The Prince of Habadia looked like he was swallowing a mouthful of wasps. He was a man used to the elegant lie of war, the bows, the "honored adversary" nonsense, and the false modesty that highborn lords used to mask their bloodlust. Asag, however, seemed to have missed that chapter of the handbook.
Nibadur knew he couldn't win a contest of insults with a man who lived in a ditch,nor did he truly have such interest at heart, so he smoothed his expression and went back to his script. He wasn't here for barbs after all.
"You have fought well, my lord. Truly," Nibadur began, his voice flowing like expensive wine into a golden cup. "Even those among us most... agitated by your stubbornness have to admit you've given us quite the trouble."
At the mention of "quite the trouble," Asag looked like he wanted to point out that he hadn't just given them trouble, he'd fucked them standing. Instead, he just raised his eyebrows, letting the jagged cave-in on his helmet do the talking for him.
