Chapter 89

Brandon stopped outside the large hall, his eyes low. He knew Conaan would be behind it, and at this moment, Conaan was the one person he did not think he had the guts to see. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he finally brought his hand forward, then tapped the door a little silently.

The answer did not come, and pushing the limits of his courage, he turned the knob, and opened the door.

He took a step forward, and raised his eyes. Conaan was sotting in his usual arrangement of padded pillows, the same bloodied archery suit still on his, his face only cleaned off to a barely acceptable level.

"Your Highness."

Conaan said nothing, just brought the glass cup to his lips again, downing the last bit of the alcohol.

"Alcohol is not good for you right now, Your Highness."

Conaan nodded slowly, dropping the cup. He sat up, crossing his legs under him, then pressing his hands in the small space made between his bent knees.

"Sure," he said. His voice dr