The feast rolled on, lively as a river after spring rains. The musicians plucked at their lutes and fiddles, filling the great tent with a warm variety of sound, while the scent of roasted meats, spiced peppered stews, and fresh bread mingled thickly in the air. Laughter, heavy with wine, rose here and there, as nobles slowly got in the air of the celebration
Alpheo, however, had not come just to dine.Leaning back in his chair with the lazy air of a lion full on meat, he turned his head and let his gaze drift across the long table, finally fixing his eyes on a particular sight: Egil.
There, a few seats down, sat the man, stuffing his face with the ferocity of a starving wolf. At that precise moment, Egil was in the middle of conquering an entire chicken leg, grease glistening on his hands and dripping down the side of his face. For a long heartbeat, Egil didn't notice the princely stare boring into him.
Then he did.
