The wind sighed through the trees and howled into the empty air. It was a silence so profound it could have been mistaken for a funeral, except that where there should have been the wailing of mourners, there was only a single, sharp laugh.
The sound did not belong to Alpheo this time. He turned his head to find Merelao, the Lord of Epietoli, snickering behind a gloved hand. As Alpheo's gaze lingered, the chuckle blossomed into graceful, full-throated laughter.
"Apologies, my friend," Merelao said, his words flowing with grace as he regained his composure. "It was just that... I had forgotten how much you loathe a dull performance. That monologue? Exquisite. I haven't heard such creative butchery promised since you convinced me to stake my sword with yours. You've frightened the poor prince so thoroughly I suspect his horse is the only thing currently keeping him upright."
