The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 56: The Banquet

Chapter 56: The Banquet

The central palace banquet hall was wide enough to host a siege and high enough for clouds to gather in its beams. As befitting the Emperor’s estate, gold and red banners swayed from the rafters like ancient declarations of victory, and lanterns flickered overhead, casting long, restless shadows across the polished floors. It smelled like sandalwood, fear, and the ghost of something burnt long ago.

I walked in, my eyes taking everything in as I continued to look around. Nobles laughed at me from behind their sleeves as I studied the banners, the guards, the exits. They watched me like I was the latest episode of a favorite television show, but I didn’t care. Let them see me. Let them look too long. I had no interest in making them comfortable, nor would I conform.

My gown was forest green, so deep it bordered black, but when the light from the lanterns brushed the silk, it shimmered like moss on river stone. Gold-stitched thorns curled up my sleeves, my hem. A warning dressed as elegance. My hair was twisted up, fixed with pins shaped like curling leaves, and my boots made no sound on the lacquered wood as I took my place beside the Crown Prince.

Fun fact, gold thread was, in fact, made from gold. So, the more I wore, the more I had stitched into my dresses, the more metal I could manipulate if necessary.

He was seated at a low table, decked out with small plates and even smaller cups. I glanced around again and noticed that everyone had their own table with the dishes already on it. I had to bite the inside of my cheek as it looked like everyone was eating from a TV dinner tray or something like that.

Not exactly what I would call ’imperial’, but what did I know?

Since Zhu Mingyu was already sitting down, I took my own seat and studied the offerings in front of me.

I would fully admit that the food was exquisite—visually. Perfectly arranged, balanced colors, fresh garnishes that tantalized the senses. But steam? None. Scent? Barely.

I wrinkled my nose and turned to Zhu Mingyu. "Why is everything cold? Was that on purpose?" I mean, I get that it was a warm night, but I would at least like my rice to still be steaming.

Letting out an almost silent sigh, Zhu Mingyu turned to look at me. "Every dish in front of you was carried across the palace grounds, from the royal kitchens to the hall. After being tested for poison by two separate food-tasters and then paraded across the courtyard by trembling servants, how warm do you think any of it is?" he asked his brow raised like I was the dumb one for asking.

"That’s..." I started before trailing off. I didn’t know if I wanted to say that that was stupid or ridiculous, but I held my tongue. I just silently wished that there was a drive-through on my way home so that I could actually fill my stomach that hadn’t had the least bit of food in it since yesterday.

What I wouldn’t give for a Big Mac... or chicken nuggets.

A servant entered from the side, walking in front of where the Emperor, Empress, and some random woman sat on a higher dais. He bowed low before unravelling a scroll of some kind and began reading from it.

"Tonight’s offerings for the Crown Prince and his honored bride include: Jellied pork belly wrapped in osmanthus blossoms, plum-wine duck breast, snow fungus, and honeyed lotus root, chilled river fish from the western springs, five-spice chicken cooled with ginger glaze, pickled radish, and daikon, glutinous rice balls dyed with butterfly pea flower, and wine-poached pears with candied walnuts"

While the names of the dishes sounded like a poem, the dishes themselves tasted like dust. I took a piece of duck with my chopsticks and let it fall back onto the plate before it could even touch my lips.

"So," I murmured, low enough to make people lean in but loud enough to reach my so-called husband, "what do we do at these things besides eat cold food and pretend it’s delicious?"

I didn’t look directly at the man as I stared at the ’dessert’ and wondered how they could screw even that up, but I caught the flicker of movement at the edge of my vision. The corner of Zhu Mingyu’s mouth twitched upward slightly in what I was beginning to understand as his version of a smile.

"You observe," he said at last, his voice almost silent. "You measure who laughs too loudly. Who refuses to eat. Who refuses to drink. Who watches you instead of their plate. Everything that the nobles do is worth noting."

"Oh," I grunted, looking at my chopstick and wondered how many people I could stab in the eye before I ran out of room.

I wanted to be clear. I didn’t choose violence today; it was chosen for me when they woke me up way too early. I cannot be held accountable for my own actions.

"Who’s the woman on the stage?" I asked, tilting my head toward the woman staring me down. Apparently, she was also contemplating how many of my eyeballs could fit on her chopstick before she ran out of room.

The answer was two. I only had two eyeballs, and I wasn’t giving her either one.

"That is Imperial Consort Yi," whispered Zhu Mingyu, his mouth smiling as he toasted a minister across the aisle. "She is the most favored concubine of my Father, and is the birth mother of the Third Prince."

I nodded my head to show that I understood. However, that didn’t stop me from doing what I was going to do. Before Zhu Mingyu could stop me, I stared back at her before smiling brightly and raising my cup of tea, offering her a toast.

She stiffened, her eyes going wide for a second before she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. But I was already done with her.

Across the hall, Lady Zhao sat rigid in a throne-like seat upholstered in scarlet brocade. Her gown was red, of course—too red. Crimson so sharp it could slice. Gold peacocks rose from her sleeves like flames, and her hair was a tower of pins and combs, each piece glinting under the lanternlight. She wore her confidence like perfume—heavy and obvious.

Mind you, her daughter wasn’t much better.

Zhu Meiling sat three tables down in rose-gold silk with translucent sleeves that flowed like smoke whenever she lifted her arms. She had pearls swinging from her ears, a jeweled belt around her too-slender waist, and a smile that had been fixed in place for far too long. She stared at me with the tightness of someone who’d rehearsed every outcome but never prepared for this one.

Even Zhu Lianhua looked like porcelain dipped in silver. White robes, pale hands, a sash dyed soft blue to feign purity. He leaned lazily on his elbow until he caught me watching him from his position at the end of the line of ministers on the other side of the aisle. Then he sat up straighter. Smoothed his sleeve. Adjusted his posture like a boy caught slouching at a temple.

He looked at the empty seat beside me right before Zhu Deming sat down in it.

"You’re late," muttered Zhu Mingyu, taking a sip from his wine glass.

"I was busy," shrugged Zhu Deming as he made himself comfortable. He looked me up and down, his eyes narrowing on the fact that I wasn’t wearing his ribbon around my neck. "At least the color is right," he muttered under his breath.

"I’m still waiting for the hairpin," I replied, making sure that my cup covered my lips as I spoke. "I’m pretty sure you offered to buy me one, yes?"

I felt more than saw the shock on Zhu Deming’s face as he looked at me. But I simply smiled as I took a sip of my drink.

"I thought..." he started, his voice trailing off.

"Then that might be your problem," I assured him. I didn’t know the exact thoughts going on in his head, but I could almost guarantee that they were completely wrong if he was comparing me to what he knew.

I turned my attention back to the other guests as they fluttered like decorative birds—bright, painted, pointless. Men in sapphire robes embroidered with delicate bamboo leaves. Women in lavender silks cinched at the waist with too many gold chains. Some of the younger daughters wore pale imitations of what I had on—greens that clashed, embroidery that mimicked ivy but wilted under scrutiny.

And strangely, not a single person touched the jellied pork. The pears wept syrup in silence.

The music began—soft zither strings accompanied by a reed flute. A dancer drifted out like smoke, her silks trailing in perfect, timed swirls as she twirled on the marble floor. Graceful. Polished. And oh so forgettable.

I watched her with my chin resting on my hand.

"Do they always look so hollow?" I asked, tilting my head toward Zhu Deming.

"They’re trained to look like paintings. Not people," he shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. He didn’t touch the wine, not even once.

One thing was for sure: the longer I sat still, the more everyone seemed to watch me as if my stillness was more dangerous than a sword.

It was, but they didn’t need to know that.

I folded my hands on the table. My sleeves draped around them like coiled vines. I didn’t fidget. I didn’t speak. The silence was mine now.

And then—finally—someone broke it.

The Third Prince’s mother, Imperial Consort Yi, slowly turned to the Emperor with a delicate smile on her face. As if every move was choreographed to get him to look at her, she delicately adjusted her sleeves with all the grace of a swan preparing to dive for the throat. She smiled in the direction of the Crown Prince, but her voice was pitched for the whole hall.

"It’s such a beautiful night for a celebration," she said sweetly. "And yet, everything feels so... quiet. Perhaps we might liven things up with a bit of friendly entertainment? What do you think, Your Majesty?"

Murmurs rippled, and there was an excited twitter coming from the young ladies in the hall, like this was the moment they were looking forward to the most.

"Perhaps a competition?" she continued, her smile widening as she looked at me from over her shoulder. "It’s such a shame to let all this talent go unappreciated."