“Aye.”
His hand clutched my buttock and pulled it closer, his face burrowing against my throat.
“Sleepy?”
He nodded there. “If ye wake, mo reul-iuil, and I am nae here, I hae gone tae the walls.”
“I thought you were the emperor — do kings and emperors have to guard the walls? I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Aye, I will likely surprise the castle guard once I do, but Sean will go tae the walls. I will need tae be there tae keep him company, or he will think me too unconcerned.”
“You’re a king and you’re still worried about what your older brother thinks?”
“Och aye, tae twist something he says often, older brothers are born tae force younger brothers tae prove themselves.”
“I can’t believe he came — I think he’s trying to prove himself to you.”
His forehead quietly nodded against my neck. Then he said, “But if I am nae here, tis where I hae gone.”
“I understand.”
CHAPTER 2 - ASGALL
A BROTHEL IN STAUNTON, VIRGINIA - 1775
Itossed my tricorn onto the rack by the front door. My favorite harlot leaned over the rail of the stairwell and called down, “Fancy a roust, sire?”
“Nae.” I took off my coat and hung it upon a hook.
“You look weary, sire, a little?—”
“I said, Nae, bring a whisky.”
She left tae get m’drink.
I ran a hand through my hair and loosened the cravat at my neck as I walked down the creaking wooden floor of the hall into the low-ceilinged sitting room. I sat down on the cushioned chair in front of the fireplace, opened the cigarette box on the table, and lit one with m’lighter.
I leaned back in the chair and drew a long inhale of the cigarette, exhalin’ smoke rings toward the ceiling.
The harlot entered, barefoot, her breasts uncovered, a corset and nae skirts, just cunt and arse, carrying a glass with whisky in it. She moved sultrily taeward me, passed me the glass, and sat down, unbidden upon my knee.
“Ye requested me, sire?” Her fingers went tae the back of my hair and twirled through it. Upstairs a bed was banging against the wall, a man was groaning with pleasure.
I scoffed. “Why would I request ye?”
She pressed against me, her mouth moved tae m’neck. “Ye enjoyed yerself last week, sire, I believe.”
“Who is upstairs?”
“Yer man, Master Greyson, sire, he arrived early for yer meetin’.”
“Up — ye are sweaty and soilin’ m’breeches.” I pushed her off as I leaned forward, tae put the butt of m’cigarette out in the ashtray.
She said, “My apologies, sire.”
I brushed off m’knee. “Open the windows wider, tis hot as Hades in here.”
“Of course, sire.” As she turned tae leave I smacked her arse, settin’ a pink mark in the shape of m’hand, marrin’ her pale skin. Twas satisfyin’ tae hear her squeal.
