Hermi stared at the label on the bottle in her hand, her fingers trembling. She tightened her grip, focusing every bit of her will on not letting the glass slip and smash against the stone floor.
This was no common vintage from the Olyndros coasts such as she often saw served in the Dining Hall. The parchment label indicated it hailed from Sylvatica, the forest kingdom renowned for the ripest fruits and rarest medicinal herbs.
It was not even a standard bottling meant for drinking within a few seasons. This was a fine, ancient vintage brewed twenty-five years ago, aged in oak before she had even drawn her first breath.
Enzo had informed her that he had retrieved this from Cassian's preferred private cellar. For a king ruling over a wasteland, Cassian certainly possessed an unexpectedly expensive and royal palate. The bottle alone must have cost a small fortune.
