With the terrified squire on all fours, he's within reach of the Prince. Rubbing his knuckles into the servants nearby head, he throws his head back and gives a belly roar of laughter.
"I'll have to hope that wasn't the last of the wine." He joked.
A cautious smile, spreading over his face, the servant stood, brushing the worst of the dirt from his clothes. But his knees were ingrained with dirt, his palms too were no cleaner.
"Xarlat." He called out, gesturing to his ruined shirt, as the young servant headed quickly off to bring another bottle to replace the one he'd spilled.
It takes no effort from Xarlat, as the Prince's clothes start to steam, the wine evaporating away into a heady cloud of fumes. A swipe of Xarlat's hands, and the remaining traces of the stains are erased from his tunic and pants.
The joyous revelry of the evening returns, along with the hope for a long peace, based on an alliance, a marriage to unite their two houses. With their combined might, they could work more effectively to expand their control wider, and strengthen it locally too.
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