Chapter 67: The Long Dinner
Part 1
The afternoon had dissolved into evening with the kind of languid grace that only privilege could afford, transforming the ducal residence from merely impressive to genuinely ethereal. Mana-lights began their automatic ignition throughout the estate, each one calibrated to complement the dying sun rather than compete with it, creating a golden hour that seemed to stretch impossibly long.
Philip stood before the full-length mirror in his chambers, fighting a losing battle with his cravat while his mind remained trapped in a loop of the earlier encounter.
That smile.
It had happened just as Lilianna was leaving after expressing her greetings to the Duchess Margaret. The meeting had been surprisingly proper—almost disappointingly so. The flame-haired beauty who’d commanded sixty cavalry with casual authority had transformed into the perfect image of aristocratic respectability. She’d curtsied to Margaret with flawless form, addressed her as "Your Grace" with genuine deference, discussed the riot suppression efforts with clinical detachment.
For twenty minutes, she’d been nothing more than a young duchess reporting to her elder, maintaining perfect posture and appropriate eye contact.
Then, as she was departing, she’d turned to look at the balcony.
Their eyes had met—amber-gold locking onto his with sudden intensity—and she’d smiled. Not the polite social smile she’d worn earlier, but something else entirely. Warm, yes. Confident, absolutely. But underneath... something that made Philip’s blood sing and his rational mind scream warnings in equal measure. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what effect she had and was enjoying every second of it.
Then she’d turned to look ahead, flame-hair swinging like a battle standard, and rode away with the casual confidence of someone who knew they were being watched and didn’t mind one bit.
"Dinner at eight," Margaret had said, her tone suggesting this wasn’t a suggestion. "Your cousin Lilianna will be joining us. Do try to be presentable, Philip."
Now, four hours later, Philip was failing spectacularly at ’presentable.’
"Useless things," he muttered, yanking at the silk.
"Oh, but Philip," the System purred, materializing as a tiny fashion designer, "watching you panic like a schoolboy before his first dance is absolutely delicious!"
A knock interrupted his struggle. "Master Philip?" Lydia’s voice carried through the door. "Might I assist?"
"Please," Philip said desperately.
Lydia made quick work of his cravat with practiced efficiency. "There. Now, the young duchess is rather famous for her wit. And her... directness."
"Directness?"
"She once told the Minister of Finance that his economic policy had ’all the elegance of a hippopotamus attempting ballet.’ To his face. At a state dinner."
Philip’s stomach performed an uncomfortable flip.
"Also," Lydia continued, "the Duchess Margaret has arranged for Natalia to be properly attired for dinner. She sent for one of her own gowns to be altered."
Before Philip could process this, another knock came. "Master?" Natalia’s voice carried an unusual note of uncertainty. "May I enter?"
Philip opened the door and his heart raced.
Natalia stood in the hallway wearing a gown that was beyond stunning. Deep emerald silk accentuated every curve before flowing into a skirt that moved like water. The neckline was technically modest by aristocratic standards but on Natalia’s ample bosom, "modest" became a laughable concept. Her golden hair had been arranged in an elaborate updo that exposed the elegant line of her neck, and someone had applied subtle cosmetics that somehow made her impossibly blue eyes even more mesmerizing.
But it was her expression that truly undid him—uncertainty mixed with determination.
"The maids insisted on these shoes," she said, lifting her skirt slightly to reveal heeled slippers. "The heel-to-toe ratio seems impractical for combat scenarios."
"You look..." Philip started, then stopped, his vocabulary deserting him entirely.
"Ridiculous?" Natalia supplied helpfully. "The maids kept giggling and saying things that my linguistic database couldn’t properly translate, though I believe several comments involved fruit metaphors."
"Beautiful," Philip managed. "You look beautiful."
She tilted her head, analyzing his biological responses with her usual clinical precision. "Your pupil dilation suggests sincerity. Though your elevated heart rate could indicate either aesthetic appreciation or cardiovascular distress."
"Definitely the former," Philip said, then caught Lydia’s warning look. "We should head down. Grandmother doesn’t approve of tardiness."
The journey to the dining room felt surreal. Outside every window, evidence of the day’s chaos remained visible—distant smoke plumes, occasional echoes that might have been gunfire.
"Master," Natalia said as they descended the staircase, "I’ve been analyzing—"
She stopped mid-sentence, body going rigid.
Philip followed her gaze and understood immediately.
The entrance hall had been transformed with candles and formal livery. But none of that mattered, because standing at the center was Lilianna.
Philip’s brain simply stopped.
She wore scarlet. Not the subtle burgundy or muted crimson that most aristocratic ladies favored, but true scarlet—the color of fresh blood, of passion unrestrained, of danger wrapped in silk. The gown hugged her athletic frame while maintaining complete propriety, the fabric seeming to capture and reflect light in ways that made her skin glow like alabaster.
Her flame-colored hair had been partially pinned up with what looked like ruby-tipped pins, but enough had been left loose to cascade down her back in waves that caught every flicker of candlelight. She’d foregone most jewelry except for a choker of black pearls that made her neck look impossibly elegant and somehow emphasized the fullness of her bosom.
But it was the shoes that truly completed the transformation—heels that had to be four inches at minimum, turning her from merely tall to genuinely statuesque. She stood with the casual confidence of someone who’d been born wearing them, one hip cocked slightly in a way that created a silhouette that radiate an aura of power.
"Philip!" Margaret called out, noticing their arrival. "Finally. I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in the house."
Lilianna turned, and Philip watched something fascinating happen to her expression. For just an instant, her confident smile faltered as her eyes found Natalia, something that might have been surprise flickering there before her control reasserted itself.
Then her eyes moved to Philip.
"Lord Philip," she said, dropping into a curtsey that should have been formal but somehow managed to be almost provocative in its perfect execution. Her attention to every detail of etiquette was flawless—the exact angle of her knee, the precise positioning of her hands, the appropriate duration of the bow. "How wonderful to see you again."
"Duchess," Philip managed, proud that his voice only cracked slightly. He attempted a bow, largely successful except for the part where he couldn’t stop staring.
The System materialized on his shoulder, now dressed as a tiny therapist complete with notepad. "Fascinating! Your arousal response is approaching levels typically reserved for—oh boy, Philip, do I need to remind you this is FAMILY?"
Philip’s internal monologue went into full panic mode. Oh God, oh God, I’m getting aroused by my COUSIN. What is wrong with me?
"Hey, hey," the System said cheerfully, "different world, different customs! Second cousins marrying is totally normal here. Actually encouraged among nobility for wealth consolidation!"
No, Philip thought desperately. No way. That’s not—I can’t—
"Your loss," the System said with a mental shrug. "But your body seems to have a different opinion about the matter."
Lilianna had risen and was now studying Natalia with undisguised curiosity—not cutting assessment, but something more complex. Almost... compassionate?
"And you must be Miss Natalia," Lilianna said, her voice carrying genuine warmth. She extended her hand with respect. "Your beauty truly is as remarkable as the rumors suggest."
The words sounded sincere, almost reverent.
Natalia executed a technically perfect curtsey, though Philip noticed tension in her shoulders. "Duchess of Wetdin. Your reputation for tactical excellence precedes you."
Lilianna’s smile widened with understanding. "How delightfully formal. Please, we’re family here. Call me Lilianna. I insist."
The words were warm, but Natalia didn’t relax.
"Let’s skip the ceremony for now," Margaret declared joyfully. "Dinner is served, and the cook will revolt if we let her masterpiece grow cold."
Part 2
The dining room had been set for intimacy rather than grandeur. Margaret sat at the head with Philip to her right and Lilianna to her left. Which meant Philip found himself directly across from Lilianna. Natalia was beside him.
"Wine?" Lilianna offered, reaching for the decanter. "This is a ’97 Château Montedello. Your grandfather had exquisite taste, Philip."
"Thank you," Philip managed.
"Though I must confess," Lilianna continued, filling glasses with elegant precision, "I’m surprised you’re serving foreign wine given the current situation."
Margaret laughed. "My dear girl, the day I let rioters dictate my wine selection is the day I abdicate all pretense of civilization." She paused, her expression becoming thoughtful. "Though I’ll admit the menu is less diverse than usual. The barricades have made fresh deliveries challenging."
She said it with casual pragmatism, as if discussing a minor inconvenience, then continued, "The cook did her best with what we had, but I do apologize if the courses seem less varied than you might expect from a formal dinner."
Philip felt something cold settle in his stomach. The casual acceptance of how the riots had disrupted their supply chains, mentioned as offhandedly as one might comment on rain disrupting a garden party—was this the quiet confidence of the Empire’s elites, secure in their power? Or was it pure ignorance, a dangerous blindness to how close the flames were getting?
They’re talking about food diversity while the city burns, he thought with growing unease. Are they that confident in their position, or that detached from reality?
"How casually we discuss the collapse of order," Lilianna observed, raising her glass. "To civilization’s persistence, however tenuous."
They drank, and Philip tried not to notice how Lilianna’s lips curved around the crystal rim, or the way her throat moved when she swallowed, or—
"Master," Natalia leaned in and whispered quietly, her breath warm against his ear, "your arousal indicators are becoming physiologically concerning. Your blood pressure has elevated to pre-hypertensive levels."
Philip nearly choked on his wine.
The System cackled with glee. "She’s monitoring your arousal! At dinner! While your hot cousin flirts with you! This is better than every reality show ever created!"
"Are you well, Philip?" Lilianna asked, concern and something else flickering in her remarkable eyes. "You seem... flushed."
"Just the wine," Philip managed.
The first course arrived—soup.
"Innovation in tradition," Lilianna said, tasting it. "How very modern. Speaking of which, Philip, I understand you’ve been quite innovative with your estate management. Turning around a failing property requires either genius or madness."
"Probably both," Philip admitted. "Though I had significant help."
"From Albert, Lydia, and Miss Natalia, I understand?" Lilianna’s gaze shifted to Natalia. "Aunt Margaret mentioned you have quite the head for figures."
"I find mathematics soothing," Natalia replied, her tone neutral but posture slightly defensive. "Numbers behave predictably, unlike people."
"How refreshing," Lilianna said with genuine warmth, leaning forward. "I’ve often felt the same about sword work. Steel is honest in ways society never is."
She paused. "Though I imagine you understand that better than most, given your... capabilities. The way you moved when you entered—that’s not ballroom training. That’s someone who knows tactical advantages."
The temperature shifted. Margaret’s spoon paused minutely.
But Margaret, with the practiced ease of a woman who’d spent decades navigating treacherous social waters, smoothly intervened. "My dear Lilianna, I’ve always admired how perceptive you are. It’s one of the Wetdin traits that has served our family so well over the centuries." She turned to Natalia with a warm smile. "And Natalia, you must try this soup. The cook specifically asked if you might enjoy it. She’s been quite taken with trying to please our extended household."
"I’m not certain what you mean about capabilities," Natalia said carefully, her voice smaller than usual.
"Oh, I think you do." Lilianna’s smile widened. "The way you move, the way you assessed every exit in this room. You’re no ordinary companion."
The silence stretched taut.
Then Lilianna laughed, bright and genuine. "Oh, don’t look so concerned! I respect competence wherever I find it." She raised her glass toward Natalia. "Your reputation as Philip’s beautiful bodyguard is well known. And from what I can see, every word is deserved."
There was something in her tone—not jealousy, but solidarity. Acknowledging a fellow warrior.
Margaret seized the moment with characteristic grace. "Lilianna, dear, I’ve been meaning to ask about your tactical innovations in riot control. Several of my contacts in the Imperial administration have been quite impressed with your ability to de-escalate situations without excessive force. It’s a rare talent, especially in times like these."
The older woman’s intervention was smooth as silk—shifting the conversation to acknowledge Lilianna’s achievements, reminding everyone at the table of her competence and value, while simultaneously moving away from potentially dangerous territory. Philip watched in fascination as Margaret wove the conversation between topics, always ensuring that both Natalia and Lilianna felt included, valued, never allowing tension to build into confrontation.
Then, the main course arrived—duck à l’orange.
"Tell me," Lilianna said, "Do you still remember the time when you played Chopin here?"
Philip paused. How could he explain that he didn’t remember because the Philip who created that memory had essentially died?
Margaret came to the rescue. "Oh yes! The Autumn Festival of... 2012, wasn’t it?"
"You played Chopin," Lilianna continued, her voice taking on a distant quality. "The Ballade No. 1. You missed several notes, got frustrated, started over twice. But when you finally got through it..." She paused, something vulnerable flickering across her features. "It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard."
The System whispered, unusually subdued. "This girl has been carrying a torch for over a decade."
"I don’t..." Philip started, then stopped.
"You gave me the sheet music afterward," Lilianna said softly. "Said I should learn it so we could play together someday. You had no idea what those words meant to a lonely little girl who spent most of her time training with swords." A slight, sad smile played at her lips. "I practiced every day for three years. Every. Single. Day."
The room had gone very quiet.
"Did we?" Philip asked, barely a whisper. "Ever play together?"
"No." The word carried years of disappointment. "By the time I’d learned it, you’d joined the military academy. And then... well. Life happened. Your princess happened too."
The reference to Rosetta was oblique but clear.
She stood suddenly, moving toward the piano in the corner. "But I never forgot," she said, settling onto the bench. "That song became... what I held onto when everything else fell apart."
Her fingers positioned themselves above the keys. She took a breath—the kind a warrior takes before battle.
Then she began to play.
The first notes filled the room—tentative at first, then growing in confidence. Philip recognized the piece even though he’d never played it in this body.
But Lilianna didn’t just play the notes. She inhabited them, transformed them, made them speak of longing, loss, love that had never had the chance to be more than a child’s dream. Her body moved with the music, flame-hair swaying, and Philip found himself mesmerized not by her beauty but by the raw emotion she poured into every phrase.
This wasn’t a performance. This was confession, prayer, eulogy all woven together. Each note carried years spent holding onto a memory, practicing a duet that would never happen, loving someone who couldn’t remember her.
The music built in intensity, Lilianna’s whole body involved now, and Philip saw it—the warrior beneath the duchess, the passion beneath the control, the desperate yearning beneath the confident facade. She played like she was fighting for something she knew she’d already lost.
Beside him, he heard Natalia make a small sound—almost a whimper. He turned to see tears streaming down her face, her usual composure completely shattered.
"The emotional resonance," she whispered. "It’s... overwhelming. The mathematical perfection combined with deliberate imperfections that create humanity. The way each phrase builds, creating narrative through pure sound. It’s..." Her voice broke. "It’s the sound of a heart breaking beautifully."
"Beautiful," Philip supplied, reaching over to take her hand.
Natalia squeezed his fingers with desperate strength.
The music built to its climax, Lilianna’s whole body involved now, and Philip saw tears streaming down her face as well. She played like she was saying goodbye, like this was her last chance to tell a story that had lived inside her for over a decade.
Then, silence.
Lilianna sat perfectly still, her head bowed. When she looked up, her eyes were wet with tears, but her smile was genuine—sad, but genuine.
"That was..." Natalia started, then stopped. She wiped at her eyes. "The technical mastery was extraordinary, but more than that—the emotional architecture, the way you built tension and resolution, the willingness to be vulnerable... Thank you for sharing that with us. It was a gift."
Lilianna’s expression flickered with genuine surprise—as if she’d expected judgment but received understanding instead. For a moment, her composed mask slipped entirely, revealing something raw and grateful.
"Thank you," Lilianna said quietly, with deep sincerity. "That... means more than you might realize. Especially coming from someone who clearly understands the architecture of emotion."
There was a moment of genuine connection between the two women—recognition passing between them. Not friendship, not yet, but acknowledgment. Understanding.
Margaret broke the charged silence with gentle authority. "That was truly magnificent, Lilianna. Your mother would have been so proud." She gestured to the servants. "Perhaps we might have a brief interval before dessert? I believe we all need a moment to recover from such beauty."
It was masterfully done—acknowledging the emotional weight while providing everyone with a socially acceptable way to compose themselves.
Lilianna stood, smoothing her dress. As she returned to the table, she paused beside Philip’s chair. Without warning, she reached out and touched his shoulder—the gesture brief but warm.
"Thank you for being worth the wait," she said softly, for his ears alone. "Even if you don’t remember."
Then she moved away, but not before Philip caught fresh tears in her eyes.
"Speaking of which," Lilianna said more loudly, returning to her seat, "I should thank you properly, Philip. For being my inspiration all those years ago. For giving a lonely little girl something to aspire to."
She lifted her wine glass ceremonially. "To Philip Redwood—my childhood hero, who taught me that hope can exist even in a dark world, and that sometimes the most valuable gifts are the ones we don’t even remember giving."
The toast was direct, bold, yet carried such genuine emotion that it transcended mere social nicety. Everyone raised their glasses, but Philip found himself frozen, his face heating with an intense blush.
"I—that’s—you don’t have to—" he stammered.
Lilianna’s expression flickered with surprise for just a split second—genuine, unguarded surprise.
He never blushed like that, she thought. Not with me. Not when I was young and foolish and following him around. He was always so confident, so controlled. But now... now he blushes like a boy who’s never been praised before.
Something shifted in her chest.
He finally sees her as a woman, she realized. The little girl who worshipped him from afar is gone. But he doesn’t remember her anyway. He doesn’t remember any of it. And Rosetta... Rosetta is gone too.
The moment passed in a heartbeat.
"Well then," Margaret said, "shall we have dessert?"
Part 3
Dessert was chocolate soufflé—individual portions served in delicate porcelain cups.
The conversation had shifted to lighter topics. Margaret guided the discussion with masterful skill—cavalry tactics, estate management innovations, the latest scandal involving a minor noble and an unfortunate incident with a mirror-phone.
Eventually, Lilianna glanced at the ornate clock and sighed.
"I’m afraid I must take my leave soon," she said with genuine regret. "My cavalry has early patrol duty tomorrow, and the outer districts remain... unstable."
"Of course," Margaret said warmly. "Though I hope you’ll visit again soon."
"The honor was entirely mine, Aunt Margaret." Lilianna stood gracefully. She turned to Natalia first, and Philip watched something pass between them—understanding.
"Thank you for your kind words regarding my performance," Lilianna said, extending her hand.
Natalia took it, her grip firm but respectful. "It was an honor to witness it."
Then Lilianna moved to Margaret, embracing her warmly. "Thank you for tonight. For everything."
"My dear girl," Margaret said, voice thick with emotion, "you’re always welcome in this house."
Finally, Lilianna turned to Philip, and he felt his heart rate spike dramatically.
She moved close—close enough that he could smell her perfume, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
"Thank you for tonight, Philip," she said, and then she was embracing him. Not the formal, careful embrace of aristocratic farewell, but something fuller, closer, more intimate. Her body pressed against his with a completeness that spiked his heartbeats in an instant, her warmth seeping through the layers of formal wear.
And his body, traitor that it was, responded instantly.
The System practically shrieked in his mind. "ALERT ALERT! INVOLUNTARY REACTION IN PROGRESS!"
Philip’s face went from red to what he imagined must be purple. Embarrassment flooded through him with such intensity that he actually felt dizzy. He was pressed against Lilianna, and there was absolutely no way she couldn’t feel his body’s enthusiastic response to her proximity.
Oh God. She’s going to think I’m a pervert. This is how I die—of shame at a family dinner.
But Lilianna’s expression didn’t change. She held the embrace for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and Philip could have sworn he felt her breath catch, felt her heart rate spike where her bosom pressed against his chest. But when she pulled back, her face showed only warm affection, as if she’d noticed nothing unusual whatsoever.
Though Philip caught the faintest flush on her cheeks, the slightest dilation of her pupils.
But then she leaned toward Philip as if to steady herself on her tall heels, her mouth coming close to his ear. Her whisper was barely audible, her breath hot against his ear, her words carrying an intimacy that seemed to bypass his mind and go straight to his nerve endings.
"Please don’t try to kill yourself ever again. I would be very sad."
Then she was pulling back, her expression perfectly innocent, as if she’d said nothing more significant than a casual farewell.
She took a step back and turned to face all three of them, but her eyes locked on Philip’s one more time. Then, with deliberate slowness that made his mouth go dry, she raised one hand to her lips, kissed her fingertips, and blew the kiss toward him.
"Until next time," she said brightly. She gave one final wave—a gesture that managed to be both regal and playful—and then she was moving toward the exit, her scarlet dress flowing around her like liquid fire.
The door closed behind her with a soft click, and the room felt suddenly empty.
"Well," Margaret said after a long moment, a small smile playing at her lips, "that went better than expected."
Philip turned to stare at her, still reeling from that whispered warning. "Better? That was a disaster!"
"Was it?" Margaret’s smile widened. "She played the piano. She revealed her feelings. She assessed Natalia without violence. She demonstrated emotional vulnerability. And she left you with something to think about."
Philip looked at Natalia, expecting hurt or anger. Instead, he found her staring at the doorway with intense concentration.
"She wants you," Natalia said suddenly. "But not in the simple way I expected. Her attraction is genuine—her elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, and flushed skin provide empirical evidence. But it’s complicated by something else. Obligation? Desperation? I’m missing crucial data."
"She’s my cousin," Philip said desperately.
"Second cousin," the System corrected cheerfully. "Totally legal to marry."
Before Philip could argue, Natalia spoke again, quieter than usual. "Master, I need to tell you something."
Philip turned to face her. "What is it?"
"During our time at the balcony earlier, when I mentioned that Lilianna might want something from you..." Natalia paused. "I detected intentionality in her presence here. She has objectives involving you, though I cannot yet determine their full nature."
Philip felt his chest tighten. Without thinking, without conscious decision, he found himself moving. His arms wrapped around Natalia, pulling her close with fierce protectiveness.
"No one will take me away from you," Philip said, the words emerging with conviction. "No one. I promise you that."
Natalia looked up at him, genuine surprise on her face. "Master, I... I wasn’t expressing concern about that possibility."
"I know," Philip said, his embrace tightening slightly. "But I needed to say it anyway. Whatever happens, whatever complications arise, you’re not going anywhere. Understand?"
For a moment, Natalia was perfectly still. Then something shifted in her expression—something soft, vulnerable, deeply moved. "I... that means more than you might realize."
"You don’t have to explain," Philip said softly, though he didn’t release her. "I just wanted you to know where you stand with me."
Natalia pressed closer, her face finding the side of his. "Thank you," she whispered. "For the reassurance. It’s... comforting."
They stood like that for a long moment, neither speaking, while Margaret watched with knowing eyes and a small, satisfied smile.
Margaret’s laugh filled the room—genuine, delighted laughter. "Oh, Philip, your life has become so delightfully complicated. Your grandfather would be so amused."
"Grandmother," Philip managed, "what is really going on here? Why did you really invite Lilianna?"
Margaret’s laughter faded, replaced by something more calculating. "The Wetdin duchy comes with five votes in the upper house, Philip. Five votes that could support progressive causes or be turned toward darker purposes."
"You’re trying to recruit her politically?"
"I’m trying to save her," Margaret said quietly, growing serious. "That girl is drowning in debt and desperation. She’s one bad decision away from complete ruin. Or worse, from falling into the hands of those who would use her for truly destructive purposes."
"So you’re using me as bait?" Philip’s voice carried an edge.
"I’m providing opportunities," Margaret corrected firmly. "For both of you."
"I don’t even remember her," Philip protested. "Not really."
"But she may be the only one by whom Natalia can retain her place meaningfully in your life," Margaret said with gentle tenderness.