The Cursed Alpha
“I leave for Goldtower to negotiate peace and instead get besieged by clowns.”
“Clowns?” Corvin asked, mock-offended. “I am a sophisticated jester, thank you very much.”
“You are a hazard,” Alaric muttered. “A hazard wrapped in charm and entirely too much hair gel.”
Corvin shook his head. “Hair gel is a necessity for survival, dear Alaric. How else would I maintain this lethal allure while remaining deadly on the battlefield?”
Edric coughed to suppress laughter, clearly failing. “You know,” he said finally, “it is a wonder anyone takes us seriously on diplomatic missions at all.”