@ofshi
“Sémillon. A brew native to France, but enjoyed plentifully - and treasonously - in England.” Agile fingertips worked to uncork the bottle of wine resting in the duke’s hand as he spoke, a quicksilver fragrance of citrus and lanolin perfusing the otherwise musty quarters of the court athenaeum. He inhaled its crisp aroma with delight, his thoughts conveyed to his a past encounter; the bottle a gratuity he received from a Parisian ambassador on account of his hand in a recently vetted treaty. He glanced to his foreign counterpart, the Chinese woman he proudly considered company, and gave up a shake of his fair head with mirth. “Nay ––––– if not for a deeply unfortunate susceptibility to botrytis, I am certain it would be more common in court. Pray tell, does the land from whence you hail boast of a correspondence, or perhaps alternative, to our Sémillon? our Merlot?”
