It has been a week since my ill fated dinner with the queen. A night that began with reminiscing ended with me carrying the women to her chambers, only to be whisked away by the attending physicians. I have since spent the last week awaiting word of her recovery or demise.

I assume she has recovered for their are no official announcements of her death, yet not so much as a word to me of her condition. I grow irritated with the lack of correspondance.

"It was nonsense" I think to myself. "Nonsense that the Lady of the Isles would even be remotely interested in the life story of the Nobleman of Vathypetros.

"All that family cares for is my wine." I tell myself.

"I need to get out of here." I add.

I leave the sanctuary and wander the dusty streets of this little provincial get away for the nation's rich and powerful. My thoughts flow in rapid succession and I soon find myself teetering on either sheer depression or uncontrolable rage at my situation. Perhaps an omen from the gods may be in order.

As I continue to wander my anger grows.
"You would think the rich and powerful would have a temple here or even a shrine?" My feelings toward all grow sharp with each passing moment.

Finally at the end of one of the long dirty streets that has carried me far from the royal retreats, I find it. A small and seemly unimportant shrine. I enter and gather a handful of the fresh herbs laying upon the altar and place them in the small fire that appears next to it.

I kneel at the altar and utter a secret prayer, hoping that it will be carried by the smoke to the gods my people swear by.