An Old Friend Visits

Cara leaned on his forearm as she shifted into slouch in his chair, his legs kicked out, one bent over the other at the ankle. They were keeping in pace with their drink, something Cara couldn't help but notice when there was nothing else near as titillating to his boredom. It was also helpful insight when things inevitably started to tilt in a downward tide, the longer the night continued. 

However fortunate, Carasson wasn't even nearing the limits of his capacity for mulled spirits. They were safe, he was aware nothing hunted them. Nothing except the monster wearing his body like a favorite winter coat. The one that growled inside his head every time Magnus moved a muscle. He clutched his hand into a fist in his lap below the table. Am I to take that to mean you don't think him clever? he drank from his glass, shrugging as he spoke. 

If you think his sister better suited for the succession, why don't you pit them against each other and see who comes out alive? he raised his glass in weary celebration. Then we'll have our answer. He shot back what was left in his glass. In the meantime how do you suppose we can lure the little crow out of his gilded caste for his lesson? He mused allowed, hoping that Magnus could at least point them in a general direction.