1st of Glade, Year 122 Steel
White Knight Hall
White Knight Hall
The previous night's party had lasted well into the new year and while parts of it were blurry, he remembered distinctly promising that he would brunch with Anton Michaelis. At least he had still possessed the foresight to set it after noon—still entirely acceptable for an informal brunch. It allowed him to sleep in, so at least he would be rested when he reported to the Noble Gambit that evening. Of course, even after all that sleep, he was still a touch lethargic. Still and all, it had been a successful party, and while a part of him would have rather spent the entire day lazing about, he was glad to have a tête-à-tête with Anton. They saw each other socially, but the one-on-one time between their disparate schedules proved a challenge.
The house was largely recovered from the festivities as well. Delia had hired good help, many of them the Lysanrin refugees he had helped free from Fverard at this very place. Charity was a virtue, and the silver lining was they were extremely loyal and hard-working. And if he gave them gainful employment, they were less likely to turn to crime to make ends meet.
He also distinctly remembered having a champagne toast separately with them soon after the grandfather clock stroked midnight. Of course, he called it the Grandmother Clock because Perpetua had given it to him as a housewarming present. She would be pleased to know he had dined with Anton; she always asked after him. For all her sharp tongue and acerbic wit, she did have a soft heart for those she deemed worthy of it.
Pausing as he dressed, he remembered that he had even given a bit of champagne to Little Devil, the Bloodborn boy. Well, it had likely helped the lad sleep. He looked in the mirror and decided it was good enough. He had insisted on informal when he made the plans, though he didn't know how Anton would take that. They were both of old bloodlines, though while Eitan tried not to make a bad name for his, he recognized that they were largely an anachronism except that many of the present oligarchs came from those bloodlines. The powerful didn't want to relinquish power.
When the bell rang, he moved toward the foyer.
"I'll get it," he said, offering the servant a slow smile before arriving at the door.
"Good afternoon and a joyous New Year to you," he said, squinting a bit at the brightness of the sunlight. His head didn't hurt, but it was awfully bright out.
