"Come, sit here."
Leopold stared in disbelief. David, whose identity Leopold had effortlessly discerned, showed no signs of nervousness. Instead, David smiled with the familiarity of a long-time friend and patted the parapet a hand's span away, gesturing for Leopold to sit beside him.
Nearby, the pale-faced Sword Dancer Yevgeny moved like a puppet on strings. Amidst the admiring and envious glances from the nobles behind them, who were oblivious to the truth, Yevgeny poured them both a glass of crimson wine.
When Leopold remained standing, David paid it no mind. He casually picked up his own cup, tasted the wine, and set it down.
