"So, one Cygnia Noble is out of the running, we've got two of them here with us, so where are the others? They wouldn't be late for a formal dinner, would they?" Marquis Bridgegover asked.
"Perhaps they reconsidered?" Dominic asked.
The other Nobles laughed, and Thorvald shook his head. "Hearing that you shot one of them wouldn't scare them away so easily. Shame, really. I had hoped that this big idiot might be the one to challenge the Sorcerer to a duel."
Corwin frowned at Thorvald, his thick eyebrows scrunching into one line.
"What makes you think that I would be the one? Or are you suggesting that you wouldn't be upset if I was violently removed from the competition?"
Thorvald shook his head. "Perish the thought, Marquis Bridgegover. Midfield needs a man of your talents, I would never wish permanent injury upon you. Public humiliation, sure. But not permanent harm."
The Marquis sighed and shook his head, used to his childhood friend's antics.
