"That was truly divine" Merelao muttered, patting his stomach with a series of rhythmic, contented sighs that sounded like the aftershocks of a great battle.
"If you find our palate so agreeable, I would be more than happy to send a cadre of my cooks back to your capital," Alpheo offered. He sat far lighter than his guest; a stone sat in the pit of his stomach, curbing any appetite he might have possessed, after all today was the day where everything would be decided.
He maintained his mask of stoic detachment, but inwardly, he was acutely aware of the stakes. He needed this alliance with the desperation of a drowning man, and, fortunately, it seemed Merelao was becoming increasingly drunk on both the wine and the atmosphere.
