"I will take his tongue," Alaric hissed, his hand moving toward the dagger at his thigh.
"Sit. Down. Alaric." The voice was quiet, rhythmic, and entirely out of place in the chaos. Prince Embrez hadn't moved from his seat. He was casually wiping a stray drop of wine from his silver sleeve, his expression one of bored amusement, as if he were watching a poorly rehearsed play rather than a bloodbath.
"Brother," Embrez said, finally looking up at Alaric, his gaze cool and steady. "If you kill him now, the servants will have to spend all afternoon scrubbing the floor, and I'm quite certain we have a hunt planned for the afternoon. It's terribly inefficient."
