“He killed himself? He fell on his own sword?” - the boyar looked disturbed for the first time tonight.

“He did.” - his wife whispered.

For a moment, the bard thought he’d finally said something that got to Kalo, but the shell around his emotions he had crafted so well was impregnable.

“Because he got fucked in the ass? Maybe he liked it then.” - Kalo said and burst out laughing again.

Bozmaroff took a deep breath.

“You’re not going to kill yourself too, are you?” - he told his wife and put a hand on her thigh before he continued laughing, followed by the people on his feasting table.

The guests were trying to stuff their mouths with whatever food they had in front of them so they could avoid participating in this act of the play. But in the end, they all played their part. They didn’t call their lord out. They didn’t feel any doubt in following him. He could get up and shit in their plates, and they’d still laugh if that’s what he did.

“So you got one more, don’t you bard?” - Kalo asked.

“I do.” - Bozmaroff replied.