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Summary
To Ištván's great satisfaction, Erik turned toward him, a drunken smile spreading across the boy’s face as their gazes met. Erik’s striking eyes, dark as the void yet clouded with the warmth of honeyed mead, still betrayed his ever-present awareness. His broad frame, even when slightly hunched from the grueling hours of battle and travel, somehow seemed almost regal in the flickering firelight.
As subtly as he possibly could, Ištván nodded towards the stairs, leaving his fine wine half-finished.
Knowing all too well that his Erik would soon follow.