"Again, again." Pouring the drink wildly into his mouth, Adrian tugged on Bryson's sleeve, "You're drunk after just a few drinks?"
Bryson sat by the long table, helplessly and cautiously dealing with the knight: "Sir Knight, it's you who are drunk."
"Nonsense, let me see, let me see if you're drunk?" Adrian leaned half his body on Bryson's shoulder, making it hard for him to breathe.
Meanwhile, Ansel had already grown impatient, frequently glancing out the window. He had thought it would just be a simple meal, but it had dragged on for two hours and wasn't finished yet.
Seeing Adrian finally pass out in Bryson's arms, Ansel finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He called for the servant to carry away the overly enthusiastic knight, who hadn't seen strangers for a long time, and walked to the dining room window to get some fresh air.
The sunlight scorched the land, and the hot air carried the scent of marigolds beneath the window grille.
