The banquet gets rowdier as the knights get a few cups of wine in them. In payment for browbeating Alana into saying she wants to marry me, I told Bell to mix two barrels of watered down Herbanacle, the same as provided to the hunters during Geneva’s selection process. Giving Howie’s drinks straight to the unsuspecting seems irresponsible. They should all have strong physiques and a stronger tolerance, it’s better to start them off slow.

A good decision because it doesn’t take long for those who indulge to become drunk. It’s amusing watching the distinguished personalities devolve into immature adolescents, bragging about their own accomplishments and getting swiftly slapped down by someone calling them out on their embellishments or retelling a suitably embarrassing tale. The duke refrains, refusing to touch the shroom juice, but Kalise is the worst of the lot. By Kierra’s request, she skipped past the watered-down mess and is drinking straight from a bottle.

“Pah!” She lets out an explosive breath after downing a large swig of the bottle. “Ancestors! I say the youngest should marry the cocky cat for this alone. Good job roping that one into the family.”

My normally easily embarrassed saint has also had one too many cups of shroom juice. She’s much sturdier than she used to be but this is a drink brewed to intoxicate elves.

Two things happen when Alana drinks. She gets clumsy and she speaks her mind with no filter. I find it adorable, of course. She thinks it’s embarrassing when she doesn’t outright deny it. Which is why I’m surprised she touched the stuff. Must have mistakenly believed that a few weeks under Kierra’s not-so-gentle care gave her a much stouter constitution.

She’s drunk. Drunk enough that instead of bearing the latest scrutiny with grace, she hiccups and leans into me, face red. “Not marrying her for the booze,” she mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.

Kalise, of course, doesn’t let it end there. And no one else steps in, watching the show with interest. “Hoho. Bragging, are you? Alright, then. Go on. What caught your eye?”

A finger pokes my cheek. “Pretty…”

The very sober me endures the snickering of the gathered soldiers with a small grin. “Thanks.”

“A sucker for a pretty face, eh?” Kalise takes another swig of the bottle. “There are worse reasons.”

“Mm.” Alana drops her head to my shoulder. “Gonna build me a castle.”

“If you want.” I put a hand on her head. In return, she puts a hand on my thigh and starts to rub. Oi. I know she’s got a bit of a thing for watching and maybe being watched, but this is really not the place. It’s still innocent so I leave her be.

“I’ve got a question,” a female knight says after slamming her empty cup down. She points a wavering finger in our direction. “Are you the second wife? Or are both of them married to you? Or are both of you married to the elf?”

Kierra chuckles. “That was not one question. If you are asking who the head of the family is, then it is Lou.”

Thomas, the old man who has been enjoying himself the most, without question, spills some of his drink as he doubles over with laughter. “A James daughter as a second wife. Haha, the ancestors must be turning in their graves. What does her father think?”

The duke turns to me. It is an extra challenge to keep a straight face as Alana’s hand moves closer to my crotch and I catch her fingers before they can go somewhere dangerous. “As long as she is satisfied.”

Eleanor, a faint flush to her face, scoffs. “From what the servants say, she is very satisfied.”

“Unlike some people, haha!”

The frigid woman scowls at the barbarian. “I’m going to kill you one day.”

Kalise affects a hilariously exaggerated leer. “If you promise to keep the sharp bits away for a night, I bet I can change your mind.”

“I’d rather stab myself with those sharp bits.”

“If ther ladies are done flirtin’ wit yerserlves,” a very intoxicated man slurs, “let’s get to the point o’ tonight.”

There’s a point besides all these people getting drunk and happy?

“Imma start!” He gets to his feet, putting a hand on the table to keep his balance. His other hand holds his cup that he points at another woman who has her feet propped up on the table as she chugs Herbanacle. “Hannah! Thesh is the year! When I—" A loud burp interrupts his grand proclamation. “When my boys get the most kills, you gotta marry me!”

The woman he’s pointed out finishes her drink and turns bleary eyes toward him. I can see her replaying his words. I also know the moment she realizes what he’s said as she makes a very rude gesture with her hand. “As if, you shit-sucking snowcat. Your boys are so slow, you should be happy to make it back before the spring storms. Forget about getting the most kills.”

“I will, dammit!” the man shouts. “Damn woman. Makin’ things difficult.”

“Me? I told you to stop proposing years ago!”

“We been together for twelve years!” he shouts back.

“And?” she asks.

“Put up and shut up.” Another knight pulls the man back into his chair. “Though we all know I’m getting most kills.”

“We all know that when we’re drunk enough to hallucinate the ancestors,” Thomas spits. “I’m getting most kills and biggest kill.”

“In your dreams, you old dog!” another woman shouts.

“What is this about most kills and biggest kill?” Kierra asks. I would have but I’m too preoccupied fending off Alana’s questing fingers while keeping her cup out of her hands. As she grows more frustrated with my denials, her insistence grows. “Besides the obvious.”

“Allow me to explain, Miss Kierra,” Lancecain says. Another one who is quite sober, as he’s requested nothing but water. “It is an unspoken tradition for the army that gets the most kills and the largest kill to have one wish granted by the duke.”

“Within reason,” the duke quickly adds.

Lancecain nods in acknowledgement. “The armies also make personal bets. There is even a group of retired knights that run a large betting ring where you can bet on everything from how far an army will march to how many swords they’ll break.” His cheerful expression darkens. “The only thing that can’t be bet on is how many will make it back.”

“It’s bad luck!” a man shouts.

“I see.” Kierra purrs. “I can assume there are those that are betting on us?”

“Betting you’ll make asses of yourselves,” Zach mutters. His forehead rests on his arm, the favored heir too drunk to hold his head up. “My money’s on you coming back after two weeks.”

Alana turns from her place on my shoulder and sneers at him. “Generous.”

“Practical,” he snaps back. “One week to realize you’re in over your heads. Another to march back.”

“Not me!” Kalise shouts. “I’ve got a horde riding on you Greenie so you better put out!”

“Should I thank you for your confidence in my ability? Or chastise you for commanding me?”

The barbarian takes the mild threat good-naturedly. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. Maybe a good showing will leave the old cat in a generous mood, huh?”

Fed up with me blocking her hand, Alana lets out a frustrated huff and pushes herself onto my lap. I give a token resistance but as she ignores it, I let her do as she pleases. There’s no telling what she’ll do if I block this too.

I weigh her future embarrassment knowing she sat on my lap in front of her father versus me carrying her away from the table. I decide to stay still. This is a kind rite of passage for northerners. Alana wants nothing more than to be included in her family. For good or ill.

Hopefully she doesn’t hate me in the morning.

“Oh my,” a scandalized bunny mutters across the table as Alana makes herself comfortable. My drunk saint pays no mind to the whistles and hollers of the other drunk people she wraps her arms around my shoulders and buries her face in my neck. It takes a strong will to ignore her teasing lips.

“When’s the wedding?” someone yells and all eyes turn to me.

“Um…” I say, my eloquence failing me under their collective gazes.

Down the table, Eleanor pauses. Anastasia also puts down her cup. They turn twin glares toward me.

“Why haven’t you answered, outsider?”

“You wouldn’t be playing games with my niece, would you?”

“No, no,” I practically squeal, both horrified at the thought and the pressure of their combined displeasure. Anastasia looks like she’s ready to skewer me and Eleanor looks like she’ll help. “I’m ready anytime but, um, Alana is…”

“Oi, oi, come on, cocky cat,” Kalise hollers. “Someone with your strength ought to be a little more assertive. Do it like this.” She jumps up from her chair, stumbling two steps before grabbing a servant girl. The young woman squeaks as she’s pulled against the barbarian’s chest, forced to look up as Kalise grabs her chin with two strong fingers. “Woman. We’re getting married today. You can either walk to the arch or I’ll put you over my shoulder.”

“That’s a bit…”

“That is wrong.” Kierra gracefully stands. “Where is the romance? My Lou is no brute.” She strolls over to Kalise and the very nervous looking servant girl. With quick movements, she snatches the girl from the other woman’s strong arms, looping her arms around the poor woman’s back. She flashes that dangerous smirk of hers that foils me every time but says nothing.

Despite that, the woman’s face quickly colors with a blush. Kierra smiles wider, a hand rising to cup her cheek. Her thumb traces the woman’s lips. Lips that part, a pink tongue a scant breath from tasting the tantalizing green flesh. From her wide eyes, she is completely enthralled.

“Would you like to come with me?”

The poor servant nods her head absently. Then, suddenly, she seems to come back to herself and jumps out of Kierra’s arms. “I—I—you—please excuse me!” she shouts and scurries from the room.

Kalise laughs. “Ha! She got away.”

“But they always come back,” my wife purrs. She retakes her seat. “Whereas your method would mean a fight to near-death in my home.”

“Near-death?” Yulia asks.

“Mm. They are reluctant to let a strong breeder escape their clutches in the provinces. They certainly would not let death claim you. After two or three children, you might even see Victory again.”

“Oh.” She goes back to sipping her wine.

I jump as Alana’s teeth nip me. Alright, that’s enough inclusion. Forget the shroom juice. Licking on me for a few minutes should have done much more to compromise her. I better get her out of here before she actually embarrasses herself.

There are two things fate loves. Irony and wrecking people’s plans. That’s why, as I am contemplating making a quick getaway, the doors to the dining room are thrown open and a problem appears.