Dwarven Country.
Royal Palace.
Inside his chamber, the air was thick with the scent of roasted at and strong alcohol. Empty casks and half-finished platters were scattered.
Gumarak slamd down the tenth great bottle of dwarven wine.
"Bwahh!!! Now this... this is life! Ehehehe!" He tore into another slab of at.
Ferine sat nearby, arms crossed neatly, her poise at odds with the chaos around her, graceful, calm.
"Father!" Her sigh was sharp, eyes narrowing. "Stop drinking already."
"What!?" Gumarak barked, his cheeks flushed red from drink.
"I’m enjoyin’ my night! After piles o’ cursed paperwork, I deserve this! A king should drink like a king!"
Ferine’s brow furrowed.
"You’ll collapse before morning at this rate. Is that what a ruler should do?"
"Bah! Ye sound just like yer mama," Gumarak grumbled.
Ferine’s sigh deepened.
"If Mother heard you say that, I’m sure she’d hit you until dawn."
Gumarak’s eyes went wide. He looked around in panicked.
"Don’t scare like that, girl!"
Ferine pinched the bridge of her nose.
"What am I going to do with you? Even my brothers start having headaches because of you. Can’t you stop being so childish, Father?"
"Bah! Child, ye say?!" Gumarak roared, slapping his belly. "A child can’t drink wine, ye know! Hah! Look at . I’ve got proof!" He raised another bottle triumphantly.
Ferine sighed softly, then rose from her seat.
She walked toward the massive double doors of the chamber, her steps echoing lightly against the stone floor.
Her hand rested on the handle. She paused, then smiled slyly, eyes glinting with mischief.
She cracked the door open just enough to slip her head out. Then, turning back toward her father, she feigned panic, her voice sharp but hushed.
"F–Father!!!" she hissed urgently.
Gumarak froze mid–swig, the bottle halfway to his mouth. "Ha?!"
"Hide the drink! Fast!" Ferine pressed, her tone carrying just enough fear to look real.
"Wh–What!? Why!?" Gumarak scrambled, nearly falling out of his chair. He shoved bottles under the table, kicked empty mugs toward the corner, and clutched only one half–empty cask in his fist like it was evidence of moderation.
He swept at bones into a platter.
"Wh... Who’s comin’!?" he hissed in panic while fumbling with the ss.
Ferine put a hand to her lips, eyes sparkling with amusent she carefully hid. She leaned in and hissed just loud enough for him to hear.
"Mother is coming!"
Gumarak’s eyes bulged, his face paling despite the flush of alcohol.
"Bahhh!!! That witch is comin’ here!?" he barked, diving across the table to grab another bottle and stuff it under a pillow.
He looked around wildly, beard bristling like a cornered beast.
"Ferine!! Where!? Which hallway!?!"
Ferine kept her face composed, lips trembling as if in panic.
Ferine widened her eyes dramatically, her hand clutching her chest as she turned her head toward the "invisible figure" behind Gumarak.
"A... ah! Esteem Mother!!" she exclaid, dropping into a graceful bow, her voice laced with feigned panic.
Gumarak froze mid–breath, his whole body going stiff as though a hamr had just been raised over his skull. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, sliding down his temple.
He didn’t dare glance back. His knuckles whitened around the lone bottle he still clutched.
"Ah....my love..." His voice cracked, the usual booming dwarven tone reduced to a pitiful stamr. "I–I’m not doin’ anything wrong! Truly! I’m... I’m just drinkin’ in moderation, aye, moderation! Only a sip or two, nothin’ more, I swear on beard!"
Ferine lowered her head deeper, her shoulders trembling as though with fear... though in truth, it was laughter she was barely holding in.
Unable to hold it any longer, she let out a soft laugh.
Her hand covered her mouth. "F–Father... your reaction..." she whispered, her laughter bubbling up into a graceful but unrestrained laugh.
Gumarak blinked, frozen for a heartbeat. Then his eyes narrowed.
"Y–Ye little imp!" he barked, turning to her with his beard bristling. "Ye tricked !? Made think yer mother was right behind !?"
Ferine straightened, still giggling behind her hand.
"You should’ve seen your face, Father. All that panic... hiding bottles like a thief in his own hall."
Gumarak growled, slamming the bottle on the table. "Bah! A king of dwarves shouldn’t be mocked in his own chamber! By his own daughter, no less!"
But then he paused.
Ferine’s smile faded. She stood stiff, her graceful posture locked, her eyes darting anywhere but behind him. Her lips pressed tightly as though she dared not speak.
Gumarak squinted at her suspiciously. "Oi... what’s with that face?"
When she didn’t answer, his smirk returned. He leaned back in his chair and raised the bottle again.
"Heh! Ye won’t get a second ti, Ferine. Think ye can fool yer father twice, eh? Bah! I ain’t fallin’ for it. I’m goin’ back to drinkin’." He tipped the bottle high with a laugh.
"Ain’t no one stoppin’ ...not even that witch! Bahahahaha!"
The laugh thundered through the chamber. Until a familiar, chilling voice drifted from gumarak back.
"...Witch, you say?"
The bottle slipped in his hand.
Gumarak froze mid–swig, the bottle hovering just shy of his lips. His eyes darted sideways, only to see Ferine stepping lightly back toward the double doors. With a graceful bow to the unseen figure beyond, she slipped through the gap.
"Good luck... Father," she whispered, almost sing-song, before closing the door behind her.
"G–Gulp."
Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder.
There she stood.
His wife. Draped in her usual dignified attire, eyes calm but carrying that terrifying gleam that pierced straight through him.
"Wh–Who the witch ye sayin’, dear~?" she asked sweetly, her smile beautiful yet dangerous.
Gumarak paled, his voice cracking as he laughed nervously.
"Ahh... m–my love... ye must’ve misheard! I didn’t say witch! N–No, no, I said... rich! Aye! Rich! This wine be so rich in flavor, I was praisin’ it in yer honor!"
Outside the chamber, Ferine leaned gracefully against the cool stone wall, folding her arms. She let out a soft sigh, though her lips curved into the faintest smile.
From within, the muffled sounds of her father’s booming voice turned into panicked yelps.
"Gyaaaarhhhhh!!! Don’t pull the beard! rcy, woman, rcy!!!"
Ferine covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders trembling as she stifled a laugh.
Father, truly... every ti. You never learn.
The clatter of a chair tipping echoed, followed by another desperate roar.
"Not the braids! Ye’ll rip ’em clean off! I swear on beard, I’ll never drink more than nine bottles again!!"
Ferine sighed once more, but this ti it carried warmth. She shook her head lightly.
( End Of Chapter )
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