Even the name made him wince. "I won't even try to pronounce that," a low mutter, self-deprecating, punctuated with the wave of his hand. He felt fluent in the language now, enough that he had reached for it automatically on finding Vlad. From our friends in Hungary. The ones that were noticeably absent?

Ezio smiled at the fire, at his friend's visible discomfort with his torkopacchina or whatever it was called. "Oh no," he remarked, letting that smile stretch, "You have sold me on it now. Now I must have a taste." It's the purview of boys, isn't it? Try this, it's disgusting!

It isn't hard to find the bottle and a spare glass, offering Vlad a refill before partaking himself. Formality or no, he was grateful for something that might take the edge off the lack of sleep, a kind of dull, full-body ache there to remind him he wasn't eighteen and unstoppable anymore.

"Your men seem undaunted. Taking a cue from their prince?" He swirled the liquor in his glass as if he were letting a wine breathe. The smell wafting off it gave him second thoughts.