Modric’s POV
Apparently, my last night before marrying my wife required alcohol.
I stared at the bottle Kylian placed on the table.
“No.”
He looked offended.
“It is tradition.”
“Whose tradition?”
“Mine.”
“That is not how traditions work.”
“It can start tonight.”
Darius laughed from the sofa.
The sound made me glance toward him.
A few weeks ago, I had watched an arrow enter his body.
Tonight, he was sitting in my private study complaining that the healer still refused to let him train properly.
His recovery was not complete.
Elara had threatened him with confinement if he attempted anything strenuous before the wedding.
But he could walk.
He could argue.
He could attend tomorrow.
That was enough.
“You can have one drink,” Darius said.
“No.”
Kylian frowned. “Why?”
“Bec
