Declining to drink

Well... there it was. A mug full of seed for yours truly. For a moment, I stared at it, the sheer revulsion rising in my throat as I realized what was being demanded of me. I looked at the thick, opaque mixture, then back at the grinning, drunken faces of the dwarves.

No. I couldn’t do it. Royal pride and basic human dignity finally overrode the haze of the Stonetalon ale.

“I cannot drink this,” I said, stepping back from the table and crossing my arms, my voice carrying the firm weight of my lineage. “A prince of the realm does not drink the seed of common emissaries, even in a game of endurance. Our alliance is built on mutual respect, not humiliation.”

The dwarves blinked in stunned silence, their rowdy cheers dying down as they processed my refusal. However, it was Agnes, out of everyone, who tried to urge me on, leaning close to whisper in my ear.

“It’s an unpleasant result, my prince, but we hold on to our promises as humans, don’t we? For the sake of the kingdom’s word?”
“Our word is a vow of steel, Agnes, not a stomach challenge,” I countered firmly, refusing to budge.

Seeing my unyielding stance, the emissary threw his head back and let out a booming laugh, breaking the tension. He declared that a prince’s stubbornness was a trait dwarves could respect, agreeing to waive the liquid forfeit in exchange for a heavy bag of royal gold instead. Relieved, I nodded, and Agnes and I were soon on our way out of the room.