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The VerandaDuke Leif Arrant bit into the end of his cigar, smoke welling inside his mouth in thick, rich rolls. He exhaled smoothly, leaning against the balcony of the most secluded section of the Veranda he could afford. He hated being here, the stiff dresses, the snot nosed aristocrats, who- not a one of them were unlike his late father, in which he despised wholly.
It was times like these he missed his wife the most. He never thought he could have fallen in love, and as hard in love as he fell as he had with Valentina. But she had been in the grave how many years now? He had plenty of time to mourn, but the hole in his heart would not go away.
Love was a rare thing for a man as he, one reserved and bitter against the rest. Though he knew many sought him out, greedily knowing of his availability to wed now, and with no heir and still being quite young....
It made him scowl all the more into his cigar.
He already had avoided not one, not two, but at least
four hopeful fathers of daughters who they were far too easy to try to throw his way. He, of course, rejected each, and not in the least bit polite. He was a god damn duke, and it was his god damn father's fault. And he'd be bitter about it all until he was long rotting into his own grave (and who knew, if life existed after death, he'd remain bitter even after death).
But if he were to suffer, so would the rest of the world. Knowing the ruthless men out there, all being of common blood and mind as his father, he unfortunately realized he was, if anything, the best fit man for his job. He was at least, mostly, level headed, and not completely eyes deep into the idea that
all mages must suffer. His father had, after all, sold off his very own
sister of all people, ot the church itself where- he couldn't even imagine the horrors she'd suffer- all the while everyone believed she was dead! (and at least, the whole world still presumed she was dead- he just hoped, wherever she was, it was far, far away from the church at last.)
He was blowing smoke through his nose now, looking very much like steaming bull. Perhaps it was that image that kept most away from him, except one brave servant that refilled his drink. Yes, best to get at least a little drunk. But he still had to keep his head.
Even still, he knocked back and finished his second drink.
He could definitely use a third.