Val took a restorative sip of wine, and some of the shaking began to subside. “I’ve found that a little kindness and familiarity goes much farther than treating a person like property and barking orders at them.”
“Hmph. It never worked for you.”
“You’re a wealth of comedy, Your Majesty.”
Mehmet hooked a leg over the arm of the chair. “What are you still doing in bed anyway?”
Val had projected a polished image of himself into Constantine’s study, kaftan buttoned up to his chin, hair braided, boots polished. In reality, he was naked, hair tangled over his shoulders, covers pooled around his waist. He glanced down and saw fading marks on his chest, the impressions of teeth.
“You tired me out this morning,” he said, and sipped more wine. “Arslan, will you–”
But the boy was already in motion, fetching his robe and slippers from his trunk, a brush clenched in one hand.
“What’s got you out of sorts?” Val asked, standing as his slave returned. He wobbled a little; incentive to drain his cup and let the blood do its work. It was warm and fresh, horse blood, but it didn’t work as quickly or effectively as wolf blood would have.
Mehmet blew out a breath. “The janissaries want an increase in salary. Havedemandedone. Can you believe such a thing?”
“I can, actually.” He slid his arms through the sleeves Arslan offered to him, the silk cool and lovely against his bare skin. When he had the robe belted, he went to sit in the chair opposite the sultan, and Arslan set to work on his hair with a gentle, deft touch. “They’re your crack troops. The rest of the army is just boys with sticks. The janissaries are the ones who keep you alive and win you battles. They deserve to be paid handsomely for that.”
Not to mention, he didn’t add,they’re essentially slaves. He thought they deserved some recompense for the displacement. He himself had learned to feel nothing but enjoyment when it came to rich fabrics, and dazzling jewels, and hot baths in copper tubs.
“I hate it when you speak logically,” Mehmet muttered into his cup. “I should have your mouth sewn shut.”
Val sent him a sharp smile. “Ah. But then how would I suck your royal cock?”
“Stop talking.”
“No. Someone has to offer you council, and you’ve frightened all your own people away.”
“I’ve done no such thing.”
“Darling, you impaled a man yesterday morning before breakfast.”
A smile plucked at the corners of the sultan’s mouth. “You might have a point there.”
“I always have a point. You’d be lost without me.”
Mehmet hummed an agreeing sound and sat upright. It was then that Val noticed there was a large set of building plans laid out on the desk between them, all of it labeled carefully in a precise hand.
Mehmet tapped the edge of the paper. “What do you think of the fortress?”
The blood and wine turned over in Val’s belly. He fought to keep his expression one of vague interest as he sat forward and scanned the architect’s drawings. “It’s…”
“Beautiful,” Mehmet said. “I know.”
Val would have gone withterrifying.
“Incredible progress is already being made. It should be finished by spring.”
“Spring?” Val nearly choked on the word. That sort of speed in building was unheard of.
“I’m sparing no expense. Not in materials, nor in manpower. This fortress will be the place from which I launch my assault.”
Val felt dizzy again, and this time it had nothing to do with dream-walking. “You’re serious, then. About laying siege to Constantinople.”
His brows went up. “You thought I wasn’t?”
“Well, no.” He’d just hoped that one of the many viziers who had the sultan’s ear would have pointed out the sheer folly of the notion by now. “It’s only that I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on this.”
