Royal Breakfast

Then came stillness after the last breaths had slipped away - Leon remained there, in the middle, his chest lifting slow and even.

Down his carved chest, water crept like morning mist over stone. Damp black hair stuck to the back of his neck, some pieces sliding forward onto his brow. Not a blink - those amber eyes scanned the crowd, still as deep water - but the edge of his smile hinted he found something funny. Quietly amused, maybe, but never showing much more than that.

Females picked up on it right away, naturally.

They always noticed.

Faintly murky now, the pond swirled with stirred-up dirt mixed in by movement and release.

Leon sighed once.

"Alright," he murmured.

Fingers clicked shut like a trap.

A hush came before the fire skimmed the pond, moving like breath over skin. Yet it did not scorch. Instead, clarity followed its path. Mist curled upward, soft as thought. What was clouded now showed true.

One woman's eyes widened, then another followed. A pause hung before they finally reacted.

Mia spoke quiet, eyes on the rising mist. Not loud, just enough to fill the space between breaths. It really does work out well, she thought, letting the words settle like dust. The way things line up sometimes - unexpected but clear

Another gesture.

Far below, liquid began rising through unseen cracks, pouring into the hollow, sharp with chill.

The women paused, eyes fluttering open and shut as they looked his way.

Lips twitching upward, Aria mumbled something about showing off.

Leon gave a small shrug. "Getting things done quickly."

Water danced outward after Rias slapped the surface. She watched it move like thin lines on glass. A voice came from behind - kings usually send others to do such things

"Most kings," Leon replied calmly, "would also collapse after the first round."

Laughter mixed with eye rolls followed right after.

Syra burst into laughter. "Can't say he's mistaken."

Bathed well now - more slowly than before. Hair got washed under running water. Skin came clean with careful hands. The warmth slipped away, replaced by quiet.

A hush settled after the laughter faded. Through tangled strands, hands moved slow. Slipping down shoulders, water carried off salt and smoke. One leaned into the other, rinsing under the fall, then stepping back, breathing deep.

Now and then a tap on the shoulder brought hushed words, followed by soft laughter slipping through fingers. A moment passed between them like breath fogging glass - brief, warm, gone.

Out of the shadows, new clothing waited - neat rows across cold rock. Attendants had placed them there just before.

Earlier, some of the housemaids left their posts - but they weren't just resting. Quiet moments turned into motion behind closed doors. Not a single one stood still once out of sight. Their absence held purpose, stitched through hushed hallways and folded linens. What looked like retreat was really work reshaped.

Fingers tugged cloth into place while warmth spread beneath the folds. Wet strands clung to fabric, catching last hints of sun near the edge of day.

When Leon came back with the group,

Furniture stood where chaos once reigned. Quiet filled corners that screamed hours before. Dust settled on overturned chairs now righted. Light touched walls stripped of scorch marks. A clock ticked, though none had noticed it earlier.

Apart from the old silk, new curtains now drape down - ivory fabric edged with golden threads. Instead of the worn floors, rich red carpets cover the ground, filled with detailed flower designs. Though they once lay flat, cushions sit puffy again, while tables stand correctly where they belong. Rather than empty corners, vases hold orchids and jasmine, clean and shining, spreading a gentle, elegant scent.

Now the breeze felt light, free from yesterday's grind. Gone was the press of bodies, the noise that clung like heat. Stillness settled where shouts once bounced off walls. What filled the space instead was quiet, thin and clear. Even shadows moved slower now, stretching without hurry.

It smelled clean.

Elegant.

Dignified.

For a moment, Leon stood still where the room began. His eyes moved across everything, slow.

Over there, his eyes drifted through the rebuilt room - smooth flooring shining under light, chairs and tables set just right, every little thing thought through. A quiet sense took hold, noticing how each piece fit without fuss, corners dusted clean, space breathing again after silence.

"Not bad," he murmured under his breath.

Over by the distant wall, the maids huddled together, swapped into new clothes - simple cuts, snug fits, somehow calmer than before. Combs must have passed through their hair, bows redone, pinafores pulled taut again. Yet a soft heat stayed on their faces, almost like proof, leftover echoes of how wild things turned just minutes prior.

A few moved slightly beneath Leon's stare.

Fear wasn't the reason.

Out of memory.

Lilyn moved ahead, fingers resting quietly across her lap. Out came words calm and even, just like how she usually speaks.

"We couldn't let our king live in ruin like that situation," she said.

A small breath slipped out of Leon - then it curled into a hushed laugh.

"Well… I'm the one who caused the ruin in the first place."

Some of the maisters looked at each other, unable to stop their grins despite quiet effort. Their eyes met, a flicker passing between them like wind across water.

Lilyn blinked - her calm slipped, just once. Heat rose into her cheeks while she looked down at the floor.

"That may be true, Your Majesty," she replied carefully, "but restoring order is part of our duty."

Ah, there it was - Rias crossed her arms, gaze drifting across the room. A quiet nod followed, deliberate, taking its time.

"You've outdone yourselves," she said. "This place looked like a battlefield earlier."

Against the pillar she stood, Syra's smirk creeping across her face.

"Battlefield?" she said. "That's a polite way to put it."

A strand of wet hair slipped past her ear as Natasha turned her head. The space she looked across held nothing out of place.

"If anyone walked in now," she said dryly, "they'd think we spent the morning reading poetry."

Syra snorted immediately.

Again she said poetry, her voice heavy with doubt.

A soft chuckle slipped out of Rias.

"Let's just be grateful no one did walk in."

A faint smile played on Leon's lips as he scratched the nape of his neck. Amusement flickered behind his eyes.

"I'll take that as a compliment to everyone's recovery speed."

A stifled chuckle rose in the throat of the young maid. She pressed her lips tight, eyes flickering sideways.

"Your Majesty," another maid said softly, "breakfast is ready."

This moment pulled every eye straight to the dining hall.

Down the corridor they went, side by side.

Floating just above the tabletop, a honeyed shimmer spilled down from the chandelier. Not one fork or spoon sat out of line - each placed like it was meant to stay forever still. Sunlight crept in slowly, catching on smooth white surfaces that caught the brightness like quiet mirrors. The room held its breath inside that shine.

A hush had settled across the room. Quiet filled every corner.

Clean.

Far more orderly than the chaos that had unfolded just hours before.

Then there was the food.

That was where things actually stood.

Fatigue hung heavy following forty-eight hours of relentless motion, so fine servings or minuscule morsels held no appeal. People passed on small plates - energy had drained too far by then.

Bright feathers on plucked birds sat warm in the middle, coated in sticky green mixtures catching glints above them. Meat cut wide lay charred at edges, fried slow with sharp cloves, steam carrying deep scents through the room.

A wisp of warmth curled up whenever fingers pulled off a chunk from the loaves tucked inside hand-braided bowls.

Fruit in bowls brought bursts of red and gold across the table. Pomegranate seeds glistened under the light. Figs lay cracked apart, showing soft insides. Citrus shone in sharp wedges near the edge. Each piece sat just so, adding warmth without trying.

A pot bubbled gently, holding vegetables softened by slow heat in an aromatic liquid. Over near the edge, pale cheese lay under a slow drip of amber-colored syrup. Not far off stood glass cups, clear and fine, each one poured full with dark red wine now opening its scent to the air.

A silence hung there, just breathing. One breath passed without words.

The table alone was enough to make everyone pause.

"Well," Syra finally said, pulling out her chair, "now this is how you recover from two days of madness."

Natasha nodded approvingly.

"I might forgive everything that happened earlier if I get two plates of that beef."

"You're planning two already?" Rias teased.

"Three if no one stops me."