispered.

Damara hid a small, knowing smirk behind her water goblet. "Only the ones dating his favorite daughter. Consider it a compliment that he hasn’t summoned his battle axe yet."

King Zeref slammed his heavy goblet down onto the mahogany wood, the sudden clatter making Katrina jump mid-bite. A heavy, booming laugh rolled out of his chest, rattling the massive chandeliers overhead.

"Quiet down over there!" Zeref bellowed, though his expression was remarkably amused. "I can hear your hushed whispers all the way from the throne end! If you have something to say about my kingdom’s cuisine, say it to my face, boy!"

"Just admiring the craftsmanship of the table, Your Majesty," I replied, forcing my voice to stay steady as I reached for a spiced loaf of bread. "And the chefs deserve a medal. Back home, my cooking was mostly limited to fast food wrappers and the ding of a microwave."

"Fast food?" Zeref stroked his chin thoughtfully, leaning forward with sudden intensity. "Is that some kind of high-speed tactical ration from your world? A military secret? Do explain."

"Something like that," I muttered, taking a safe bite of the bread.

Before Zeref could interrogate me further about interdimensional fast-food logistics, the grand double doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a soft groan.

Micro-Sarah, who had managed to hitch a ride hidden safely inside the folds of Katrina’s scarf, poked her tiny head out to survey the newcomers.

A fresh line of attendants entered, wheeling in a towering, multi-tiered dessert cart that glistened with spun sugar and rich dark chocolate. Even through the residual anxiety of sitting across from a literal demon monarch, my sweet tooth immediately took notice.

Zeref grunted in approval, waving a gauntleted hand toward the cart. "Good! Room for sugar. A warrior cannot conquer on meat alone."

"Your dad is pretty eccentric," I whispered, watching the man closely. "I can’t tell if he likes me or not. Should I call him Dad—"

An elbow found its way into my side.

"I dare you," she said, glaring at me.

After dessert, the maids returned and cleared the table. The room went silent again. My eyes found Zeref’s for a split second.

"So," he called. "My daughter speaks highly of you, Sam Smith. The reports from our assassins repeatedly represent you in a wonderful light." He coughed a few times before continuing after taking a large gulp of wine. "What’s wrong with you?"

The wine I was trying to enjoy shot out of my nose, sending me into a flurry of choking noises and coughs.

"Sir?" I managed, trying to catch my breath.

"Well, you’ve seen how demon-kind is treated?"

"I’m sorry, sir. I still don’t quite understand," I answered, finally recovered, though my nose was still burning and coated with the smell of alcohol.

"Well, you pummeled that man who put his hands on her."

"That was..." I trailed off, stopping to think about my words. "I just did what I felt was right. I don’t condone violence toward anyone, but if it’s a woman, there is no excuse." I kept my voice steady.

He erupted with laughter that vibrated the cutlery on the table. He slapped his knee several times before wiping a tear away from his eye.

"I like this one," he declared.

I think for the first time since dinner started, I let my shoulders relax. The knot that had steadily formed in my stomach evaporated almost instantaneously, replaced with a feeling of pride.

We talked for a few hours, discussing the details of tomorrow’s ceremony. Damara introduced me to the couple getting married, Jole and Diana.

Eventually, the conversation wound down, and the guards returned to escort us back to our rooms.

The walk through the palace felt considerably less intimidating than it had on the way in. Maybe knowing the Demon King didn’t hate me made the towering halls and armed guards feel a little less threatening.

Later that evening, after all wound down in the giant room, Katrina approached me.

"Hey Sam. Can we talk," she looked around the room. "Privately?"