"What is this?!"

  The serving maid flinched at Porchet of Popodovis's sudden outburst, nearly dropping her tray. "Is this the 'special delicacy' you promised, Royce?!"

  The young maid hastily retreated. "Indeed it is, Lord Porchet," King Royce Paul Sain of Brigar replied, his attention fixed on methodically dissecting the morsel on his plate, not even bothering to look up.

  "What do you mean 'indeed it is'?!" King Porchet Malen Owen of Popodovis slammed his fist on the table, his unkempt beard bristling with indignation. "What is this crap?" He jabbed a finger at the pink, gelatinous mass on the silver platter. "I came all the way to your palace, and this is how you treat me?"

  "Now, now, compose yourself, Porchet," Queen Shirley Farland of Megonian interjected with an elegant smile, gently tugging at his sleeve to coax him back into his seat. "We're all guests here; no need to get angry. If we're talking about distance, Arisindra is the farthest away." She cast a gracious smile toward King Noland Lister Russbinder of Arisindra. "Besides, it's just a slug. No need to make a big deal out of it."

  "Indeed, Shirley speaks wisely," King Moore Byron Lawrence of Dud remarked, his face contorted in theatrical disdain. "Slugs are everywhere, after all." He deftly sliced a small portion of the Red Triangular Slug and extended his fork toward his female companion. "Would you care to sample this, my dear?"

  The woman's nose wrinkled with revulsion as she instinctively recoiled. Moore persisted, pressing the fork closer until she reluctantly accepted the offering.

  "The taste is... rather distinctive," Princess Angela Disterin Lloyd of Ellytra observed, delicately covering her mouth. The other guests began tentatively wielding their cutlery. "Your Majesty Porchet," Angela continued, forcing down the viscous creature with visible effort before fixing him with a challenging stare, "surely you won't refuse a taste as well?"

  Porchet Malen Owen's face flushed crimson as he slowly settled back into his chair. "Truth be told... the flavor isn't entirely disagreeable," Shirley whispered conspiratorially. "Don't create a spectacle, Porchet. The princess is deliberately provoking you."

  Porchet could feel Angela's gaze boring into him. "Is that so? Most illustrious King of Popodovis," Angela giggled with feigned innocence, "Are you saying you're weaker than a serving girl?"

  Porchet Malen Owen seized his knife and fork, glowering at the plate before him. The pink, jelly-like creature instantly turned his stomach. The slug yielded with surprising softness, separating cleanly with the slightest pressure from his knife. He speared half the creature with his fork, squeezed his eyes shut, and thrust it into his mouth. The fork clattered immediately onto his plate as his hand flew to cover his mouth.

  King Royce Paul Sain of Brigar appeared thoroughly satisfied with the tableau of reactions around his table. "Enough," he gestured to the attendants behind him. "Clear the table."

  Moore Byron Lawrence couldn't suppress his laughter at Porchet's valiant struggle against his gag reflex. His companion mirrored Porchet's distress, having been compelled to consume an entire slug. "I bet this was just the appetizer," the old monarch mused, running a hand over his gleaming pate as he addressed Royce. "Is there anything more exciting to eat?"

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Rest assured, there are more culinary delights to come," Royce confirmed with a measured nod, "though I suspect this preliminary course has provided sufficient... stimulation for the moment." The servants methodically removed the plates. "You need harbor no concerns, King of Dud. As you have all honored my palace with your esteemed presence, I shall reciprocate with the hospitality befitting your stations."

  After the table was cleared save for a selection of desserts, Royce dismissed all but two of his attendants. "Unless the matter is of the utmost urgency, we are not to be disturbed," he instructed the captain of his guards.

  "Is this accursed meeting finally commencing?" Porchet of Popodovis drained another goblet of dark beer in a single swallow. "This whole damn meeting."

  "Speaking of unpleasantries," Royce leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished table, hands interlaced beneath his chin. "Have you discerned why slugs were selected as our opening course?"

  "What possible connection could there be?" Porchet retorted. "Another elaborate contrivance to humiliate me?"

  "Both are refuse," King Noland Lister Russbinder interjected, his gaze drifting meaningfully toward Angela, who returned his look with a smile that failed to mask her displeasure.

  "Indeed, both might be considered waste," Moore drawled. "But I'm sure our dear Royce has some deep meaning behind it."

  "Perhaps it relates to the Godmans?" ventured Richard Grace, King of Duviliel, breaking his prolonged silence. The goblin Einington Vis Avifesh stood attentively at his side.

  "Perceptive," Royce acknowledged, glancing toward Richard though his approving smile seemed directed at Einington. "More precisely, it concerns our southern neighbors."

  "I fail to perceive any connection to those southern curs," Porchet scoffed, reclining in his chair with arms firmly crossed. "Though their shared weakness is evident enough."

  Moore issued a frigid laugh. "The southerners are far from weak, Porchet. Had you witnessed the fall of Crividsylvan, you would recognize how utterly disconnected those people are from any concept of weakness. Slugs flourish in cool, damp environments, rendering them more abundant in southern territories than in our northern realms. That represents one parallel, I suppose."

  "One aspect indeed, Moore," Royce confirmed, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "Slugs typically inhabit the cool darkness beneath decaying foliage and soil. Two categories of individuals disturb their sanctuary. First, rural children who spend their days frolicking in the fields. Second—"

  "—famished soldiers driven to desperation," Shirley Farland completed his thought, tilting her head contemplatively. "The Godmans now find themselves besieging Cynthia's walls, with provisions from Crivi as their sole sustenance. As imperial reinforcements continue to arrive, their supply constraints will only intensify. Should winter descend before they breach the defenses, the southerners face a formidable challenge."

  "The climate won't be their primary adversary, my Queen," Moore Byron Lawrence remarked, savoring his wine. "Cynthia's fortifications present a significant obstacle, certainly, but they're not impregnable. While we might hope to prolong the siege until winter, that season alone won't conclude hostilities. Even if the Godmans fail to penetrate the city by then, Cynthia's winters pale in comparison to the harsh cold of our northern territories. Should they resolve their provisioning difficulties, the imperial forces could easily endure until spring. When that season arrives, Cynthia's position will deteriorate rapidly. Once the city's granaries stand empty, even the most tenacious defenders will have no recourse but surrender." He caressed the cheek of the maid standing beside him with casual intimacy. "We can't just sit here and wait. It's time to act."