It's moments like that which remind me why I take such great care to plan things down to the last detail.

Suddenly, nobody knew what to do. In fact, we might have all gone home hungry had it not been for a lad from the kitchen darting up to the immobile Lord Teuring and hurriedly whispering something in his ear. Since the moment I'd made my announcement to the rest of the room he'd stood there, unmoving, staring across the table at the object that he probably believed spelled his ruin.

As beliefs went, it was a good one.

“Dinner,” he said, his manner suggesting that the slightest breeze might be sufficient to knock him to the floor, “will be brought out for your enjoyment in ... a few moments.”

“Hang on!” I practically yelled, sounding scandalized. “Weren't we in the middle of a toast just now? You can't just abandon a toast in the middle!”

Jaw working, eyes clouded with failure, he leveled a look of hatred down the table at me. Setting the Copperfen Goblet down on the table, he reached for his dinner wine glass, raising it out before him with a perfunctory nod to all assembled and bringing it to his lips to drink without a word.

“To Lord Teuring!” I bellowed, holding my own glass out as dramatically as I could, “May his success this evening be indicative of the kind of success he may achieve in all of his future endeavors!”

I took a gentle sip from the glass I held. The green wine it contained was now slightly below room temperature, and tasted sweet.

Very sweet indeed.

Sitting back down, I pretended to take no notice to the angry looks being sent my way, or even the quietly amused ones. It wasn't too terribly often that something like this happened, where a dramatic shifting of circumstances disrupted all plans and expectations for the evening. I enjoyed it all the more for its rarity, as I'm sure some of the other Lords present did.

I tried to exchange some minor pleasantries with a Lord sitting beside me, discussing the vintage of the wine we were enjoying, idle speculation regarding what kind of meal the wine's characteristics might suggest we were going to be served. Every now and again I glanced down the table at Teuring, whose demeanor now possessed all of the qualities of a broken, stricken man. Shoulders slumped, complexion pale and waxy in the insufficient light, he sat looking forlornly at the table, eyes wide.

“Tucat,” a solemn voice said nearby, to my left.

“Lord Greybridge,” I said, standing up and sending him a quick bow from the waist. He'd made his way from the host's end of the table to mine, presumably to inspect the goblet I had brought. The evening was not entirely over, I reminded myself, and the outcome still needed attending to.

The rotund, elegantly draped figure held his hands out expectantly towards the goblet in front of me. I retrieved the boxed item and delivered it gently into his outstretched arms.

He drew the goblet from its case and inspected it, and I saw him nod slightly to himself as he turned the metal chalice by its stem. I don't know what he might have seen – I'd had both goblets together for a time and could not spot a single difference between them.

A few seconds later he put the goblet into the wooden box, closed it, and waved for me to lean closer so that we might talk.

I gestured away from the table, suggesting that we should remove ourselves from earshot first. He acquiesced, and once we'd put a few feet between us and the table he spoke quietly to me.

“Our keeps look nothing alike,” he said blandly.

“Very true. I can only dream of my own humble home someday achieving a mere fraction of the prominence and majesty of your own.”

“Yes. Well,” he scowled, “I don't know who I'm more annoyed with at the moment.”

“Understandable, although I would point out that it was hardly my idea to bring you into this in the first place. I know how much value you place on your privacy.”

“Indeed? The cup you brought with you is the one that I had given to you originally, meaning that our young friend over there,” he gestured with a backwards toss of his head to indicate the table behind us, “had either stolen the other goblet from my keep, or he was set up. Given his reaction, and yours, I suspect the latter. The very fact that you were able to retain my property suggests that you could have thwarted these plans without somehow getting me involved.”

He was right, and it couldn't really be helped. I nodded solemnly at him.

“It is true, my Lord, that I could have arranged things differently, for which I apologize. However, consider what our audacious host was attempting with this evening's entertainment. He sought to involve you regardless, to perhaps use you as a tool against me. How would you have reacted had the goblet actually been stolen in the manner suggested by Lord Teuring, and returned to you in the manner he had planned, with the toast he'd just proposed?”

“So instead of being used by him to cause you grief, I find myself being used by you instead. As well, there's the lingering notion that I may have played a part in setting up our young host. My reputation suffers regardless. Also,” he gave me a meaningful look, “being robbed from rather pisses me off.”

“Of course, I apologize for your inconvenience as a result of being brought into this intrigue ... a situation that I should wish to point out, again, was not my idea. The individual planning the theft of the goblet was unknown to me when details of this plot first came to my attention. I had thought you might prefer that the culprit reveal himself, so that he could understand the full measure of what it means to trouble a Greybridge.”

“There is that,” he nodded, considering. “I'm certainly not happy with young Teuring either, and will take steps to ensure he understands that shortly. In the end though, I believe you owe me. I will most certainly be requiring something from you - something more substantial than an apology.”

“Of course. I would not have allowed this evening to conclude without some sort of an understanding in that regard,” I offered quickly, relieved. He appeared to be accepting my words at face value, and the last little detail was working itself out. “I will be more than happy to make things right in whatever manner your Lordship may require.”

He continued to look at me, considering, and then looked away towards the hall doors that led to the main foyer.

“I've dispatched one of my knights with a message for the Prince, requesting a duel,” he said, simply. “I should receive word back before this evening is out.”

A duel then. Should the Prince approve it, a dueling challenge between Lords could not be turned down. Yes, Greybridge was quite annoyed by this evening's entertainment, I could see.

“I, of course, would be delighted to take over all responsibilities for the duel on your behalf. It would be ridiculously unfair if your involvement in this fiasco cost you even a single copper mark.”

“That would be adequate,” he murmured. “You are something of a swordsman yourself, I understand?”

“I cannot deny that I have some small reputation,” I said, affecting a small bow.

“Well then,” he said, turning back towards the table, “I shall make my announcement to all assembled once I have received word from the Prince. I expect you will want to announce your plan to represent me shortly after.”

“Certainly.” It was exactly how I would do it as well. By offering my services spontaneously, I could preserve the notion that he wished no part in this, as well as repay him for the presumed embarrassment of having it be known that he could be robbed from.

Offering to fight a duel on his behalf, saving him the hundreds of gold marks he would have otherwise spent on a duelist, was the least I could do.

In truth, I was more than happy to offer my services, given how I suddenly felt about young Lord Teuring. An attempt to humiliate your name in such a fashion requires a response that is decisive, and firm, and perhaps sprinkled with a small amount of blood. Plus, I hadn't crossed swords with anyone in quite some time.

We walked back to our seats at the table, and I noted that the meal was in the process of being served, despite Teuring looking as though he no longer had any appetite whatsoever.

I was starved. Life was good. Every aspect of what I had done had worked itself out well, and I was beginning to feel some of the anxiety leaving my body, leaving in its wake a glorious kind of famished hunger, the kind that you get after a good amount of exercise.

Our host was sparing no expense either, with the meal looking quite splendid as the various courses arrived before us. It began with an elegant fried dough mixed with garlic and a few other spices. It had been brushed lightly with a dark vinegar and what might have been an onion reduction sauce, and served with a soft, creamed cheese and some lightly fried shallots.

I passed the ring of my left hand over the appetizer inconspicuously before sampling it, not really expecting the jewel adorning it to glow even as I did so. Poisoning a guest at your table while in the company of your peers would result in ostracism, or worse. I do, however, believe in being prudent around those who may no longer think they have anything of value left to lose.

Risking a quick look down the table, I saw Teuring, shoulders slumped and staring down at the tablecloth just beyond his plate with a forlorn expression on his face, much the same as he’d been a few minutes before.

I brushed off any feelings of sympathy I was feeling for him and focused on the meal, tearing off a piece of the small loaf with my hands and picking up one of the shallots.

The bread was followed by an interesting salad, which I couldn’t tell if I cared for or not. In addition to the usual leaves and vegetables, it appeared to contain petals from various edible fruit blossoms as well as red carnation leaves. The flavor was unusual, but I didn't regard it as anything spectacular. The orange vinaigrette that it was served with was too sweetly overpowering for any of the presumably delicate flavors to come through and be noticed.

I did note that each salad plate was decorated with a white rose that had been cut, opened, and arranged in a decorative fashion beside the leaves and petals of the salad. I had my suspicions that the whole thing was meant to reference the rose blight scar on my face.

If it had been done to mock me, he was probably regretting it now that he looked like a horse's ass.

The soup was excellent, and of a kind I'd never tasted before, but definitely gave a fishy impression and had tiny bits of seaweed in it. From there it was a light quiche featuring three different types of mushrooms and some well-smoked ham. Next, a plate of classically prepared redfish lox with a tangy horseradish sauce drizzled over them, the thin filets arranged in two circles in obvious reference to the family symbol of our host.

The effort that was made was fairly obvious, and a part of me wondered if Teuring had bankrupted himself putting it together.

The main course turned out to be small individual beef roasts baked in a sour cream and dill sauce, with carrots and baby potatoes that had been dashed with a sprinkling of herbs and crushed tea-nut. It was really quite nice, and I made a note to ask Mosond if he knew of any similar recipes.

While we were being presented with food courses and chatting idly, I noticed Lord Teuring sitting at the head of the table, all but ignoring the feast he had been responsible for putting together. He was looking at the table with a desperate kind of bleakness, never actually looking at me or attempting to engage in conversation with anyone nearby.

His wife sat awkwardly to his left, head turned away from him, looking hurt. Their body language suggested trouble, like he'd said something out of character to her, perhaps in the heat of the moment.

The fruit and crushed ice came for dessert, and I indulged in neither, choosing that moment to begin looking down the table at my host, a cheerful expression of relaxed contentment on my face. I just sat there, staring at him and smiling.

He began to stare back at me once it became apparent that I was doing so, returning the favor. We'd each occasionally glance left or right, blink away from each other's gaze for a few moments as if we were scouting some feature of the room that held some interest, or acting as though some sudden move had grabbed our attention. Staring is really quite exhausting, even when you're in a good mood and well fed, and everything seems to be going your way.

As the dessert glasses were being ushered away, an out-of-breath young man wearing grey half-stumbled through the door, looking around the room in wide-eyed exhaustion until his eyes found Lord Greybridge. He began to stride over briskly, and then, remembering where he was and who was assembled, began to walk at a much slower, measured pace.

Once he was close enough to have been noticed by his Lord, Greybridge stood and stepped away from the table, speaking to his liveried servant briefly before accepting a piece of paper that was being offered him.

He inspected the note briefly, and then waved the young man away.

“My honored Lords and Ladies!” Greybridge said loudly, once his messenger had scurried out of sight, “I beg you to attend my words for a moment, for I will be brief.”

I glanced at Teuring. He looked as though he wished he could be anywhere else right at that moment, his features showing every inch of his inexperience.

“It would seem that Lord Teuring had made plans that involved antagonizing myself and the honorable Lord Tucat. In so doing, he has dishonored my name, inconvenienced me, and caused me offense. I have secured permission from Prince Tenarreau to issue Lord Teuring a challenge to duel, one that cannot be refused. I believe that I shall exercise that privilege now.

“Lord Teuring, I hereby offer up challenge to your family, authorized by he whose word is law, and require the presence of either you or your representative in three days time, at the dueling hour, at the Circles.” He looked from Teuring to the collection of faces seated at the table with him. “I thank you all for your polite indulgence.”

Greybridge sat back down upon his chair, not looking the least bit annoyed or worried. It hardly seemed as though he’d announced a duel at all – it had sounded more as if he were giving instructions to a servant regarding what to do with his laundry.

The man liked his privacy, that much was certain.

“My Lord, I cannot allow this!” I said indignantly, standing up and placing my hands forcefully upon the table as I did so. “It simply will not do. I feel awful about this entire misunderstanding. Why, it's not your fault that our two keeps resemble each other so strongly – it's a mistake any of us here at this table could have made!”

I allowed my smirk to be seen for a brief moment before continuing.

“In truth, I would not be able to live with myself if I allowed you to spend a single copper mark on this duel. Please, my Lord, grant me the opportunity to defend your good name. Allow me to take full responsibility for this duel, and you will find no cause for complaint, I assure you.”

“Indeed.” Lord Greybridge stood and nodded to me in acknowledgment. “I do graciously accept your offer Lord Tucat. In three days time, if-”

“No!” a voice half-shrieked desperately. “My Lord Greybridge, this wasn't ... my intention was not to cause offense! This was not supposed to happen like this! Not at all!”

“Now now, young Teuring,” I said, shaking my head in mock sorrow, “It is over. Accept it with-”

“My Lord?” he said to Greybridge, plaintively, “My Lord, surely you must know that I meant no disrespect! That I was only...”

His voice trailed off once he saw Lord Greybridge had once again taken his seat, affecting not to notice Teuring was speaking. The young Lord slumped, his shoulders sliding forward in his ill-fitting garment.

“Boy,” I said quietly, not bothering to disguise the fact that I had become annoyed. “Take your medicine. Compounding your humiliation by engaging in behavior suited a small child will simply make you look more foolish.”

“I ... fine!” Teuring said petulantly and with hesitating uncertainty. “Duel? Fine! That's absolutely wonderful! I welcome the opportunity, you insipid weasel-faced ... cretin!”

“Thank you for making my point,” I muttered, producing several chuckles from those within earshot.

“If Lord Tucat wishes to duel me, then I shall oblige him,” he continued, his disconsolate appearance replaced by a blusteringly overaggressive pose. “Three days hence, at the dueling hour! At the Circles!”

“Delighted, though if I may make one small suggestion? Please do try to eat something between now and then, would you? I noticed that you hardly touched your food this evening, and a growing young man like yourself needs to keep his strength up. We can't have you fainting from fatigue, can we? Made to look foolish in front of dozens of your peers, why ... that simply wouldn't do!”

He scowled. I smirked. We stared at each other a few moments before I realized it was a perfect time for me to exit.

“My honored Lords and gentle Ladies, I regret that I will be taking my leave of you now. I am pleased to say that this evening's entertainment has lived up to my expectations entirely,” I said, stepping away from the table before turning and bowing extravagantly with a hand flourish and slightly bent knee. “I wish you all a pleasant evening, and look forward to seeing many of you in three days time.”

Leaving the keep amid nods and bows, I walked towards where the carriages were stabled, still smiling and in high spirits. I even paused long enough to give Marcsun's cloak broach to one of Teuring's servants, claiming to have found it on the floor, before finding my way to my coachman, Tarryl.

“If you would be so kind as to take me home, Tarryl,” I said once I’d located him, stepping onto the small footrest and ducking my head slightly as I entered the coach.

“Aye Milord,” he replied.

The carriage ride home was quiet and smooth, spent in silence as I watched silhouettes of buildings and other city structures flit past the window, a smile on my lips.