The room fell silent once more.
The old Marquis wiped his mouth, looking at his granddaughter with deep, unapologetic judgment. "Dear... you literally drink nothing but cheap military wine and herbal painkillers. You do not even like tea!"
"Come on," Heena waved her hand dismissively at her grandfather's judgment. "It is a highly unique name for my highly unique son!"
On the floor, the thirty-year-old man did not say a word. He simply leaned forward and pressed his forehead flat against the cold stone tiles, his hands sprawling out on either side of his head. He looked exactly like a man who had completely and utterly given up on the concept of living.
The old Marchioness, sipping her tea from behind her wooden fan, let out an amused hum. "Well. It is certainly... a unique name."
"Right?" Heena beamed, puffing out her chest with a deeply proud, completely unrepentant smile.
