215
~Fridolf's POV
The wine burned down my throat, sweet with spice, heavy with warmth. My cup had been filled and emptied more times than I could count, and still I drank. Belinda's laughter had long turned into slurred whispers and half-closed eyes. She swayed in her chair, her smile stupid and soft. I smirked at the sight. Powerful one moment, weak the next, that was Belinda. Useful, yes, but never more than a pawn.
I set my cup down with a thud and waved my hand sharply. "Adrik!"
The guard appeared from the shadows as if he had been carved out of them. He bowed low, hand to chest.
"Yes, my lord?"
I pointed at Belinda, who was slumped in her chair, barely awake. "Take her back to her room. She's had enough."
Adrik stepped forward, lifting her carefully into his arms. She murmured something faint against his shoulder but didn't wake. Her head lolled back, dark hair spilling over his arm.
