Elian woke up with a headache that felt like a goblin was mining for gold behind his eyes.
He was alone. The bed was cold. The fire was dead.
The only warmth came from the half-empty bottle of [Dwarven Fire-Whiskey] clutched in his hand.
"Ugh," Elian groaned, shielding his eyes from the ruthless morning sun. "I shouldn't have bought the cheap stuff. It tastes like kerosene and regret."
He sat up, the room spinning. He looked at the indentation on the pillow next to him. A few hours ago, the Crown Prince of the Empire had been curled around him, moaning in his ear. Now, that same Prince was miles away, probably composing a sonnet about Rowena's elbows.
Elian summoned the leaderboard. He needed to see the damage.
[Current Leaderboard]1. Rowena: 210 Hearts (Status: Adored) 2. Elian: 60 Hearts (Status: Forgotten) 3. Ambrose: 19 Hearts (Status: Irrelevant)
"Two hundred and ten," Elian whispered. "She gained one hundred and fifty hearts overnight."
