Latio felt the heat creep up his neck, a flush of crimson blooming across his cheeks under the weight of the Habadian's gaze. For a moment, the golden symmetry of Nibadur's face seemed to scramble his thoughts.
"I—" he stammered, the syllable hanging pathetic and thin in the air.
Silly fool, he cursed himself internally, the bite of his father's voice echoing in his skull. Do you want to be treated like a child? Were your ears waxed when Father spoke? The shame was a cold splash of water, sobering him instantly. He adjusted his posture, straightening his spine until his breastplate appeared harder than stone. "I shall be honored to share the field with such a distinguished host."
"I doubt it will truly come to that," Nibadur replied smoothly. He realized then that the boy was still standing, with a smile he beckoned Latio to the empty seat at his right.
