Bragi’s first society function in Great Britain had arrived earlier than anticipated, and had gone rather well, touch wood. Yes he’d accidentally elbowed a gentleman in the back, but he’d made small-talk, and even some medium-talk, and had partaken in the dancing without tangling his tails. Now, for the first time in about an hour, the young Dale found himself without a partner in dancing or conversation, so he seized the opportunity to do something he’d been dying to do all night — peek beyond the Great Hall.

Still holding his glass of Elf-made wine, Bragi sidled away from the chattering, laughing and music of the Great Hall, and made his way down the corridor opposite the Entrance Hall. His pace was leisurely, as if he were strolling through a museum, for he didn’t intend to venture far or to border on nosy. He just couldn’t resist the beckoning of the unknown.

Bragi gazed with silent wonder up at an enormous portrait of a paunchy pointy-hatted Duke, who gazed back down at him from beneath the sternest brow he’d ever seen.

Elias Grimstone (Tyb/Max/Theo!)