A Journey Unwanted

Chapter 467 - 456: All shall join the meal

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Quadling Country]

[Glinda’s Castle]

It did not take long for her to arrive.

The corridor opened gradually, the architecture widening just enough to signal a transition. At the end of it stood a door that did not attempt subtlety. Large, white, and immaculately maintained, its surface was broken only by gold engravings. It was something that was certainly hard to miss.

Snow slowed slightly as she approached, her steps soft.

She remembered the directions clearly. An attendant had guided her earlier; these attendants of the castle were rather precise, leaving little room for error. This was the place.

Her gaze lingered on the door for a brief moment; she did not reach out for it yet.

It was not hesitation, not quite.

Social interactions had never been her strength; that much she understood about herself without needing to dwell on it. But this was not something she needed to prepare for, not something that required her to steady herself or gather resolve.

It was simply an obligation.

("There is no reason to delay,") she thought, the conclusion coming easily, without resistance. ("This is not something worth overthinking.")

And so she did not.

Without wasting another second, she stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

They gave way smoothly under her touch.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the space beyond revealed itself in full.

It was larger than she had expected.

Not in a way that overwhelmed; the dining hall stretched outward with a vast sense of scale. It did not need excess to feel grand. At the center of it all ran a long table. Its surface was polished to a near-perfect sheen, yet what stood out most was not its craftsmanship but its emptiness.

There were no plates, cutlery, or any indication that a meal was being prepared or had ever been. Only a finely made red cloth draped across its length, smooth and undisturbed, as though placed there for appearance rather than use.

Snow’s gaze lingered on it for just a fraction longer than necessary.

("We were invited for breakfast,") she noted inwardly, a small crease forming between her brows. ("And yet...")

Nothing.

The absence was noticeable.

She might have considered it further, might have questioned the intent behind it, but the thought did not have time to fully settle.

Because her attention shifted.

The rest of the room filled in around her awareness. Rows of chairs lined either side of the table, evenly spaced, identical in form. Their frames were finely crafted, their deep red cushioning matching the tone of the room with almost excessive consistency.

Red.

It carried through everything.

The banners draped along the walls, the patterns woven into the carpet beneath her feet, even the tint in the tall windows.

Gold broke it up, however, thin trims along the table’s edge, carvings worked into the chairs, and small decorative elements placed just enough to catch the eye.

Along with that, to the sides of the hall stood attendants.

A line of women, spaced evenly apart, each positioned perfectly. Their attire matched the room—a red uniform-like dress with gold patterns that mirrored the surrounding design. Their posture was perfect, straight with hands resting neatly before them. They did not move or speak, but their presence was certainly noticeable.

Snow did not react.

She had seen more extravagant halls before, spaces that sought to overwhelm rather than simply impress. This was refined, yes, but not beyond anything she had encountered.

Still, her gaze turned once more to the empty table.

("...Strange,") she thought, though the word carried no real importance to her beyond observation.

She did not dwell on it.

Because there were others here.

Her focus shifted forward, settling on the far end of the table where two figures stood out immediately.

The Good Witch.

Seated at the furthest chair, composed as always, her presence calm, her hat rested on the table before her, set aside casually.

The ginger-haired woman from before was absent.

That registered, if only briefly.

But it was not what held her attention; there was something else. Her gaze shifted and settled on a lion. Large—larger than what one would consider ordinary. Its presence was noticeable even at a distance. It stood near Glinda, close enough to be considered familiar.

But it did not carry itself with any sense of confidence; if anything, it looked uneasy. Tense in a way that did not suit its form.

("A Nil,") Snow noted inwardly, her eyes narrowing just slightly as recognition set in.

The moment her gaze fixed on it, the creature reacted.

Its posture shifted, shoulders drawing in ever so slightly, its attention turning away from her as if avoiding direct contact. It shrank in presence as Snow observed that reaction without comment.

For now, she moved.

Her steps were quiet as she approached the table, her focus shifting back to the Good Witch as she closed the distance. It did not take long before she came to a stop a few paces away, posture straight with her attention fixed on Glinda.

The witch had already noticed her.

A soft smile rested on her lips as she lifted a hand in a small, welcoming gesture.

"Ah, there you are," Glinda began, her voice as soothing as ever, carrying easily through the space. "I’m glad you decided to join us. I was beginning to wonder if the invitation might have felt unnecessary to you."

Snow inclined her head slightly.

"It is the least I can do," she replied, attempting to give the words some semblance of sincerity. It did not quite reach; her voice remained flat, her expression unchanged.

Glinda did not react to that.

If she noticed, she chose not to acknowledge it.

Instead, she gestured lightly toward a seat near her.

"Please," she said, her tone made the invitation gentle rather than insistent. "Sit. There’s no need to stand on ceremony here."

Snow gave a small nod.

She moved toward the indicated seat without hesitation as she took her place. The chair made the faintest sound as she settled into it, her posture remaining.

But just before she fully turned her attention away, her gaze turned, briefly, toward the lion again.

It was a moment, no more, but Glinda noticed.

"Ah," the witch said softly, her tone shifting with understanding as she followed Snow’s line of sight. "You’ve noticed him."

Her smile softened slightly.

"This is... an old acquaintance of mine," she continued, her words chosen carefully, as though the explanation did not need to be overly detailed. "We were simply reminiscing—speaking of things long past."

She glanced briefly toward the lion, then back to Snow.

"I hope you don’t mind that he’ll be joining us," she added, her voice still light.

Snow’s gaze returned fully to her.

"It is of no consequence to me," she replied, her tone unchanged.

"Great," Glinda said, her smile lingering in that same effortless way, warm without ever feeling forced, as though Snow’s answer had pleased her more than the words themselves suggested. "Then that settles that rather nicely. Now we’re simply waiting on two more to join us, and then we can begin properly."

Snow’s expression did not shift much, but there was the smallest frown tugging at her lips.

She did not need to ask who.

("The armored man and the fairy,") she thought immediately, the conclusion forming without effort. There were no other likely candidates. ("Of course.")

For a brief moment, she felt the impulse to frown—to let that dissatisfaction show, even if only slightly. The thought of sharing a table, however formal, with someone like him was unpleasant.

But she did not allow it.

Her composure remained intact.

("This is her domain,") Snow reminded herself quietly. ("Her castle, whatever I may think of it, the decision is not mine to contest.")

And so, rather than linger on it, she shifted.

"Will we be continuing our discussion from yesterday?" she asked instead, her tone redirecting the conversation before her thoughts could betray her.

Glinda’s gaze met hers, those golden eyes thoughtful for a brief moment before her smile softened again.

"Oh, we will," she replied lightly, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice now, as if she could see straight through the attempt to steer things. "But must we rush into it so quickly?"

She tilted her head slightly, her expression almost playful.

"We should at least fill our bellies first, don’t you think?" she continued, her tone gentle in its own way. "Conversations—especially the heavier ones—tend to go much smoother when one isn’t distracted by something as simple as hunger."

Her gaze lingered on Snow a moment longer.

"And besides," she added, the smallest hum of warmth in her voice, "talking of nothing but business can become rather tedious if left unchecked. There should be some pleasure in these moments as well, wouldn’t you agree?"

Snow held her gaze.

For a moment, she did not answer.

("Pleasure...") she repeated inwardly, the word feeling unfamiliar in this context, or perhaps simply unimportant.

It was not something she valued or sought. But it was also not something she would argue against here.

("That would serve no purpose,") she concluded.

Outwardly, however, she remained composed.

"Then I shall defer to your lead," Snow said at last, her tone still respectful even if it lacked warmth. "You are the host, after all. It would be improper of me to dictate the pace of matters within your own domain."

Glinda’s smile widened slightly at that.

"Oh, I do so enjoy taking the lead," she hummed softly, the words carrying another note of amusement, as though she found something about the exchange particularly entertaining. "It does make things feel easier, wouldn’t you say?"

She leaned back just slightly in her seat, her fingers resting lightly against the table.

"Though I must admit," she continued, her tone shifting again, "if it weren’t so early in the day, I would have suggested we share a proper bottle of wine. Something aged and with a bit of character to it. It tends to make conversations like these far more honest."

There was a glimmer in her eyes as she said it.

Snow noticed.

"A pity," Snow murmured in response, the words coming easily enough, though there was no real sentiment behind them.

She did not care for wine or anything like it.

("Poison,") she thought, though the judgment remained unspoken.

Still, appearances mattered.

Even here and now, so she let the words stand. However still Glinda’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than expected. It was not an intrusive gaze, but searching, perhaps.

Snow felt it.

And for the briefest instant, she found herself unsettled by it.

("She is still difficult to read,") Snow admitted inwardly, her thoughts shifting slightly as she held her composure. ("There is no clear intention behind her expressions, or an obvious angle.") That alone was enough to keep her cautious. ("Even now I cannot tell what she is thinking.")

Her eyes did not shift, but the awareness remained.