It wasn’t until after the entire formal meal had been served and cleared that Dael had to face Flavia and her smirk. He’d been tempted to spill wine or some of the smaller, neater finger foods on her, but he didn’t want to risk the lash.
Flavia gave an elaborate speech about how she was glad to have the fat, belching, powdered and coiffed nobles dining in her home, and then she excused herself to arrange for the entertainment, a gang of acrobats in the courtyard.
She stopped Dael in the kitchen.
“That tunica does wonders for you,” she said.
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