He endured almost twenty minutes but couldn’t last a second more. The sobbing and pleading and slurring had pushed him past any reasonable limit. He was the Master of the Royal Household after all. King Chamberland’s right-hand man.
“Here,” he said, sliding the gold plastic key across his desk. “Please leave now.”
The Bard took the key and pressed it against his chest.
“I won’t lose this one. Promise…” he mumbled while stumbling towards the door.
Imagine misplacing an honorary key to the kingdom after a three-day drunken bender, the Master sighed.
Thank goodness he had a drawerful of extras.
The Weekday One Hundred 