Page 394 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 7

"To the late king, my father. May his place in heaven be assured!" Sviatopolk shouted, raising his cup.

Boris joined him in the toast, as did most of the courtiers in the feasting hall. Once again, his cup was empty. This would not have happened when Kyrilu was his squire, but Igor still had much to learn.

Boris gestured for a servant to fill his cup. After some time, Igor appeared, looking sulky, but carrying a pitcher of ale.

"A squire should be more attentive, boy. This is not the first time my cup has been empty. The king has proposed many toasts tonight, and if I had to refuse to drink on account of having an empty cup, it would be a terrible slight to my brother. Why, better men have been tried for treason, bringing such dishonour to their king!" Boris said, thrusting his cup forward.

"Perhaps if you did not drink so much, Your Highness," Igor said. "If you were more careful about what you drink – "

Boris slammed his hand on the table. "I will not be lectured to by my squire. I can hold my drink as well as any man here, and you'd do well to remember your station. Your job is to keep my cup filled, and if you do not, I shall find myself a better squire who can!"

Igor winced. "But, Your Highness – "

"Fill my cup or get out of my sight!"

Igor filled the cup, and Boris drained it, then held it out for more.

"Again!"

The look on Igor's face was one of pure pain, as though pouring the drink cut him to the core. Yet he did as he was commanded, before slinking away.

None too soon, for Sviatopolk was on his feet again, raising his cup to Boris.

"My late father said this kingdom must have both a ruler and a protector, and he was blessed to have sons who could do both. United, Prince Boris and I will bring a peace to this kingdom even my wise father could not. I pledge the health of Prince Boris. May we celebrate many more of his victories, against the Bisseni and any other enemy who dares to threaten us!" Sviatopolk roared.

Roars of agreement came from around the hall as everyone drank Boris's health.

He felt his face grow hot. His king had praised him, and he had not yet toasted his new king's health. He must make amends.

Boris rose up onto unsteady feet. The ale was strong tonight – he had not drunk too much of it, no matter what his squire said.

"To our new king. Long may he reign!" Boris said. He lifted his cup, then drained it in one big gulp.

The other men in the hall thundered their approval, shouts and stomps ringing from the very rafters as they drank to their king's health.

Boris sat down suddenly, finding his legs would no longer hold him up.

The ale must be terribly strong, for he could not remember being this drunk since…

The world went black.

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