It didn't take long for the guards to intervene. Before the struck lord could fully rise from the ground and retaliate, three men had already stepped in, each placing firm but respectful hands on his arms and shoulders.
Even so, Alpheo noted that the man's rage wasn't abating—it was only deepening. His chest rose and fell like a bellows, his jaw clenched so tightly a vein twitched in his neck.
And the humiliation he felt was only compounded by the imbalance of treatment. While he was being held back by three armed men, Egil, the cause of the trouble, stood behind a single guard—one who looked more like a chaperone than an enforcer, his hand lightly resting on Egil's chest as if trying to soothe a drunken brother rather than restrain a belligerent lord.
Egil, for his part, didn't appear bothered in the slightest.
