"Plink, plink, plink, plink—"
One, two, three, four— the grains of coarse salt dropped from one side of the measure glass to the other, bringing them closer to the measures of early evening with each passing moment.
Viola Grandpire glanced at the porcelain cup in front of her with a growing apprehension. She did not dare to look up from the wooden table, nor did she dare to look too far at its expanse.
In the inner courtyard of Moonrise Palace, Benevolent Consort Drazel lazily plucked some grapes with slender fingers.
"I heard congratulations are in order, Talented Consort."
Viola smiled, but she was actually gritting her teeth. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Benevolent Consort Drazel held a grape between her teeth for a moment. The sunlight streamed in from the large windows and made her face seem especially bewitching.
