11 January, 1359. Westerhaven Palace, Islia
The men started to chuckle at Thomas's statement that he should've instead married the Princess of Moraigth.
"Are you serious, Tom?" Rufus scoffed. "Or just blind drunk?"
Thomas shrugged, took another large gulp of sweet wine and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, not caring about staining his exquisitely embroidered velvet outer robe.
"Why ever not?" he mumbled. "It couldn't have been a worse outcome than where I find myself in now. Father told me to bind myself to a wife for wealth, didn't he? Seems like Princess Camilla would've likely brought me an impressive dowry. She's also sweet tempered and a beauty. I think we can all agree Eleanor has neither of those qualities." He waved his empty goblet at a passing servant.