"Fine. I"ve had enough, I"m tired of all that shit." Orel put his legs onto the table as usual.

Tol entered the room.

"Roast meat is coming," he said. "And here is some mail." He put a few envelopes in front of Orel.

"Oh no, I don"t want to be bothered with it," Orel moaned.

"So, what have you decided about Mor… whatever"s his name?" Tol asked.

"I"ll kill him next week," Orel said.

"Perfect. Why not sooner?"

"I"ll let him live for a while longer."

"He"ll just use that time to write a few complaints about you – to the court, all the ministers and the king himself," Nikto said.

"Do you mean it? He"s writing complaints?"

"More than you can imagine."

"Oh no, I cannot bear it!" Orel pressed his palm to his chest. "Farewell, my friends! Prison is waiting for me!"

Tol laughed. Orel took his legs away from the table.

"So, where is roast meat?"

"Coming," Tol said.

"It"s a pity it won"t be made of Morgan Talas!"

"Orel, you"re crossing the borders," Enriki said, exasperated.

"Enriki is silent," Orel cut him off.

The servants brought the dinner.

"Oh gods, I haven"t been praying for a long time but I think I should now!" Orel slapped a maiden on her ass. "Am I right, Rona?"