The feast roared on as the sun dipped well below the horizon, replaced by a river of wine that drowned what little decorum remained in the hall.
Hour by hour, the thin veneer of nobility peeled away like an onion. The high-born men, their chivalry abandoned at the bottom of a goblet, began to openly paw at the women weaving through the tables. Servants were detained by wandering hands, their duties forgotten in the face of drunken lust. Tiberius finally understood the logic why half the staff were men, and why the other half looked so weary throughout the feast.
They did whatever they wanted, they ate , they drank and they fucked like beast.
The more he observed, the deeper the knot of disgust tightened in his gut. The East prided itself on the twin pillars of wine and cavalry, yet their legendary horsemen had been humbled in the mud by common peasants. Now, it seemed, they sought to regain their lost pride by conquering the bottle and the helpless.
