no subject

['My dear.' She makes a face, clearly not happy with the familiarity. Most people would shrink away from being near her, talk to her more out of necessity. Even the hunting dogs whined and kept their tails between their legs when she was in the room.]

Then there's little harm in watering it down.

[Still. Her eyes moved back to her glass and she focused on it, drawing moisture from the air to compensate while she changed part of the water mixed in to wine. Wine she knew was good, wine that would have been found in the palace kitchens for affairs of state.

And then she looks back to him, raising her glass almost politely before taking a sip. He's different. Something about him reminds her of Oskan Witchfather.]