Destane surveyed the table with approval.
The tall, ceiling climbing windows poured in golden light, and the late morning dazzle caught the crystal glasses perfectly. The porcelain plates were polished, and gleaming gold trays climbed over nearly every surface of the rich gleam of his elegant dining room table. Naturally, his kitchen staff members were somewhat confused; the master usually saved the grand dining room for special occasions, ambassador dinners, visiting relatives, power meetings…
But to true to their training they had laid out a meal fit for the most lavish of royalty. Plump, fire cracked pheasant, bowls upon bowls of caramel fruit, candied dates, steaming loves of fresh bread and butter, containers full of spicy rice and beans with just the right amount of heat. Puddings, pastries, sweets so delicately spun they trembled with the smallest draft. Nothing was spared. Destane's cup brimmed with deep, rich wine.
To an onlooker, however, the scene would seem strange. Destane sat alone for the time being in an ornately wrought, high backed chair, only one of the numerous that surrounded the table. But Destane himself, was unconcerned; indeed he even smiled as he cut himself modest portions.
"Good morning Mozenrath."
His protégée stopped as he entered the room, obliged to recognize Destane, and Destane pleased to return the favor. Mozenrath was still the breath of beauty he always seemed to his sovereign. His curls were loose and mussed from sleep as he had yet to have the time to restrain them with cord. He certainly looked like he just awoke. His cheeks were pinkened, his eyes soft, a charm that would fade as the day went on, a time Mozenrath would take to sharpen himself, physically and emotionally.
But for now he seemed at least modestly unguarded. The corners of Destane's mouth quirked as he realized Mozenrath was still barefoot and in his sleep clothes. The Citadel's cold certainly didn't bother him.
Mozenrath eyed Destane warily, before he replied civilly.
"Good morning, Master."
Was his little kitten still displeased with him since his last lesson? He had sought to teach Mozenrath. He wasn't an entirely cruel man. If Mozenrath would come to him, he could provide what his student needed: advice, comfort, bodily pleasures. Though Mozenrath had balked quite heartily at first, it seemed his little lesson had sunk in. Mozenrath was…relaxing, if fraction by painful fraction.
Did he realize all the liberties Destane was gradually allowing?
Mozenrath could sleep in, as long as he completed his studies in time, and he was so very fond of sleeping in. Destane didn't mind; he loved looking in on a slumbering Mozenrath, treasuring all the little expressions he made, the various sensual phases he slipped in and out of unknowingly.
"Sleep well?"
Destane never could help himself. He took a bite from his plate and hoped he'd remember to encourage his servants on the savory quality of their food. Excellent.
Mozenrath's mouth tightened almost unnoticeably as he rinsed his hands off at the basin kept at a smaller table. It seemed as if he was torn between sarcasm and safety. He settled on a perfectly mild,
"Yes, thank you, Master."
Destane smiled again. "Good."
The sound of his silverware's gentle clinking against the plate was a pleasant noise in such a large room. He watched as Mozenrath lifted one superior, thin, black brow in confusion at such an extravagant spread. He knew all too well Destane was prone to eccentricities, so he refrained from commenting.
"Please, sit, Mozenrath," Destane said conversationally, "We have a late start this morning and we still have yet to finish the runes decoding."
Mozenrath's reply was crisp. This was something he was comfortable with. He paused, though, before sitting, to pull his black, undulating mass of hair up away from his face. 'Pity,' Destane thought.
"I've marked where we left off yesterday, Master, hopefully the inscriptions will be easier to decipher today. The tomes seem to have suffered some weathering."
"I suspected that as well. Perhaps a chemical bath?"
Mozenrath pulled out his chair. Of course, he had chosen the seat at the severest opposite from Destane. But Destane was unbothered; one cannot build temples without foundations.
Mozenrath seemed already consumed with his academics, his brow furrowed as mentally he problem solved. A small noise of thought was his only reply. In matters of the heart and the body, Mozenrath was both unsure and intimidated, but Destane could not ask for a more dedicated student. This young sorcerer-to-be was one of the most motivated Destane had the opportunity to teach magic to.
True, Mozenrath sometimes set impossible standards for himself, but he was right in taking Mozenrath on. His was a complex mind that constantly hummed underneath a neutral, alabaster exterior. He had already learned concepts and skills far beyond his age, and hungered for more.
But as involved and distant as he seemed, Destane knew Mozenrath's eyes did not fail to take in the fact that all his favorite dishes were present. Destane suspected he was highly surprised, actually. The dark, fleshy fruit so hard to find in the desert, the curry infused flatbread Mozenrath would choose above nearly anything else to eat. They sat, warm, inviting, steaming…
"If you do not believe a chemical bath will be too damaging…"he mused, reaching to grasp a serving spoon, only to stop at the clear crack of Destane's voice.
"One moment, little kitten, if you will."
The effect from Destane's use of his nickname was near instantaneous. Mozenrath's face darkened, steeled, his shoulders tensed, and his hand froze on the silver handle that curled elegantly into his smooth, bare palm.
"Yes master?"
"Oh, you will not be eating this morning." Destane remarked casually.
Mozenrath was good at mastering his emotions, but even he could not hide the blazoning confusion. There was a tense moment in which Mozenrath's hand did not remove itself, even if he did eventually sit back.
Destane took a drink from his glass. The wine was warming and full, but with enough of nut under-taste to make it perfect for the early day's meal.
"There's a glass of water there for you," he instructed, "You'll drink that in place of your morning meal."
Mozenrath turned, and there it was, poised by his silverware, a tall, ordinary, unimposing glass of water. Contrasted by the excesses of the rest of the table, it seemed almost ridiculous in its simplicity. He felt somehow ignorant by even curling his fingers about the stout steam.
So.
Destane was finishing his own meal as Mozenrath finally took his glass in his hand and tipped the contents back. Destane was no fool; Mozenrath made as if he had swallowed, but he knew Mozenrath was holding it in his mouth, waiting. Did Destane indeed poison him once and for all, he knew Mozenrath wondered. Of course not, that wasn't the point, now was it.
He finally, genuinely swallowed. His confusion only seemed to compound as he discovered it was just that…plain water.
Destane smoothly pushed back from the table and laid his napkin in his seat. As he passed Mozenrath still sitting in his chair, he paused to lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Drink up, little kitten. The help needs to get in here and clean soon, you wouldn't want to hold them up."
He stayed only long enough to tuck a loose curl behind Mozenrath's ear and left.
