"It's none of your damn business why I'm drinking," John grumbled, downing the glass of wine in a single gulp. "And I thought I told you to practice your spells. Your technique's sloppy. Don't want you setting the entire f*cking palace on fire."

He knew he shouldn't be drinking so early, and that his student had nothing to do with his pain, but right now he couldn't care less. He wasn't done grieving King Jefferson yet. Yes, it'd been months since the man's untimely death. The war was over, blah blah. Didn't matter. Still hurt like hell.

John was a seer, yet he hadn't seen it coming. He'd been right there, yet he hadn't been able to do a godsdamned thing. All he'd done was watch as the life left the eyes of the man he'd loved. Even his attempt at bringing the king back from the dead had failed; the injury had been too grievous to undo. If he couldn't even save a single man, what good was he? What good was his magic? His failure played over and over in his mind, vaguely dulled by the wine.

"Need more," he muttered, reaching for the bottle and bringing the whole thing to his lips. As he was about to start chugging, he noticed his student still standing there. "I told you to go practice your bloody spells. That's an order. Get out."