It’s a stronger alcohol that instantly has her jerking back, ears flying up straight as she does a little shake of her head. Her tongue and throat burns. It’s a spicy sort of drink that she hadn’t expected, with strong notes of cinnamon.

That’s when she realizes Tate is watching her, but his little smile disappears when she looks at him, as if he didn’t want to be caught with it. “You don’t like it? Ardis brings it in from far away. Kiln insisted he hold a keg for the wedding. I think he actually had to draw blood over it.” He reaches up to tap the edge of his mug against hers. “It is good on cold, cold days, Princess. Of which there are many in Iroa.”

“I-it’s just strong,” she mutters, her cheeks hot and her gaze darting away from him in embarrassment. “I’m not used to alcohol yet.” She’s sure she’ll have to get used to it quick here, with the amount of drinking these people do.

As if to prove that she could do such a thing, she brings the mug to her lips again and chugs as much as she can before the fire become too much and she has to pull it away to catch her breath.

She can hear Bran laughing with enjoyment, and Adaline gains a plethora of hoots and howls of encouragement as she drinks. “She is made of fire!” She hears someone yell in Iroan, and the guests laugh with mirth.