The Heroes were taken to a dressing room provided by Duke Aelasor for them to refresh themselves before the banquet.
It was a fancy place, with silk tapestries and all the goodies; surely better than their rooms in the Tutorium.
Aethelstan stood before a tall mirror, buttoning his collar with jerky, aggressive movements. His golden armor lay in a heap on a velvet stool, discarded like a snake's old skin.
Nessa watched him from her corner. She didn't want to fight with him. They have been friends ever since they were children. She was the daughter of his father's closest friend, it was bound that way.
So, Nessa decided to clear the air. She took a breath and walked to his corner.
"Aethelstan," she said quietly.
He didn't turn. His eyes met hers in the reflection of the glass. They were cold, walled off by a fortress of bruised ego.
"What do you want, Nessa?" he asked, his voice flat. "Come to measure the throne? See if it fits you better, leader?"
