Unwanted Omega
“Young Master Rori, I assure you—no herbs. That particular batch came from a stag. Young, healthy. You taste the difference in vitality, not spice.”
“Ohhhh,” Rori said, nodding like he’d uncovered the world’s deepest secret. “So that’s why. Tori, admit it—I was right. You just don’t have refined taste.”
“Refined taste?!” Tori snapped, slamming her goblet down so hard blood sloshed up the rim. “You’d drink swamp water if Sebastian poured it in silver!”
I laughed into my plate, cutting into my medium-rare lamb, the juices bleeding across the porcelain. “If you two argue this early, the whole castle will think I’m running a madhouse.”
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