After taking a swig of the strong liquor, Ivan filled Liliette’s glass with vodka.
“Well, well! I had no idea you were such a captivating storyteller, my lady! You’ve got me on the edge of my seat, craving more!” he exclaimed, grinning.
Liliette blushed at the compliment, a bashful smile spreading across her face. Her cheeks, flushed from the alcohol, were as red as the cherries laid out on the table. Even the tips of her fingers and nose had taken on a rosy hue.
“Well, I suppose I do have a knack for it,” she murmured with a soft smile, closing her eyes. “Even Vlad said I was clever that day…”
Beside her, Hans, who had been dozing off, suddenly tipped over, still clutching his glass. Positioned precariously at the edge of the table, he tumbled unceremoniously onto the cold floor of the banquet hall.
There he lay, mumbling incoherently, “Dandruff of the devil. Filthy…”
“Dandruff of the devil…?” Liliette asked, tilting her head in confusion.
