The dwarf chief

Before Agnes or I could even reach for the table, the emissary snatched the silver chalice with a burst of rowdy, drunken speed. With his thick beard parted in a grin, he tilted his head back and downed the thick, shimmering gold liquor in one impressive, uninterrupted gulp. He slammed the empty chalice back down onto the wooden surface, letting out a deep, rumbling burp as the raw heat hit his throat, while the other three dwarves erupted into an amphitheater-like roar of laughter that shook the very walls of the chamber.

“By the forge!” the largest dwarf bellowed, slamming his fists onto the table in approval. “The chief shows how a true son of the mountain drinks! The prize is yours, boss, name your terms!”

This is where the room grew incredibly small. I had hoped the game would end in good fun, but the emissary’s liquor had clearly set a wilder... uninhibited tone. He looked over Agnes and me with a wide, triumphant grin, his eyes glittering with drunken mischief.

“My prize is a demonstration of true human... compliance,” he commanded, his voice steady and completely dominant. “I want both the prince and his pretty maid to shed your modesty and show exactly what kind of brawn and beauty you are packing beneath those clothes.”

Agnes let out a breathless gasp, expecting me to intervene, but the other dwarves only roared with enthusiastic approval, their heavy hands already gesturing for us to start unbuckling our gear. My own heart hammered in my chest, a sudden wave of heat rushing to my face when the emissary turned his gaze directly toward me, his stance leaving absolutely no room for royal privilege.

“And that means right now, my prince,” he instructed, his tone turning heavy and authoritative. “You lost the challenge fair and square. Step forward and show us what royalty is hiding.”