The man’s smile was pleasant, satisfied, though it lacked tangency. His slender fingers, adorned in only a single golden band, rested placidly on the navy clothed table. His fair curls fell in a waterfall over one scarlet shoulder of his velvet tunic. The style was archaic rather than trendy, but gave his delicate face a noble air. He laughed politely as his king, the robust man on his left side, finished a bland joke was an overused punch line.

“Servant, get the baron something to drink. Some wine, perhaps? I have a good barrel that my family has been aging for quite some number of years,” the monarch bellowed.

The baron agreed sincerely, “Yes, I’m rather tense, actually, some wine would be lovely.”

The servant, decorated in formal gold and sapphire, hurried through the crowded tables of pompously garbed lords and ladies. Heavy jewels and lavish furs oozed from their dainty moonlight pale shoulders. The soft rustle of casual conversation floated through the rafters of the banquet hall’s arching ceiling.

“So,” the king spat out, “how is your family?”

“They are well, though I’m sorry to say my dear brother was stricken ill following his last visit. Unfortunately, it was fatal.” He gestured solemnly to a black mourning medallion hung around his neck.

The king downcast his eyes gravely. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was an intelligent man. Do you know the cause of his illness? He was in quite good health when he arrived here.”

“No, I’ll admit that his symptoms were like none I’ve seen of any natural illness. A very quick sickness, hardly time for a last embrace with his poor wife before he moved on from this world.”

“It truly is terrible, and very mysterious, I might say. His death will surely be sorely felt.”

“Thank you, your majesty, your condolences are a comfort to my weary soul. We were rather close.” The baron tucked the medallion back under his velvet tunic, ending the topic. His polite smile returned to once again ornament his lips.

The brass wails of trumpets sliced through the lively court chatter as columns of gold and sapphire marched down the rows, bearing weighty platters heaped with steaming meat and colorful bites. They unloaded their burden in dainty portions on each silver plate. Large gleaming goblets were filled with sand colored win, oaken ale, and soft dawn champagne.

The large crowned man rose to his feet, his golden goblet raised to heaven’s mouth. “Welcome to my humble home. Lords, ladies, friends, might I say that you look stunning?” He paused to grant them a warm smile. “I’d like to thank my most dear friend, the Baron of Rella, for his presence in our midst during these nervous times.” He looked past the large gathering towards the back of the hall, where his personal servant stood awaiting the end of his master’s speech before finishing his duties. “Come, come,” the king called, “He needs his drink!”

The servant hurried forward meekly, aware that the eyes of the ages were focused on his humble task. He offered the decorative silver tray forward, and the baron tenderly ensnared the crystal cup in a spider web of fingers, nodding his thanks.

“Now, a toast! Let us drink in celebration of life!” There sounded a supple crunch of sleeves as two hundred glasses met the soft kiss of rouged lips. The baron took a deep inhale of his blood colored drink, and he met the eyes of the ever-watchful ruler, taking a long draught of the bitter liquid.

At the muffled thud of the goblets’ bases against the tables, the baron’s pleasant smile turned to a triumphant grin. “It is indeed fine, sire.”

“Yes, I could tell a man like you would appreciate it.” A wicked light twinkled momentarily in the King’s eyes. “Let us eat, I am famished.”

The baron took another sip of his wine, and then speared a flaky piece of pastry on his silver fork. His throat budged as he swallowed and immediately began a deep rumbling cough. He took another extensive drink of wine, clearing his suddenly dry tongue.

He tipped his near empty glass to the king, nodding as a wild grin split his pink-cheeked face. The baron pushed his chair back and stood. He started to laugh, beginning with barely a giggle, then rising in volume. The final shards of garnet clung to the glass droplets splashing outward across the smooth polished stone in a spray of stars.

The monarch motioned for the guards, his wide eyes betraying his fear. The hall was entombed in stunned silence, except for the insane laughter slashing apart the merriment. The baron doubled over, clawing at his throat. He chocked, a small dribble of wine colored blood escaping from his parted lips. The baron straightened from his mocking skeleton bow.

“Sire, it has been a lovely game. It’s a such a pity, though I understand that some opportunities are too good to pass up.” His body hit the tiles, arms spread like a snow angel, beautiful in its immortality.

“Friends,” the kind began hastily, waving his hands about theatrically, “it seems my guest suffered from the same illness as his recently departed brother. This is grievous misfortune indeed, but his final wishes would not have been for us to halt the evening. Please, let us carry on into the dance, and perhaps in our celebration we can remember the great man who lays before you.”

There was a nervous cheer followed by the rustle of silk and lace, only a hushed whisper escorting the disturbed procession through the wide golden doorway. The baron smiled serenely at such somber faces.

When the scene was securely behind them and out of sight, it became merely a tragic hindrance. Discontent was forgotten as an orchestra struck up a lively step.

“Guests, let us dance!” the king declared, sweeping up a count’s daughter. The court paired off rapidly, taking up the dance. Their slippered feet carried them through complicated twirls and patterns with practiced ease. Gradually, the music quickened until the entire room was no more than a silk kaleidoscope.

A single step fell out of the design. A young girl with a beautifuly alarmed eyes stumbled with drunken grace. The dance fell apart in a contortion of sunset faces. Their breathing was heavy, blood coursing through their veins with lively vigor. The court took up the reeling sway to the tempo of stampeding hearts.

A bow hit the floor, fallen from the trembling hand of a horrified violinist. One by one, hearts gave in to the game, collapsing in on themselves. The final note of the twisted melody rang like a tolling church bell, the sound of a golden grown on marble tile. It hit the floor twice before lying at rest at the foot of a throne, meticulously set with indigo blossoms.

A cry carried through the ceremonial doors. “Sire, the cup rims! They were . . .” With a loud crash, the large doors crashed against the wall. When the echo washed away, the only sound was a silence more terrible than that kept by the tomb.