"Leaving?" his voice came from the door. A shorter bookshelf was hiding everything but his shoulders and face as he peered within. "Don't fucking blame you."
His head bobbed back out of the door way and snaked this way and that. No one was near, not close enough to hear him speaking like some sort of commoner anyway. Normally he'd have looked before he spoke but he'd been drunk for days. Not the kind of drunk that everyone noticed where your feet belonged to someone else and your words ran away with themselves, just the comfortably warm kind. Or the forgetting things that happened kind. When it got closer to midnight he'd be alone in his chamber and that's when it would get heavy.
The Prince came around the end of the bookshelf. It was revealed that in each hand he had two heavy tankards of foamy ale held by the u-shaped handles. His hand shook slightly as he passed one tankard off to Skandra's good hand, set its twin down, and then the Prince stood with a drink in each hand for himself.
"Thanks," said Skandra.
"Yeah," and his head peeked around again. All the other injured or sick were asleep. "Here's to virgins; thanks for nothing."
And then he drank one of the ales slowly until it was gone. Not exactly the poignant speech he should have given. He was going to go as long as possible without discussing what had occured.