Sigurd’s frown grew more. “You were standing outside, surely you heard most of it.”
“Not all.”
The Prince nodded, turning his head to face his assistant, before taking his first bite of the roasted potatoes. They were well cooked, their skin peeled off slightly as green herbs and seasoning glazed on them. “Does it matter to you what he said?” Sigurd asked, finishing chewing his food.
“I know he told you to leave.”
Sigurd nodded slowly. “Screamed it,” he corrected.
Bjorn stood up, bowing slowly. “Well, Prince, the Sigurd I know is a good man who will be a fine husband. Please do not take your father’s words so seriously. He is but a drunk with a temper. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do after a long journey.”
He gave the Prince a calm smile as he walked from the feast hall and into the morning air and dew, leaving him with only his thoughts to entertain.
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