Specimens

The noble who stood at the edge of the curtain, wine goblet in hand, was fat and positively ancient. Dael had heard some of the other servants joke that he was still alive only by virtue of the fact that he’d pickled himself with all the wine he drank.

Wine was rancid on his breath when he loomed over Dael, placed a finger under his chin, tilted his face up.

“It’s understandable, and frankly, enviable,” the man said.

Dael swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

“You don’t find specimens with this coloring, do you? At least, not alive.”