Dwarven Country.
Royal Palace.
Inside his chamber, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and strong alcohol. Empty casks and half-finished platters were scattered.
Gumarak slammed down the tenth great bottle of dwarven wine.
"Bwahh!!! Now this… this is life! Ehehehe!" He tore into another slab of meat.
Ferine sat nearby, arms crossed neatly, her poise at odds with the chaos around her, graceful, calm.
"Father!" Her sigh was sharp, eyes narrowing. "Stop drinking already."
"What!?" Gumarak barked, his cheeks flushed red from drink.
"I'm enjoyin' my night! After piles o' cursed paperwork, I deserve this! A king should drink like a king!"
Ferine's brow furrowed.
"You'll collapse before morning at this rate. Is that what a ruler should do?"
"Bah! Ye sound just like yer mama," Gumarak grumbled.
Ferine's sigh deepened.
"If Mother heard you say that, I'm sure she'd hit you until dawn."
Gumarak's eyes went wide. He looked around in panicked.
