The duties for formal banquets, as it turned out, were numerous and complicated, and Dael supposed he should have paid better attention instead of smiling at Flavia, because the tunica Quintus was trying to force on him was hideous.
“They’re the household colors,” Quintus insisted. “All who serve at table will be wearing them.”
“A corpse wouldn’t be seen wearing them,” Dael said.
“You have to wear it, it’ll be the lash for you.” Quintus waggled the tunica warningly.
Dael sighed. “Fine. I’ll wear it.”
He pretended he didn’t see Flavia stifle laughter when he stepped into the dining room.
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