DarkMatter1234
patreon
(KBTCM) Ch 18: An Uncertain Engagement, The Prince That Was Made A Toy!
🕑 Added 2025-06-06 14:44:30 +0000 UTC(Sylara) The guest dining hall of the Vaelorian palace was large enough to house a cathedral—or crush one underfoot. A long, polished table
(Sylara) The guest dining hall of the Vaelorian palace was large enough to house a cathedral—or crush one underfoot. A long, polished table
(Sylara)
The guest dining hall of the Vaelorian palace was large enough to house a cathedral—or crush one underfoot. A long, polished table stretched from one end of the hall to the other like a dark river of wood, carved with winding vines, golden leaves, and the ancient crest of the giant folk. Every seat around it had been crafted in proportion to fit its intended guest, and at the far left side of the table—towering above all—sat the royal family of Vaeloria.
Sylara sat cross-legged on a velvet-cushioned chair, leaning on one elbow and half-poking at the glazed vegetables and roast before her. She wasn't particularly hungry. Her eyes kept flicking across the table at the much, much smaller second dining setup—a narrow platform that had been placed atop the main table just for Prince Karlor's entourage.
From her angle, the entire group looked like a series of animated garnishes beside the fruit bowl.
Karlor wasn't with them. Not yet. But his knights and retainers were seated stiffly at their own place settings, complete with delicate cutlery, miniature goblets, and meal portions about the size of Sylara's thumb. They were clearly uncomfortable—whispering among themselves, their eyes constantly darting around the massive room, occasionally stealing glances at the towering figures seated around them.
Sylara could barely suppress her smirk. She dipped her spoon into a goblet of thick berry wine and brought it lazily to her lips.
Across from her—though "across" was perhaps generous, given the distance—sat her father, King Thandor Vaelorian, seated in his high-backed gilded chair. Beside him, barely tall enough to peek over the edge of the table, was Prince Theron, sitting upright and cutting his roast chicken with neat, practiced motions. He looked like a boy beside titans. But he seemed used to it.
As she chewed, Sylara leaned slightly toward the regal figure to her left.
"Mother," she whispered, voice just soft enough not to carry past the wide oak table.
Queen Aelira, serene and radiant even in simple company, glanced over at her daughter with a small smile. Her golden eyes were as calm as ever, though faint lines at their corners showed the weight of a long reign.
Sylara nodded subtly toward the prince's men across the table. "What do you think of Prince Karlor?" she asked, brows raised. "First impressions?"
Aelira's smile didn't fade, but her expression sobered slightly.
"I don't yet know," she said, her voice low and thoughtful. "He seems... proper. Tense. Though perhaps that's to be expected. This land must seem like something out of myth to him." She paused, dabbing her lips gently with a napkin the size of a ship's sail. "I only hope things are going well between him and Rowena."
Sylara snorted under her breath. "Rowena's trying her best," she murmured. "Though I wouldn't bet on the prince being very receptive. He looked like he was about to faint when he first saw her."
Aelira tilted her head. "It's not so easy for them, you know."
"I know," Sylara said, then sighed. "I do. But if he's that afraid of giants, why even come here in the first place? You can't rule Vaeloria if you can't handle being looked in the eye by someone taller than you."
"You were never particularly fond of men smaller than your foot," Aelira teased gently.
Sylara chuckled, raising her eyebrows. "They squirm too much when I step near them. It's distracting."
Across the table, one of the knights sneezed loudly, startling two others. The trio then quickly composed themselves, realizing they'd drawn the attention of at least one pair of giant eyes. Sylara gave them a wry smile and flicked a grape into her mouth.
Her gaze wandered briefly to the massive doors at the far end of the hall, wondering if Rowena would come through them again soon—and whether she'd be smiling or fuming.
***
(Rowena's Bedroom)
"Rub harder!" Rowena's voice echoed through the stone-walled chamber like a thunderclap, sending a flock of startled birds fluttering from the balcony ledge.
She leaned back on a mound of plush pillows, letting her long legs stretch across her massive bed, the crimson silks rustling with every slight movement. Her fingers idly twirled a lock of her hair as she let out a content sigh, her bare feet glinting in the golden lamplight. One was currently "being attended to," if you could call it that. The other remained untouched, towering in the distance like a second mountain waiting for its tribute.
Down near her heel—pressed into a fold in the bedding like a bug in a wrinkle—Prince Karlor was struggling.
Sweat... so much sweat, he thought bitterly, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his once-pristine tunic. This is what it's come to? A prince, reduced to a glorified foot servant?
He stared up at the fleshy wall of Rowena's sole. Even standing on his toes, he could barely reach the first wrinkle of her arch. His palms were raw. His shoulders ached. And every breath he took tasted of heat and sandalwood.
She hadn't even looked at him since she barked the command. Just lounging there—smiling, humming to herself, like this was all a game.
Across the vast stretch of red bedding, her other foot sat idle, awaiting its turn. He'd barely made a dent in the first.
"This is madness..." he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Rowena's voice boomed again, her tone light but edged. Her left foot—the foot—nudged forward abruptly.
The massive pad of her sole bumped into him with the weight of a battering ram. Karlor let out a wheeze as the air shot from his lungs. He toppled backward and hit the fabric, arms splayed, gasping like a fish out of water.
Rowena blinked and propped herself up slightly, glancing down at the tiny figure sprawled at her toes. "I said hurry up," she said, her tone lilting, almost teasing. "We don't have all night, you know."
Karlor didn't answer. He sat up slowly, his chest rising and falling in angry bursts. His hands trembled—not with fear, not anymore. With fury.
The dignity I've lost today... he thought, glaring up at her. You'll pay for this. This whole forsaken kingdom will pay.
He stood shakily, clenching his fists.
Rowena noticed the shift in his posture and tilted her head slightly, the amusement in her eyes dimming. "Oh?" she said softly. "Giving up already? But we were just getting started."
Her words were honeyed, but they didn't soothe him. Not anymore.
She didn't see him as a prince. Not really. Just another suitor. Just another man trying to be worthy of a giantess. He had tried. He'd kept his composure when he first laid eyes on her. He'd smiled through the introduction, bowed to her parents, even humored her small talk. But this? This was a line.
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"I'm not your toy," he muttered.
Rowena leaned forward just slightly, the mattress creaking beneath her. Her eyes narrowed—but not angrily. Curiously. Amused. Intrigued. "You're not?" she said, voice low and velvety. "Then show me."
Karlor didn't move.
Rowena's eyes sparkled, but her tone darkened just slightly. "Or are you going to keep standing there," she said, "drenched in sweat, glaring at my foot like it's going to apologize?"
Silence.
The prince turned, without a word, and walked toward the edge of the bed. Every footstep was stiff with pride. He didn't know what he'd do next. He just knew he couldn't stay.
Rowena watched him go.
And for the first time that night, her smile began to fade.
