Deep laughter and a wheezing rumble, so loud it rivaled the cutting wind howling outside the hall, tore through the feast .
It belonged to one man, merely the Kakunian expressing his unfiltered feelings on the evening. He snatched an empty chair and dragged it toward the Prince caring not as it screeched all the way there, before plopping down with a heavy thud just beside him. His neck bent back, a drunk-like smile widening across his lips as his long blonde locks fell in waves upon his temples.
Alpheo watched him move a stubborn set of hair that had plastered itself to his mouth. It was hard to connect this sweating, silk-clad mess with the "demon of the Ford" who had carved a path through the Oizenian ranks with just his sword.
He cracked his neck, sweat running down his face as his shirt clung to his chest like a second skin, puffing out like a peacock frame.
