After the funeral, we returned to the Queen's castle and settled into the female dormitory in the northwest tower. In the lobby, we gathered at the curved bar, taking our seats on the dark stools.
"Do you want the whisky smoke over applewood or oak?" Angelina asked. She was dressed in a dark waistcoat and a long-sleeved linen shirt, her brown hair styled in short curls with bangs.
"Applewood is fine," I replied.
Angelina set a glass on the table and dropped in two metallic cubes. She poured Johnnie Walker whisky into the cup, then covered it with a wooden lid.
She then placed apple wood on the lid and pointed her finger at it. A vibrant blue flame burst from her fingertip, igniting the wood. Apple-scented smoke instantly swirled into the glass, infusing the whisky.
With an infectious smile, Angelina handed me the whisky. "A taste of something different, for our one and only King," she said.
"Thanks." I took the whisky and smiled back at her.
