Ezra did not want to open his eyes. They hurt. So did his teeth and tongue and throat and in a general form of speaking, his mouth tasted like up chucked yak's milk mixed with rutabaga juice. His ears hurt too, like someone had blared a trumpet in them for five hours straight, but mostly, his head hurt and his stomach wasn't too whoopee either. He groaned and rolled over, realizing to himself he hadn't changed into his pajamas. He wondered who took his shirt and boots off. What the hell did he do last night? He remembered heading to the bar with Gera and he remembered his first few drinks, but…. He fumbled through the sheets for his wife.
"Sbine?" he moaned. No answer. "Sabine?" he said louder. His lifted his head, at the expense of a sudden wave of nausea, and cracked an eye open. He glanced around, but saw no one. "Sabine? Anyone?"
"I'm here." Ezra just about jumped out of his skin as he physically jumped at the voice and promptly fell out of bed.
"Ow…," he moaned on the floor. He really wished he hadn't moved; now the room was spinning even worse and it was taking everything in him to keep everything in him down. "Who said that," hoping he really would get an answer and not some hung over hallucination.
"Your daughter." Ezra righted himself to his knees and glanced over the edge of the mattress. There was Amira Wren, sitting in Sabine's favorite reading chair, sipping a cup of tea. "Mother's not here. She's actually asked me to look after you today."
"Hm, I see she couldn't be bothered to do it herself," Ezra mumbled as he pulled himself back into bed, only to bury his head in pillows. The heiress said nothing to Ezra right away. Instead she moved herself to sit down by him on the bed. She gently put a hand on his back and rubbed his shoulder blades.
"How bad do you feel," she asked him sympathetically.
"Like someone punched me in the gut," he said in a dead pan, muffled voice. The heiress chuckled a little.
He moved a pillow away from his head, but did not look at his daughter. He rubbed his hand over his face as he moaned. "Oh, I think the last time I got this drunk, I woke up naked and tied to a bed. And the bed was in the middle of a lake." The heiress said nothing, but she tried not to burst into laughter. She found that to be an amusing situation. "Is your mom in an all important meeting or something," Ezra asked.
"No. Truthfully, she actually didn't want to deal with you today. At least that's what she told me, her words, not mine. She said she wants the both of you to be calm enough to talk."
"I'm hung over, I think I'm pretty calm."
"Well, I know from hanging out with Grandma that being hung over does keep one from wanting to yell loudly." Ezra looked at his daughter dubiously.
"Your Grandmother was hungover." The heiress scoffed.
"Father, please, just because she's nobility doesn't mean she hasn't drunk too many drinks before. Actually, I've seen her drink some of the guards under the table." Ezra cracked a smile, then his eyebrows snapped down.
"Wait…you said yelling…how do you know…?"
"About yours and Mother's fight? I sort of overheard it. I was actually rather shocked to hear you yell at Mother." Ezra groaned and threw a pillow over his head again, hoping his nine-year-old wouldn't ask him what sex was.
"I'm such an idiot. I wish I'd never said all that to your mom."
"Well, Father, I understand where you're coming from, but you could have said it with more tact." Ezra whimpered pathetically. Amira rubbed his shoulders again. "Father, you and Mother will have been married a decade in another few months and I don't think it's a good thing that you spent a whole night out drinking and that Mother has decided to avoid you. Mother wants to talk with you, but you'll need to be able to talk to her too." With that, the heiress stood up and walked over to the door. "I have things to do, but I'll be back to check on you later." The heiress opened the door and left.
Ezra lifted his head out of his pile of pillows. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"Fuck…I'm in deep shit?"