Serellia (Everlasting Legends, Book 2)

Ch. 15 - Poitin and Polite Company

Ardaik 15th - Tulot, Serellia

Flann, Rory, Shay, and Killian had settled into the King's Den, a rather large and cozy communal space that also happened to be located right under Alorta's room.

The raucous laughter from the three made them quite easy for Artus to locate after descending the enclosed spiral staircase nearest to Bhalthier's room. They looked to be well into their chatter and drink, and at first, hardly even seemed to notice that Artus had joined them.

"Done with the marquis already?" Shay asked far more loudly than Artus thought necessary. "Or did ya not find 'em?"

"We spoke," Artus confirmed with a polite, but counterfeit smile.

"Then come sit! Thars a seat and bottle with yer name on em!" Flann boomed from where he lounged in a chair that seemed far too large to for the likes of any normal man.

Artus seated himself but regarded the bottle with a skeptical gaze. After failing to tug the cork from it on his first try, Rory snatched it right out of his hands, and the prince stared wide-eyed as the brunette pulled the cork free with his teeth without the slightest care nor consideration for manners, and spit it across the table toward Flann.

"Thar ya go, Yer Highness!" He cackled while he offered the bottle back.

The scent of the bottle's contents was strong enough that Artus didn't even need to bring it any closer to his face to get a whiff. "What is it?"

"Poitin," Killian answered ahead of Flann who just tossed the cork back across the table.

"It's strong enough ta make ironbark curl!" Flann boasted.

"Oh." Artus was incredibly tempted to decline the invitation to partake in such a drink. He very much needed to be sober enough to concoct a believable lie to tell Flann, for why he'd be returning to Homenil, and coherent enough to articulate it.

"Go on, have a lit'le," Rory encouraged, giving Artus a rather uncomfortable, but likely well-meaning, jab with one of his elbows. "It'll put some hair on yer sa-"

"Chest," Shay interrupted, speaking over Rory.

"Well... Aye!" Rory agreed with another chuckle. "Thar too!"

Against his better judgment, Artus closed his eyes and took a drink, though he held the bottle at an angle longer than actually necessary, and allowed far less passed his lips than he'd made it appear. The alcohol was still potent enough that he scrunched his nose as he swallowed it down with a shudder. "Saints," he coughed, holding the bottle out to anyone who would take it.

Honestly, Flann had thought about offering Artus something more suitable for a Lorellian palette. They had some fine wines and brandies in the cellar, and he would have said something about them had he not thought that it would result in more hazing by his friends. And he was glad that he hadn't said anything when he spied the impressed looks on his friends' faces when Artus managed to not spit out the alcohol. At some point, Flann knew that they all had. As young boys, it was almost a right of passage that would later develop into an acquired taste. But with Artus's good honor solidified amongst his pack of friends, Flann leaned in to take the bottle.

"If ya want some er, dinner wine, let me know," he whispered before leaning back.

The look of discomfort fled from Artus's face, replaced by the kind of smile that Flann had only briefly seen on the occasions when they'd been alone. It was several minutes later before Artus ventured another sip from the bottle.

"So, since his majesty'll be steppin' down after the festival, s'at mean you'll be gettin' married 'fore Rory?" Shay asked.

"Pfffft," Rory huffed. "I could ask Feyah ta be my woman t'morrow, an' she'd be good for it!"