"Levi, come sit next to me." Harland pulled the Lord over to his left side, then plopped down onto the wide chair. "I've long heard you can hold your liquor. Today, we can finally have a proper drink!"
"Your Majesty, the physicians have said you should drink less wine."
A high, thin voice piped up.
Levi followed the sound of the voice to see a middle-aged man with a fair, beardless face. And it was truly beardless—his round face was unnaturally smooth, and the top of his head was as bald as Mandela's. A clever mind has no time for hair.
"Good day, Lord Levi." The man noticed his gaze and offered a slight smile.
"Damn you, Miaowali! I never should have let you come to this banquet! I know my own body better than anyone!" Harland roared, like a bellowing lion.
"You are the King. You are always right." The Minister of Intelligence, Miaowali, didn't argue in the slightest and tactfully withdrew.
It was just a small farce.
