Skipping any alcoholic drink in a bar where she and her brothers had been known to, at least once, drank more than they could was suspicious. Terzo was not at all bothered by her omission, but Luke was. Rhiane confided the truth, not the easy diversion she employed with her words, but the hard truth that their carefree trysts may have already resulted in a more permanent consequence. Was he ready to face it? No.

“I must insist.” He badly needed that drink. Besides, he must not allow a less fortunate individual pay for his indulgence for two reasons -- it was not good for his image, and he disliked taking favors from other people especially from somebody he just met. Terzo seemed to be a nice guy. No longing gazes. His body language showed casual ease that had nothing to do with any romantic fantasies directed towards Rhiane. So far so good. She said he was married. Luke was apprehensive at first even with the ring on the other man’s finger, because marriage was a contract and contracts could be breached. But as he listened to the two recount each other’s experiences in negotiations and bargaining, he was somehow convinced that Rhiane and this older guy were no more than just good friends. 

Luke’s attention fell on his fiancee’s hand touching his arm and her subsequent question about whether he wanted to have a drink. Of course, he did. “Yes, please. I’ll have whatever liquor the bar offers.” He may have high class taste, but he was not as delicate as she must be imagining him to be. Although it was true that he would rather have a beautifully aged whisky, there was no harm in trying out something new. Moreover, when he was in the military training camp, being picky was not an option. He ate and drank what was served or he slept with an empty stomach. It was that non-exemption to the rules that made a difference in his personality. Because while other noblemen would have opted to spend the night wishing that sleep will come sooner than hunger, he wanted that drink. Honestly, the prince would prefer a more upscale place. Maybe the idea that visiting her favorite places was a chance to get to know Rhiane through her friends and through the establishments she enjoyed was a good motivation. 

“She doesn’t use that technique to me,” Luke joined the conversation. “Rhiane just puts her foot down and tells me what she wants. She will not move an inch until she had it her way. It’s like negotiating with a block of stone.” He teased, watching her reaction in a sideways glance. “I wonder which is more unfortunate, that I am going to inherit a difficult brother-in-law or that I am marrying such a pig-headed woman.”

When the waitress returned with Terzo’s pint, Luke ordered one for himself as well. The same local liquor which his fiancee thought was beyond his tolerance. The more she repeated that it was stronger than what he was used to, the more determined he was to prove her wrong. “She can survive on sweets alone. I find her diet disturbingly unhealthy, but as they say – happy wife, happy life.” Luke shrugged. The words slipped out before he realized the mistake. “We’re technically not yet married, but we know it’s where we’re getting at,” he corrected hastily.

Thankfully, the noodles came marching out the kitchen soon enough. Two plates were served on their table. It was, as Terzo described, a huge plate of noodles. The spices wafted in the air, teasing his nostrils. Small red flakes clung to the noodles like glitters but not at all glittery. He shot Rhiane a look of disbelief. This was what the normal amount of food she ate when she still lived at the farm. It was nothing like the volume of food she would eat at the palace. He’d seen her order sandwiches and some pasta, but nothing like a big plate of spicy noodles. He twirled a few strands with his fork and pitched it into his mouth. The heat was tolerable, it settled nicely on the tongue making the flavor of the otherwise bland dish a little more exciting. His head nodded in slight approval as he chewed his food slowly. They may be in an informal establishment, but a prince never forgot his manners. He never did while in public. Rhiane had seen how informal he could be when shielded from the eyes of the public. 

As if suddenly remembering that the third member of the table did not order anything to eat, Luke offered, “Have you had dinner? You may order anything you like. Or perhaps order something to bring home to your wife.” He chewed into the second twirl of pasta. The spice was building up in his mouth. Thankfully, the waitress dropped by their table with a tall mug of liquor. Luke instantly grabbed it, swallowed the noodles, and gulped cold alcohol. The bitter taste filled his mouth instantly, followed by the heat and that hard kick as if the liquid was fighting its way out his esophagus. He slammed the mug down the table as he coughed. It was strong alright. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes from the spiciness of his dinner and the spirit of his drink. He frowned at the mug, straightening himself up to regain a bit of dignity. “What kind of poison is this?”