Karina, screaming, rushed to her beloved:

“Father, stop it!” she cried, falling to the floor near her Lis and lifting his head, peering into the whitened face and trying to see through the dense fabric hoe he felt.

Kors moved away, straightening his hair, his chest was shaking, he was breathing heavily and he was shivering.

“Lis?! Lis!” Karina called, but Lis didn’t move, his face was deathly pale, a thick dark-burgundy trickle of blood flowed from under the roots of his hair onto his forehead.

Karina turned to her father:

“What have you done?! You killed him!”

Kors himself seemed frightened when he saw such unusually motionless Lis, but he stirred with a groan and opened his eyes.

“He has nine lives,” Kors said as he walked up to them and abruptly lifted the upper part of Karina’s cape to reveal his face.

There were tears in her eyes full of reproach:

“You crippled him!”

Lis raised himself awkwardly, leaning his back on the smashed closet, looked with a slightly dull look at the candlestick lying next to him, and, slightly bending his head, put his hand on which drops of blood fell. He unconsciously put his hand on the top of his head smashed by the candelabrum. He looked up at Kors, trying to understand what had happened now and why this noble weakling had managed to beat him.

“Lis, honey, how are you?” sobbed Karina.

Lis looked at her, then back at Kors.

“Don't you dare touch her,” he said quietly, but still defiantly, “she is no longer yours!”

Kors looked at them with contempt.

“I just wanted to make sure her face wasn't broken again. But now! Go both to hell! Do what you want!” He turned away, walking away from them to the table.

"Do you think I'll leave it to you like that?" Lis tried to get up, he was shaking, the blood was already flowing in a stream, pouring over his face and dripping onto the floor.

“Gods, we must call at least Verniy! Verniy! Verniy!” Began to call Karina, Lis looked at her so that she, catching his gaze, froze and hastily covered her head and face with a cape.

Lis, limping and crunching the fragments of the bottles with his boots, hobbled to the table, on the way he came across Arel, who was indifferently sitting near the chair of Nikto.

“Go away from here!” Lis snapped, but Arel didn’t move.

“Oh, you, another noble creature!” Lis growled and, from where the strength only came, grabbed Arel by the hair and poked his face on the floor, dunked it directly into the black puddle of the spilled dye. Arel clearly didn’t expect this, and Lis, not sparing his hand, dipped it in paint and roughly pushed Arel across the face. Arel tried to push him away with his hands, the skin on his face turned black, the dye hit his eyes, making him hiss in pain.

“What are you doing?!” Kors threw away the glass of wine, which he calmed down, and again rushed to Lis, pulling away from Arel:

“You’ll burn out his eyes, you idiot!”

“Nothing will happen to him,” snapped Lis, he looked at his now black hand and walked away.

Kors jumped to Arel, removing his hands from the black face, the whites of the prince’s eyes also turned black.

“Everything is correct, it serves him right!” Said Lis. “This is your true face, Kors! It smells of both of you so much that you will live forever with soot on your face! Noble blacks!”

“Your head is out of order, Alis! You are dangerous to society!”

“Get away from me and Karina!”

Verniy ran into the living room, he saw bloodied Lis and said with emotion:

“Sit on a chair, quickly, I'll take a look.”

Kors pulled Arel’s forearm:

“Let's go from here, prince, we have nothing to do among half-bloods and dregs.”