"Asterion returned to London," Conall said before lifting the quail on his plate with his fingers and groaning as he took a bite. "Did you expect otherwise?" Laszlo asked, pulling out my chair for me first. "Noble bastard," Conall breathed, and he and Laszlo exchanged a brief glance of amused frustration. "Thank fuck Hywel still dreams of good cooks," Conall moaned around another bite. "He's having an inspired week," Laszlo said with a dip of his head, pouring himself a glass of claret. He looked to me next, decanter hovering over the glass. I nodded and he poured for me, but he passed Conall
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