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“Everything all right?” A drunk Aqura bungles in again, trying to field a sense of importance.
“All in hand, Aqura,” I tell him.
“Good, good, well, if you need me, I’ll be over there,” He points toward the corner to a sweet little thing that gives him a seductive wave.
I look at Hittus and see a want in his eye as he ogles Aqura’s passport to pleasure for the evening.
“Hittus?” I gently say.
He quickly breaks from his stare like a caught schoolboy. “Ah, yes, umm, I must ask you to accompany us. Your father bids it.”
“Well, if Father bids it, how can I refuse?”
Hittus bowes at that, and I return it, “Lead on, Hittus.”
Aqura stumbles off as Hittus leads me toward the door.
“You know, Hittus, if you ever need the company of a woman, just let me know,” I tell him with a poke of my elbow.
I can almost hear the excitement of the thought bouncing in his head. “Well, things haven’t been great at home, in that department lately.”
It’s a short ride from the club to my Father’s house, a grand place, as expected in the important part of town.
I wait for Hittus to exit first and for him to hold the carriage door open as I step onto the pavement. The night air is sharp with a hint of perfume, and I breathe it in before walking up the steps to another door opened by someone else.
I turn to Hittus, who has followed me, and ask, “The study, I take it?”
“No, young sir, the conference room.”
“Oh, fancy,” I joke, but I know all too well it would be.
“A bit of advice if I may, sir,” Hittus says.
“You may, Hittus, you may.”
“I’d try and sober up a bit if I were you,” he lowers his eyes and hurries off down the corridor.
If he only knew just how sober I am.
I turn on my heel and head up the grand marble stairs. I scrape the soles of my shoes as I go. I like how it echoes through the cold halls of my Father’s house, signaling my presence.
I take a moment, just a brief one, before I push the large doors of the conference room open. The chattering within fades to stony silence as I enter.
Quite the crowd, I must admit, have gathered in my honor. I glance around at the elder elves seated and am impressed by how many, if not all, have made the effort.
My eyes shift toward him, my father, Karag, with a look on his face I have seen a thousand times and have come to despise.
“Father!” I call out, my voice bouncing around the bitter walls of the room and into the ear of every elf here.
Then, for added effect, I stumble just a little.
“You’re drunk!” Father raises himself from his seat. “Again.”
On cue, the rest of the elder elves stand and make their objections to my perceived state known rather loudly.
“I can smell the wine from here!” One of the old bastards shouts.
“A disgrace. Look at the clothes he wears!” Another one.
