No sooner had the party arrived than they were greeted by rows upon rows of intricately id tables covered in white tablecloth and polished silverware. A crystal chandelier hung from above, dousing everyone in a dreamlike glow, but Lucius had not the chance to admire the gmor before he was quickly whisked away by an attendant and onto a nearby seat. Marco and Mili both were simirly thrown to his side.

  “Geez, these folks sure don’t waste time,” Marco grunted, trying to make himself comfortable. “Would’ve been nice if they let us change first. I stick out like a sore thumb, lookin’ like this.”

  Marco was at least wearing a suit, even if he did look like an Italian mob boss. The bck pinstripes cshed quite distinctly with the regal decor and light colors. On the opposite end, however, was someone much more fshy.

  Mili gave him a gre and gestured to herself. “You think you stick out? My outfit’s practically screaming that I don’t belong here. I look like a yellow disco ball partying in the middle of the queen’s birthday bash.”

  Marco ughed. “Did ya see how they were starin’ at us? Must’ve thought we were aliens or something.”

  “We might as well be. Wherever the heck this pce is, it sure ain’t anywhere near our gaxy. I’m surprised they even speak English here.”

  Ah, now that was where she was wrong.

  “Do you think so?” Lucius asked. “I am rather skeptical of that notion, myself.”

  The duo tilted their heads in unison, confused.

  “Do you remember the Archbishop’s speech? We were a bit far away, but I saw very clearly his appearance then. The man’s words did not match the movement of his lips.”

  Lucius recalled a simir experience in the past. He used to peruse the local movie theatre and enjoyed watching films by foreign directors. The dialogue typically was in a different nguage, and so oftentimes companies would hire separate actors to voice over the original. The lines were in english, but the mouthed pronunciation noticeably cshed.

  It wasn’t just in nguage Lucius and these other-worlders differed, but appearance as well. It was subtle, and at first gnce the natives of this empire resembled that of early Germanic ancestry, but there were little details that didn’t match any genealogy that Lucius knew. Whatever their root heritage was, it never existed on Earth. It made the gentleman wonder if they were even of the human race, or were beings that simply shared common simirities: like the retionship between Homo Sapien and Homo Erectus.

  It was an interesting thought experiment, but Lucius’s musings would soon come to an end. The doors of the hall burst wide open, and fanciful ptters of food came pouring out by the thousands. Lucius couldn’t quite tell the contents since they were covered by a metal dome; however, if the delightfully fragrant smell was any indicator, then the meal must’ve been delicious.

  Marco’s stomach growled, and he had to hold himself back from drooling. “Y’know, it might just be the hunger and all considerin’ we didn’t eat for two days straight, but good lord that smells more heavenly than anything I’ve ever had in my life.”

  Mili didn’t hold herself back. She drooled with a wickedly gluttonous grin. “They better have more, ‘cause I’m stuffin’ myself so hard you’ll have to roll me outta here.”

  The attendants set the ptes down on the table. Steam rose up from the narrow splits, wafting for all to take in, and upon the grand reveal, Lucius was met with… a gigantic flower. It was stewed in some sort of cream sauce, the top sprinkled with peppercorns and fresh herbs, but no assortment of garnishes changed the fact that the main course was a flower. There were other, more familiar, fares spread about such as breads and soups, but where would ordinarily be a variety of meat was instead repced by floral substitutes. Certainly not what he was expecting, but the gentleman was overjoyed nonetheless to discover new, unknown species. The others weren’t as pleased.

  “Now that’s new…” Marco whispered. “It’s a meat-shaped flower. Looks like a fillet, but more green. ”

  Mili stared at the dish as if doing so would somehow transform it into a sizable hunk of meat. Her wish, sadly, was in vain. “I dunno about this. I’m not a picky eater, but… it looks kinda funky. And I usually love my vegetables.”

  All around her, people voiced simir hesitations. They poked and prodded the flower, and they recoiled as a vibrant green juice dripped from its side - flowing like blood. The liquid was slightly thick, a bit viscous to the touch. None dared to let it touch their lips.

  Except for one person. A certain gentleman neatly unfolded his napkin, picked up his knife and fork, and gracefully cut apart a rge piece of the flower as if it were a steak.

  Marco and Mili winced at his apparent nonchance. Others watched with bated breaths as Lucius lifted the meat-flower, and took a slow, deliberate bite. He chewed it. Let it roll around his tongue. He savored the fvor and indulged in its vast complexity, before swallowing it in one gulp.

  “... Well?” Mili asked, leaning on the edge of her seat.

  Lucius closed his eyes, let out a deep exhale, and cpped.

  “I have had the pleasure of tasting many, many luxuries back in my day,” he began. “From artisanal French dishes to the bold and impactful fvors of Asia… I have sampled it all. And yet, it is not until this day that I can procim from the bottom of my heart that I have found the peak of culinary greatness.”

  Marco stared at Lucius as if he was a madman. “Is it really that good?”

  “Quite. The flower itself has a texture not dissimir to a well-marbled cut of ribeye, but it has been softened even further so by what I assume must be some manner of marinade: fruity, a bit sweet, yet not overpoweringly enough to mask its natural fvor. Upon reaching your mouth, it melts away like butter, leaving behind these wonderful notes of richness and depth - which is only further compounded by the velvety, creamy peppercorn sauce that both lends a welcome kick of heat and a pleasant mouthfeel. Despite all distinct fvors, however, there is never a sense of greasiness or disharmony. The herbs mingle in the aftertaste - fresh, refreshing. One could feast on this dish all day without ever growing tired.”

  Lucius was well and truly sincere in his review. The techniques and meticulous preparation required in the making of this gourmet ecstasy would make even the most veteran of cooks cry out in despair. To bance all these varying elements of fvor equally… only a master was capable of such a feat.

  Lucius elegantly wiped his mouth and beckoned for an attendant. “Please give my compliments to the chef.”

  The attendant's eyes lit up in delight, and for the first time after arriving in this world, Lucius was met with a heartfelt smile rather than a wary frown. “Of course, sir. To receive your praise would be an honor.”

  A new mood settled in the hall. The hesitation and doubt that once mingled amongst the pyers was now repced by a greater, inescapable curiosity. Those spurred on by Lucius’s words tried a small piece for themself, only to suddenly descend into a ravenous hunger as they ripped and tore into their meal with great enthusiasm.

  Marco grimaced, reluctantly raising the flower to his mouth, but the look in the man’s eyes after he had tasted it for himself was nothing short of euphoric. “God help me, that’s even better than my nonna’s home-cured gabagool.”

  Soon, there was hardly a soul seen not feasting on the grand spread before them. Mili however seemed to have something on her mind. She moved to pick up the fork, but then suddenly stopped and wistfully stared at the dish.

  “Is something the matter, Miss Mili?” Lucius asked.

  The musician’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Um… I don’t…”

  “What was that?” Marco said. “Can’t hear anythin’ when you mumble.”

  Mili sighed and dramatically waved towards her silverware. “I don’t know how to eat all fancy-like, okay? The only meals I was able to nibble on during my tour were stuff like day old sandwiches or a quick cup of instant noodles. A gal like me’s too damn busy to learn this stuff. Like, why the heck are there three different types of forks? What’s with the big spoon and little spoon?”

  Marco froze in pce, utterly baffled, and then let out a loud ugh that came straight from the belly. “What, that’s what you’ve been broodin’ about? We don’t even know if the table manners here are the same as ours. Just do what you want. They’re not gonna nag you if ya get somethin’ wrong.”

  “Yeah, but… I don’t want to be a savage, y’know? When in a fancy pce, do as the fancy people do. I want to be a prim and proper dy.”

  Lucius was just about to volunteer himself to help, when Marco stood up and begrudgingly gave her a surprisingly thorough lesson on dining etiquette.

  “It’s really not that complicated,” he said, pointing to each individual utensil. “General rule of thumb is to work from the outside and make your way inward. The smaller fork is for sad, middle one your fish and sides, and the rger one your main entree. Spoons are kinda simir, but the bigger one’s on the outside ‘cause it’s for soups. You use the smaller one if they bring out coffee or tea.”

  “Huh…” she muttered, and gnced up at Marco with a new, bewildered respect. “And the little small pte?”

  “Bread. That’s what the miniature knife is there for.”

  “Cool.” Mili gave him a big thumbs up. “I didn’t take you to be the type of guy to know all this sophisticated stuff.”

  Marco cracked a smile. “Bah, not really by choice. Annoyin’ part of runnin’ a company is that the shareholders are always tryna drag you to a meeting at some steakhouse or glitzy club. I figured with a rough face like mine, I should at least know my manners so I wouldn’t be mistaken for a thug.”

  “Annoying? That sounds amazing. I’d love to sip wine and eat food all day.”

  “I thought so myself, at least the first couple of times. After a few hundred visits it started to get old real fast. Makes ya appreciate the more dingy and run-down spots: I’d figuratively kill for a greasy slice of ‘roni at Lenny’s Pizzeria - the original one. Was just fifty cents back then. Those were the days…”

  Before the old mobster could regale them with the stories of his youth, a loud horn bred through the hall. At the very end entered the Archbishop, accompanied by a knight of much grander decoration and emblems than the others surrounding them - he was the second out of all Lucius had seen thus far to bare the mark of the eagle, which funted itself boldly on his pitch-bck cuirass.

  The knight was a giant of a man, a few inches taller than even Marco, but what drew the gentleman’s curiosity was his broad, imposing figure. Raw strength threatened to pour from his every surface, and though the knight expertly hid it from view, there was no fooling Lucius’s eyes. This one was even more dangerous than the monster of the maze.

  The two men sat at a private table and motioned for silence.

  “It warms my heart to see you all take such great pleasure in our humble cuisine,” Archbishop Turpin said, nodding his head and grinning despite the pyers’ slobbish decorum. “Before we begin, I would like to introduce you to my dear friend, who shall oversee your stay in the castle. Fret not over his capabilities, for he is of the second-highest authority in the empire, leader of the Twelve Peers, and the most powerful padin of the Holy Order. Please welcome, Sir Rond of Francia.”