"You... cough... what?!" Leonidas wheezed, pounding his tree-trunk-sized fist against his own chest to clear his airway. He stared at the six-year-old girl sitting casually at the wrought-iron table, munching on a fruit tart. "A bad bug? Grandpas with monocles? Kaelus, what in the blazing hells is she talking about?!"
Duke Kaelus von Nacht did not immediately answer. He slowly picked up a pristine linen napkin and dabbed a drop of spilled wine from the polished surface of the table.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other, radiating an aura of unbothered superiority.
"She is speaking plain Imperial Common, Leonidas," Kaelus drawled, his voice a low, smooth baritone dripping with condescension. "Though I suppose the nuanced syntax might be difficult for a man who communicates primarily by shouting at molten rock."
