A Pillar of Serpents [ft. xanaphia & november]

"Every report said you'd died at Moubren." Lord Vell was the first to speak up once the clamor settled. "Surrounded by a dozen Dahnae raiders and struck down."

He guessed a few of them still suspected some trick. There weren't many men in Niderna with his frame, or the mean tempered black/red horse he'd left outdoors, or his armor. But the helmet that obscured his face, that was the missing thing. Darius snorted dismissively, ripping the heavy thing off his shoulders and letting hit clatter to the ground. "Dahnae swords weilded by Dahnae men. They would have needed another dozen to pull that off."

The truth was, he still wasn't sure how he'd survived. The initial burst of surprise became a clamor as the king rose from his seat. Darius looked down and smiled to himself. No, no. That would do for a childhood friend, but not for a King. And they'd learned the hard way how broad and constant those obligations were. Cirren narrowed his eyes, changed his expression from joy to skepticism. "You didn't send word of your survival?"

"I had business to attend to," he responded gruffly. "And then I heard about the Lords of Niderna."

He licked his teeth and looked around at the collection. The heads of seven families, and the Kingdom's vital officers, and a few dozen men of lesser importance in the background. "Bickering as always over the small share we have. Questioning the King, clamoring to sue for peace with our enemies."

"You use that word enemy too freely."

He ignored Lord Murat and kept his attention on Cirren. "I brought you a gift."

He wrapped his fist around the hair and dragged it out of the bag. The thing wasn't in wonderful shape - there'd been days of travel in warm weather and it was starting to pick of a smell. But there wasn't any mistaking who it was.

And seeing it got a loud reaction, the kind he'd been imagining since he'd started riding back from Moubren and the frontier, since he'd woken up on the floor of that dirty, abandoned fortress.

"I bring you Lord Asna Harl of Dahnae. Well. Parts of him." The head looked smaller now, thanks to the passage of time and well, things just looking smaller without the body. "This same man that stood in this very chamber and told your king to know his place in this world. The same man that said we were a threat to peace on this continent. The same man that spat in these hallowed halls we built TWICE with our own hands and called us barbarians. So when I saw his smug face and his beady eyes.... standing comfortably in the back during an attack on one of our settlements..."

He grinned and locked eyes with the Dahnae's current Lord Ambassador. He'd practically gone white during this scene. He was there observing - one of the humiliations that had come with their peace deal twenty years ago. "I decided I would go through his men and let him taste Niderna barbarism first hand!"

He adjusted his grip on the previous Lord Ambassador's head - holding it in his palm like a ball as he lifted it up, roaring at the now frenzied court like an animal. It wasn't exactly convincing the gathered diplomats of Niderna's civility. But that was a luxury they didn't have. The nation was surrounded by enemies, flanked by the sea, scattered from the burning husk of their home. Savagery wasn't just permitted, it was necessary. And he'd always been good at that, at least.

"Let it be this for all my King's enemies," he said calmly, dropping the head to the floor like it was a bauble he'd gotten tired of. The crowd was enraptured, at least the more common men at the back. News of utter defeat on the front had turned into a stunning victory. In more senses than one.

"How can anyone now say that Dahnae hasn't been behind these attacks on our people? With one of their Lord Ambassadors leading the way?" Darius spat onto the ground and stared down the heads of the gathered families. He'd been raised here, knew each of them and what they were feeling, where they stood, how they'd react.

He locked eyes with Lord Vell and stomped over towards him, his heavy armor creaking and slamming into the floor as he moved. Darius loomed over him, casually putting the Lord Ambassador's gore under his boot.

"What about you, Vell? Will you stand against the king even now? Stand against me?" From the intonation of his voice, it felt like any defiance would be met with immediate physical violence, either from him or the mob. Vell swallowed.

"I told the king that we would need to talk about all of this in a closed counsel." Choices that were wise and cowardly and necessary often needed to happen behind closed doors. Darius was a brute, he'd made peace with that. But he was a soldier, and he knew facts like those as well as anyone. There always needed to be someone to retreat, someone to say no, to acknowledge the possibility of failure.

But it wasn't a proud duty.

Persia was not a religious woman, despite the image she cultivated for herself. It was useful for people to think her nothing but a pious and obedient wife and mother, so that was the persona she wore as Queen. Yet, there was truth in her voice as the word “miracle” dripped from her lips. It wasn’t a performance, wasn’t merely a performance, as she gazed upon a dead man. And while she didn’t attribute this act to God, it was nothing less than a marvel.

“I prayed that God might return you to us,” She announced to the court, stepping form the dais. “And here you are now, before us all. Here you stand, proof that God favors us, all of us, over Dahnae. Expansion is God’s will, and cowardice in the face of this miracle is to spit upon God’s grace.” She stood before Darius now, the difference in their stature astonishing. He was a temple of masculinity, a marble statue come to life, with all the strength and skill of the hero he was crafted for.

She was a woman, weakness encased in mortal flesh, so it was perfectly permissible for her to cry over his death. Permissible for her to wail and tear at her hair and skin. She was allowed the mourning her husband was not, and her performance was catharsis for the entire court. Darius hadn’t been much to her, as far as anyone was concerned. Just gazes that passed in hallways, held until it was no longer possible or decent. Just the fantasy that got her through her passionless duty to her husband. Just a regret, a pain she would carry in her heart until her twilight days.

But there he was, right before her. In the flesh. That glorious, firm flesh that consumed a thousand lonely nights. She would not carry that regret for much longer.

“Words waste time, waste the momentum that Darius’ offensive has bought us,” Lord Kalel Jhaveri proclaimed. Her father, and the leader of the charge to take the fight to Dahnae. Fight them in their land, so we do not fight in ours. Never again. “Words did not see our country grow, did not feed our people or warm our bones.”

He turned toward the king now taking a few steps toward him, “Your Majesty! You sit upon the hallowed throne, because we have faith in your ability to lead, not merely your ability to speak. Will you set upon the path that God has set before us, carved by Darius’ very hand?” It was a reminder, she knew, that it was House Jhaveri who threw their weight behind House Rahal to claim the throne of Niderna, after Draen Toulali brought shame upon their country and their name. It was a reminder that his loyalty came at a price, and he had come to collect.

Clearly her husband was rattled, wearing the face of a man trying to listen to two disparate conversations at once. A man who had walked a balancing act as well as anyone could be expected to, but it would never be enough. His caution, his reticence, his contemplation may have been admirable traits for a leader to possess, were he not currently being overshadowed by a man whose temerity had won the day. Cirren was hardly a man when Darius was present, an unforgiving specimen of excellence.

“We…” He started, gazing out among the court before clearing his throat, “We must not let this opportunity go to waste. We must meet aggression with aggression, and strength with strength.”

And then it was Persia Jhaveri, coming from the dais and speaking of miracles. The clamor that had started to boil over in the room seemed to be forgotten when she swayed towards him, her weird white hair framing her brown skin. She looked ephemeral, like something created by the hand of magic (although you'd never just say something like that out loud) to stick in the minds of people, the minds of men. Even since bearing her child. Maybe especially since then.

There was something weird about the image of the two of them standing together, something that bothered him. He dropped to a knee in front of her, partially to forget the image in his mind, and partially to advance the theater of the meeting. "Your Highness, I don't know anything about miracles." As he spoke, her hand touched his head, rifling through his hair for the barest instant and settling on his scalp. It was a touch no one would ever call indecent or even strange, and yet the moment set a jolt of pain under his skin.

The truth was, he had no idea HOW he'd survived. He'd had a story about following the Lord Ambassador and fighting through a dozen men and taking his head as he cowered. But he didn't remember any such thing. Just the floor of the abandoned fortress, and the old man standing over him, and the head, wrapped in a bag like a gift.

"If the god intervened in that struggle, I was only an instrument to serve you and your purpose."

"We have heard very much from old men eager to wipe away the shame of their past." Dorren Toulali sat with his legs crossed, impassively watching the display, dust from his nail file settling onto his fine brown robe. Not the son of the disgraced king, but a nephew - an heir to a cadet branch with different loyalties. "I still don't see significant cause to resume hostilities -"

He had to pause now - the boos from the men around him were deafening. But he hadn't lost the high lords, not all of them. "It's very possible this Lord Ambassador committed this attack as a private citizen without the blessing of his government. In fact, I've spoken to the current Lord Ambassador, and he's shown me evidence that -"

"First you said there wasn't enough evidence to tie the attacks to their government. Now we have the literal fucking head of a Lord Ambassador and it's still not enough evidence?"

"I want evidence," he said, not even looking up from his nails. "Not a severed head and a story. War has costs, and you don't pay those costs on one man's word."

Darius growled and gave him a contemptuous look. "You'll watch who you call a liar."

The king raised his hand. "There's only one liar we need to be concerned about in this room. Lord Ambassador Valmede. You are hereby expelled from Niderna and ordered to leave the capital by the end of the day. Sunlight's fading, so I suggest you move quickly."

The room erupted in cheers, but Darius only felt a sense of dread. How many times had they argued this sort of crowd pleasing behavior? By the god, he's doing it again.

Toulali was quick to tear down Jhaveri, quick to remind the court of past shames. Even after three generations of service and rebuilding, House Jhaveri still wore The Sundering around its neck like a noose. House Jhaveri could be king makers, but not kings. Not again. Never again. But House Toulali’s shames were much more recent, fresh in the collective memory of their people.

Still, her husband sent the ambassador away, reveling in the cheering of the court for barest response, before calling for a meeting of the Great Lords. Which would exclude her, of course. What did the queen know of diplomacy and war? She would have taken more offense to this, if it didn’t also exclude Darius. His recent deeds would see the rise of his name and house, but he was still too far below the graces of Lords whose names stretched back before The Sundering. “Would you join me for prayers in the Chapel, Darius?” She asked, as the court began to disperse.

The chapel was empty now, which is what she had hoped. “We must praise God, for your safe return,” she cooed, irreverence dripping from her playful tone. Over his armor, right where his heart was, her fingers began tracing a sigil. A phoenix, a spark of its flame given to reignite the ashes that were Darius’ soul. She couldn’t see it, not while he was still in his armor, but from what she remembered from her earlier lessons it had to be there.

“What was it like, death? Was there an afterlife? God? Was it paradise, or hell?” She asked, excitement evident despite the hushed whisper of her tone. It was dangerous, to speak of such things. To acknowledge that they existed. To speak of magic was a sin. To study magic was a dreadful sin. To practice magic was a deadly sin, one her status as Queen could not fully protect her from. Despite the fact that a millennia of opulence and decadence that had graced Niderna while her house had ruled it, while her house had used their natural gifts to uplift their people. The heads of the great house squabbled on how to once against achieve greatness, despite the answer being rather obvious. Magic would solve all their problems.

“Was it Vritra?” she asked, unaware of anyone else possessing such knowledge. All of it had been lost, in the Sundering. Lost in the frantic flight from Tezzerth to Azrah. “It had to be Vritra,” She decided, her once mentor having shown her the sigils that could create miracles, and bend nature to her whim. He was the one who taught her to couch her gifts in fanatical religious belief, so anything she created could be attributed to piety, and God’s generosity.

For moment, she just stared at his features, relieved gratitude that he was alive, and with her now, getting the better of her curiosity. He was even more handsome than she remembered, she found, death perhaps enhancing his allure. It certainly enhanced her desire, driving her past casual consideration. She needed him, needed this moment. Filling the space between them with her body, she whispered against his lips, “I find that I crave a taste of heaven…”

---

“We need to push back with everything we possess,” Tzahan Nadir declared, slamming a heavy mailed fist onto the stone table. The crash of metal on granite cut through the bickering of the high lords. After a moment of silence, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, he reiterated, his point, “And I do mean everything.”

Dorren laughed, “You aren’t seriously suggesting…”

“I am, and I do. Every year, nearly ten mages are killed by the church. That’s just the ones we know about, not the skilled practioners who have hidden it for years. I saw we offer them amnesty, in service to our nation. Ten mages alone is enough to bring down Dahnae’s towers atop them, and level their fortresses.”

“Yes, and then we can take over the entire continent, so that we may sunder this one as well!” Lerris Murat mocked, arms crossed over his chest.

“No one is suggesting we reopen the colleges, or let them experiment as they will. I am talking about securing our nation and our people’s prosperity,” Tzahan countered, leaning over the table.

“Did you put him up to this, Kalel?” Dorren snickered.

“I can’t lay claim to every good idea put forth here,” Kalel shrugged with a smug smirk.

“No you just whore out your daughter to get allies to your side, as if we don’t all remember why we are in this mess,” Lerris accused, spitting the words like venom.

“That is enough!” Cirren’s voice reverberated within the council chambers, “That is my wife, and your queen, Lord Murat, lest you forget. I will not abide such baseless accusations when she isn’t even present to defend herself.”

There were things he remembered. Vritra. The old wizard with the black beard and wide green eyes and butcher's forearms. He'd said there'd be answers when he returned to Niderna with that head in tow. And Darius went, not sure what else he could do. He'd expected some bug eyed old man with a robe to provide those answers. Not the fucking Queen. And not with such a calm, smug tone, as if she'd expected something like this and dealt with it as part of her daily routine.

He wasn't sure whether he'd been dead, or whether it had been a paradise or a hell or anything else. It wasn't nothing. Darius searched his mind - it was like a faintly remembered dream, where he ran and ran, fleeing from something, but not knowing exactly what he was running from.

Just that he couldn't be where he was.

And in some ways, it felt like he was still dreaming.

Persia was looking directly into his eyes, close enough to smell honey and cinnamon on her breath if she spoke, close enough to taste if his tongue dared to do it. He tightened his jaw and put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back to arm's length. "What's fucking possessed you? Are you insane?"

He looked around frantically. The chapel was empty right now, and the king trusted him implicitly - but being seen like that would surely damage that trust. He doubted it would be believed, but even the rumor... and yet. Fuck. Again he was happy for the armor, otherwise his already throbbing cock would be plain as daylight.

But he did know. She knew something of what was going on. The truth above the bold story he'd ridden in with. How else would she have traced that exact symbol? He needed to ask better questions.

Or be better at asking them. He didn't want to have some lengthy battle of wits with this woman, that much was certain. He grabbed her by the shoulder and took a step forward, driving her back into the alter.

"I'm not going to answer questions here. You are." He leaned down into her face, his eyes narrowing. "What's your allegiance with that man, and what does he want?" It certainly wasn't anything as simple as national glory, that was certain. And even though he'd thought about it, it couldn't be something as simple as starting a war. That seemed like it was overdue to happen no matter what he did.

He might have been one of the country's most renowned warriors, but...

"A soldier can't be worth so much." Something like this couldn't come cheaply.

Persia found herself pouting as Darius resisted her. Had she misread his gazes, misunderstood the silent desire the passed between them? Was he too loyal to her husband to take what he wanted? What was being offered to him? But the grip on her shoulder spoke volumes, spoke to his lust, to his diminishing self control. It wouldn’t take much more for it to break completely, and the knowledge transformed her pout into a smirk.

“He was my tutor, when I was a girl,” she started, deliberately obfuscating his role. Still, it would be clear to Darius, given what he experienced. “He taught me what was needed to restore Niderna to prominence once more. True greatness, not the squabbling and survive we have had to make do with here. That’s all we want, Darius, the same as anyone else. A return to what made us an empire.”

She squirmed and slithered beneath his grasp, tempting him with one treason as she spoke of others. “You can’t see it, can you? How you are a symbol, for our people. A symbol of hope and strength, a monument to what we once were. What we can become again. You will lead us to glory, because I am behind you now. And you will champion our cause, and through you, I will possess everything deserving of my birthright.”

“If not? Well, perhaps I mention to an inquisitor just how miraculous your survival truly was. Let you explain to them why a forbidden symbol is carved into your chest. Any accusation you try to make against me will only seal your fate. The beloved, pious queen?” Leaning back, against the altar, her body and all its charms were on display for him, and invitation and a threat. “What would happened to you now, if I screamed for the guards, and they found you like this? If I wept about you tried to force yourself upon me?”

I think I'd become less useful to you, that you'd have gone through all of this effort for nothing. And I don't think you'd have the nerve for that.


He took up the space she left open by leaning back, not realizing until too late that he was almost sprawled on top of her. "I don't think the families could agree on breakfast right now, let alone how to treat your woman's tears."

"The faction that's against the war will love to see you disgraced. And the faction that supports it will choose me over you by necessity."

And that was true. Before he could think about it any further, her legs were wrapped around his waist. He let out another low, involuntary groan into her lips. Whatever he was thinking about before, he was imagining something starkly different. "You don't need to think of such things. We need your leadership, and you need me."

"The people have a leader." It came out without his usual conviction. It wasn't that King Cirren was entirely without talent - he was a good, loyal man who'd somehow managed to stretch impossible amounts of money, rebuilding the nation despite stifling sanctions. He said just the right thing to get people to work against their interests, or delay their needs, or think they were getting a good bargain.

But he seemed to think of war the same way he thought of money - an endless stream of interests that needed to be pacified and held at bay and delayed for a little longer.

Darius didn't think in terms of pacification. There was gathering strength and then exercising it. Simple. The bickering inside the court was endless. But perhaps he had less to lose than Cirren. He wasn't a politician. At least not more than any commander was.

Now he had a hard choice to make. He was still touching her. Touching the Queen. Even for someone of his rank that kind of thing wasn't simply allowed. His frustrated aggression playing out on her body in ways that were... not permitted, but able to be explained. The actions of a sane man. But none of the thoughts stirring in his mind right now were sane throughts. Of course, they'd seen each other - even spoken one or twice. But these were fleeting moments. The glances she'd given him in the past, at his chest and his lips and his thighs, they were as fleeting. The kinds of things that could be passed off as fantasies his own mind had invented.

But this expression - with her ankles crossed on his back and her eyes flickering with naked anticipation, that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. She was just toying with him, trying to gain his loyalty for her own distant purpose. But it didn't matter. Her sensation, her smells, her voice was so close, it was all incredibly real.

"Then you want exactly what I want." Well, magic and Vritra and childhood schemes? He was ambiguous about all that. It didn't make him feel trusting. But what did he really know about such things, anyway? But the chance to do what he was capable of - he was beyond ready for that. Most of the fighting men were. "Almost exactly."

He closed the rest of the distance and kissed her. Now this would be something hard to explain. But he wasn't going to stand here teased out of his wits without getting something to remember from the arrangement.

After how many nights she had spent with Cirren, dreaming of Darius, she found it odd that she was thinking Cirren, while kissing Darius. Thinking about how her husband never kissed her like this, pressing her body down with all his weight and strength, drinking her moans as if he were a parched man, and she were a spring. It was all very routine with Cirren, polite. As if they never grew past that first night, when she cried and bled.

There was no such history with Darius, nothing but the now. Now that was filled with him, his hands, rough from years of fight, craving her curves. Now that was filled with his body, firm and strong and in stark contrast to hers. Now that was filled with heavy metal armor, armor that was chill against her feverish skin, armor that was getting in the way. So deft fingers worked at the buckles, unlacing the laces, loosening it enough it was be peeled from his skin. It clattered on the stone floor beneath them, obscenely loud that for a moment she was sure someone would come in. Find them like this, impossible for either of them to explain.

Let them, she decided, lust more important that discretion right now. There was no stopping, they were both too far gone. They’d both hang at this point. May as well go all the way. Commit a crime worth dying for. At least, that was her reasoning as she unbuckled his trousers, soft, slender hand slipping into his pants to find his manhood. It seemed meet her, throbbing right into her palm. Stroking him would never do, would never be enough, a twitch of his cock making her mouth water.

One hand held him in place, as she shifted, half sitting on the altar. Her other hand bunched up her dress, pulling the skirt up enough to invite him within. Her legs tightened, not giving him a chance to change his mind or come to his senses, not allowing him anything but the felt of her cunt swallowing him. A shudder gasp filling her throat and flowing from her lips, finding him so hard and thick within her. She let herself fall against the altar, let herself be filled by him, let his strokes push everything else from her mind. After a moment She pushed herself back up, needing his mouth on hers to muffle her cries of pleasure. And when that was not enough, she turned to biting him, any outlet she could find from the passion of their union.

“You’ve been to heaven,“ she teased, teeth sharp on the lobe of his ear, “How do I compare?”

"I'm not saying this in the moment," he said, cringing and chuckling to himself at the same time as he imagine the sheer volume of the detail he was leaving out here. "You're so much better."

He pulled her away from the alter and held her close, both his arms wrapped around her back, fingertips digging into skin, rolling his hips and letting them do the work. He felt insane - past insane. It was the bravest and stupidest and greatest thing he'd ever done, fucking Queen Persia bareback on her own alter. The paranoid part of his mind imagined being caught, and then imagined how many people it would take to pry him away from her in this moment. His cock throbbed twice inside her, like her insides spreading so easily to take him in wasn't enough, and he wanted more, deeper.

He wasn't going to stop now. It was almost a humiliation for a man to enjoy a woman this much. But he did. He put her back down on the alter, his cock slipping out with the movement. He panted, feeling a shudder going up his back, like physical revulsion at being denied for a second. He slapped his hands around her hips, alarmed for a moment with how loud he was being.

Was he being loud? Or had the last few seconds made them unnaturally quiet? If there was going to be any turning around, it would be...

He looked down. His tip was already nudging against her entrance. They just looked and felt... right. Like they belonged together. He licked his lips and locked eyes with her, slowly pushing forward, watching the expressions on her face start to change, and feeling his own change too.

Persia watched him, gazing down the length of her body, to the point where they were joined. She couldn’t see it, not the way he could, just his cock, glistening with her dew. And then her lips were parting, as he parted her lips, eyes rolling back as pleasure consumed her, and she consumed him.

“Darius,” She moaned, his name a hushed cry. A strangled moan, torn between the need to be discreet, and the need to express how fucking good everything felt. How good everything he did felt, because it was him. No longer a fantasy, no longer just in her mind. It could have been bad, had he been bad, ruined her dreams of him, ruined everything she clung so tightly to since becoming Queen. Perhaps it was worse, that he wasn’t bad, because now that’s she had him, how could she deny herself? How could she go back to Cirren, after having Darius inside her? How could she so back to mediocre, after having paradise?

Fingers hooked into his shirt, the clothes he had kept on, because completely disrobing was as unnecessary as it was time consuming. Anything that wasted time that could have been spent riding his cock was a travesty, a sin. So he kept his shirt, used now to pull him down atop her, close enough she could taste his sweat and his breath. Close enough she could feel his stubble.

Her tongue fucked his mouth in time with his strokes into her. Hardly letting him pull away as she moaned into his mouth. Using him to quiet her euphoric cries, as bliss edged closer and closer. From this angle his thrust grazed her clit, throbbing and needy, and the friction was maddening. Knuckles turned white as she held him close, silken muscles rippling and fluttering along his shaft. When the urge to scream became too powerful she broke the seal of their lips, biting his throat with desperate need. Leaving an angry purple mark in her wake.

“You shouldn’t… not inside,” she moaned into his ear, not entirely convincing. “Let me…fuck…let me swallow it…” She half hoped he’d ignore her, hold her down and force her to accept his seed, pump her body full of his desire. Her body hungered for him, while her mind was only distantly concerned with the consequences.

In that moment, it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

"Do you think," he said slowly, pressing his forehead against hers, "that I did all this so that I could come in your fucking mouth?"

Of course, he understood that as bad as this was, what he was about to do was even worse. He remembered growing up and reading histories, rolling his eyes and pondering how this or that problem could be controlled if a man had just exercised some self control around a woman. But now that it was his self control around this woman, there wasn't any chance. He'd been thinking about this for too long, and the thought of dribbling one out on her tongue and scrambling away was just impossible. Did she really think she could tease him like this and then STOP him on her terms, dictate the outcome on her whims?

He pulled out of her and spun her around by the shoulder, bending her over the alter, gripping her back of her neck with his hand and squeezing, just enough to hurt, just enough for her to know that he could tear her to pieces, hurt her beyond any limit she had if he only felt like it in some passing moment, just enough to freeze her in place while he drove into her pussy from behind.

"WHEN I come, I'm going to come..." He took his free hand and grabbed her by the shoulder and slowly rolled his hand upwards, working his hand through her hair. Curling his fingers around her shoulders and collar, taking a long, slow, generous squeeze of her tits that seemed to ignore any possible concerns of time. His hands slid down her sides, as if any part of her body could be a target for his load.

Finally, he leaned forward, his chest pressing into her back, His cock rocking forward inside her, enjoying the feeling of her soft body giving away under his hardness, inside and outside of her.No matter what she said, she was squeezing him, clinging to him, as if her body was begging him not to leave.

He pushed his hips forward, imagined himself touching her in depths of her body that nobody had ever touched. He flexed his cock once, standing firm inside her as he drove into her hilt. "Here."

There. There, as close to her as he possibly could. He picked up speed once his declaration had been made, huffing out short breaths through his nose, his body screaming with pleasure.

"Do you understand that?" He gave her neck another, lighter squeeze this time. He couldn't see her face, but he could see her body and the alter beneath him. "Yes or no?"

“Yes…yes,” She sighed, not sure if she was signaling her understanding or her consent. Not sure if she was agreeing with him or begging for it. Every slam into her far wall had her tensing, gripping him like a fist with velvet folds. It was a fierce fucking, not the kind a queen was accustom to receiving. Not the kind anyone but filthiest whores were accustom to. It was madness for him to treat her like this, madness for her to let him, madness for her to want it. But he was, and she did like it and want more.

So she fucked back against him, meeting where she could, as difficult as that was in her position. Because she knew she could never get enough of him, even as he sheathed himself inside her. She knew this would never be the end of it, that there was no going back. Even if she had convinced him to let her swallow, it would be harder next time and the next. He wasn’t going to stop, they weren’t going to stop.

If they conceived, she’d have to pass it off as Cirren’s, regardless of questions. Hells, she had been perfectly loyal to this day, in body if not in mind, and her opponents at court still questioned Mitra’s paternity. There’d always be questions, because she was a woman, and she couldn’t be trusted. All that mattered was that Cirren trusted her, and Darius, and he’d never question it. Not as long as she made sure to sleep with him as well.

“Darius…” she whispered, the word made harsh by his pounding strokes and tight grip and her desperate need, “Fill me, with your seed. I don’t even care, I just want it.”

He licked his lips and tried to stave off a satisfied growl as his hips crashed into hers from behind. He already knew what she would say. There was no way that two people could be this close and this connected with each other's bodies without knowing, on some level, what they wanted. He held still for a moment, watching her try to write backwards against him. It wasn't just her cunt clinging to him, it seemed to be every inch of her, on fire in a way he never would have imagined.

He firmly slapped himself forward once, just enough to push her forward a little on the alter, before changing his approach entirely, leaning over her back and kissing her. "That's what I want too," he whispered. He drew his hips back, stirring himself inside of her while he stroked her hair, savoring the way even their smells melded together.

The idea of a pregnancy was far from his mind. Present, but far. He needed this moment to be full, to be complete. He felt the heavy vein on the underside of his cock bulge and contract, his balls seemed to tighten and tingle. He was almost there.

"I'm about to," he gasped, starting to gather his speed again, "fill you up. All the way."

Cirren never took her like this. Even though it would be easier for her to pretend it was Darius if they had. Even if it would be easier for them to copulate, if he didn’t have to look into her eyes and remember previous times. Even though this was the perfect position to illustration the lack of intimacy in their relationship.

Despite what she might have thought, however, there was intimacy in this position. Intimate as Darius pressed his back against hers and his lips against her neck, whispering his intentions to her. She could feel his heartbest through his chest and her back, feel his lungs dragging air into them. Feel the trembling of his legs as his body reinforced what his words told her. He wouldn’t last much longer.

Dragging this out any further was dangerous. A single passerby could bring everything down. A cry could draw attention. But it wasn’t safety which had her begging for his release. Wasn’t because she wanted this to be over, so they could kept their secret. Because she didn’t want this to be over, she never wanted this to be over. She wanted to fuck him in the bed she shared with Cirren, and anywhere else that might be sacred to him. She wanted his seed inside her, to warm her body and her heart until they could next be together. She wanted to feel it inside her, filling her, making her whole, completing her.

“Darius…fuck Darius, fucking flood me with your passion, your desire.”

He smashed into her and groaned - he should have been in a rush. Obviously. But he wanted to do this, have this, be part of this, either completely or not at all. Who knew if this would never happen again? All he had was this feeling, spreading in his legs, sending shivers in every corner of his -

"FUCK!" It was only a whisper, but it sounded louder, felt louder. He felt her shaking around him and he was got on his toes and buried himself as hard as he could into the writing woman, sending rope after rope directly inside her, so hard that he felt the tip of his cock stinging as he came inside her. He leaned into her neck and kissed her, still thrusting inside her, shoving her walls aside and letting his breath quicken.

He sighed and pulled himself out with a groan, sending a thick blob of cum - his and hers intertwined, it looked like - dripping down onto the alter. He grimaced at the thought of cleaning that up... or worse, someone coming across it. Not that his cum had some special property that would be traced back to him, but...

Suddenly the stress and shame of the situation washed over him like a high sudden tide. Find, he was willing to die in order to cum inside Persia. But he wasn't willing to die on his back catching his breath with his cock flagging between his legs. He grabbed his pants and put them back on, then his shirt. Get presentable as soon as possible. The armor, well... he supposed a story could be concocted if they were found in that exact moment. He sighed and sat with his legs folded under him, his hand brushing against her calf, squeezing it, rolling it under his thumb.

Like it would help him remember this was real.

"I don't want to sound strange," he whispered. "But that was... fucking incredible, wasn't it? It wasn't just me?"

It wasn't what he was supposed to say. Rushing out, promising to never speak of it again or something. But it was a time to think of the god, wasn't it?

God, that was a mindblowing fuck... technically applied, right? He looked up at her and grinned for just a second before looking back down at the open air.

Simultaneously, she hoped and feared he would never stop. That this moment would never stop. The feeling of him inside her, filling her, flooding her, overflowing within her would never end. Almost immediately, there was a feeling of loss, as he slipped out of her. A necessary action, to preserve their lives, if such a thing were even possible at this point. A necessary evil, when all she wanted now was the warmth of his touch and embrace, the feel of his body against hers and the beating of his heart in his chest.

A beating that had been stilled, and awoken again. He had seen death, clasped it within his hands, and still returned. Returned to her, beyond everything. That alone should have been enough to prove the power of magic, to prove how vital it was. Magic was who they were, as a people, it was their glory and their greatness. Soon, soon it would be all out, in the open, and Niderna would be strong again.

“It was only you,” She breathed, smirking at him as his expression turned. She let him hold that face a moment before laughing, trailing fingers down his arm. “Only you have ever made me feel like that. Made me want to die the most beautiful death. Something worth dying for, to make living seem alluring.” Fixing her dress as she spoke, hiding the curves and the flesh from his eyes, where they’d only live on in his memory. For now, atleast.

Was this worse perhaps? Knowing Darius was as good —no, better. Better than even her fantasies had suggested. Knowing she’d had to bed Cirren, tonight, to pay for the sin of bedding Darius. A proper penance for pleasure. Now all she could think of was when they would next have each other. When she would next feel him, inside, devouring her in a kiss as her body devoured his passion? How long would she have to subside on this memory?

She moved beside him, on her knees. A position of praise and abasement before something greater than themselves. An empty gesture, in her mind at least, unsure about his, but it didn’t matter. It was an excuse to be close to him, an excuse to hold his hand, to breathe in his scent until it was imprinted upon her memories. “Father, we offer worship of your wisdom and thanks of your bounty. Glory to the father, who blesses Niderna with prominence. May you see fit to raise your favored sons and daughter even higher, so may bring more devoted to adulate your glory.” The words hallow, spoke out of rote, given depth by the elation that still coursed through her veins and flushed her skin.

"I've got something very important that needs doing," Cirren said brightly, "and it needs the two of you."

It had only been a few hours since his return. Outside of a promise to find another occasion to sleep together again - the Queen had almost begged for that promise, and the memory shocked him - they'd gone their separate ways within minutes of fucking in the chapel. And now this was happening, and it was too weird to be a concidence. He struggled not to make eye contact with Persia, because he was worried he'd give everything away. Did Cirren find out this quickly and develop some plan to get rid of both of them.

Or maybe he was getting rid of them for another reason. "You don't want us to be around for the council meetings," Darius said with a sigh. "You are going to work out some deal -"

"I couldn't possibly -"

"Work out some deal with the other families without us arguing about it."

Cirren leaned back in his chair and gave this smug smile, like it was the smartest thing he'd ever done, and it was all Darius could do to keep a straight face. His cock was still fucking sticky from what he'd done to his wife. "Have you been to Bull's March? Little village a couple days from town. I'd like the two of you to go there on a relief mission and give alms."

Most people had been to Bull's March, if riding through on the way to the front was considered "going". Darius crossed his arms and sulked. "Because my being here is such a miracle."

Cirren shrugged. "That's it exactly. And of course, it's good for a woman to be seen doing good deeds of that sort, I suppose."

Darius sighed, and NOW he was looking at the queen and sighing. "Well, you're in charge, Cirren."

"That I am."

Sleeping with Cirren had felt like betrayal, after what she and Darius had shared in the chapel. It was strange, to think of sleeping with her husband as though she were cheating on her lover, but that was the truth of it. At least she had some security, now. If she came up pregnant, Cirren could be sure it was his. Because he still trusted her, trusted her enough to send her away from the prying eyes of court with her lover.

Cirren Might have been a decent statesman, but he had no idea about projecting image. He didn’t understand it. As long as he was ruling the kingdom, and all was well, what need did he have for an image? Persia didn’t trust people to reach the correct conclusions on their own. They needed to be guided, shown the truth. Have it shoved down their throats, if need be. Which was why she had suggested a tour of the kingdom with Darius, showing off the miracle God had bestowed upon them, and giving out relief in the form of food to towns hit hardest by the early onset of winter.

He approved of her plan, conditionally, because it got her and Darius out of the capital, as he tried to find the manliest way to avoid way. They would head to Bull’s March, distribute alms and present Darius, the miracle of Niderna to the people. Of course, while Cirren tried to walk the delicate balance of war and peace among the great houses, she would be stoking the flames of war amongst the smallfolk. Using religious fervency to whet their appetite. There was more than one way to build support, after all.

“Can you believe it, my husband actually thinks I have a purpose beyond fucking and bearing his heirs,” Persia mentioned to Darius as she rode alongside him. She had insisted on that, because the last thing she needed now was to show up in a gilded carriage while their people hungered on the brink of starvation.

Persia wasn’t sure Darius would understand her indignation. She had hoped so, at least. He would have understood being disregarded because of his birth, of having to prove himself to those had had been born into power and authority. They were both political outsiders, looking in on the power that should have been theirs.

“Get the small folk on our side, and the great houses will fold. If the people want war, we will go to war. TO do that, it’s can’t be a political thing. It has to be religious. A show of faith to God who has provided so much for us,” Persia explained, just suppressing the sarcastic snicker. “I wonder what sort of chapel they have here. Should we anoint this one with our desire as well?”

Darius leaned forward on his horse. The new one, that was, a brown Telschi mare. His horse had died, that was one part of the story that hadn't been exaggerated to ridiculousness by the criers and scribes he'd snuck past on the way back into Niderna. He shot Persia a look out of the side of his eye. She was fanatical about the religious stuff.

"I had the impression," he said gruffly, "that you were about the God because it gave you a good excuse to practice. You know..." He shrugged his shoulders and put on an uncharacteristically wavering voice, like an old man telling ghost stories. "the wyrd craft. Now you sound like an Inquisitor."

Or maybe she was just joking. He didn't quite pick it up.

He did understand her feeling discontent about her place in the world. That was the state of most educated women. Darius spat onto the dirt and took a breath. "Common people don't give a shit about war. You can go to Bulls March and stand on a box of sugar and give the greatest speech this continent has seen, but everyone's got their own problems. And supper's going to outrank anything Dahnae can cook up, especially this far east."

Of course, the further you got to the frontier, the more the raids and national identity and the fight for survival seemed to mean. "You've got to remember, these people already got a taste of war, and there wasn't the promise of future glory to send them seething for another try at it." He did understand being disregarded, he understood being on the outside looking in. But he understood it in a different way from Persia. She'd lived these years with complete power on the tip of her tongue, and he'd at least felt like he was always one bad fight away from having nothing.

But still. He couldn't help a little smile appearing on his face despite his cynicism. He was alone with the Queen. Well, there was a contingent waiting for them in town, so... as alone as he could get. The idea made his cock ache. "I felt a little bad about the thing in the chapel."

Which part? Fucking cumming on it? Yeah that part. "But only for a second."

He took a hard breath through his mouth, trying to calm himself. "We haven't talked about it since. Was it..." he felt weird saying this, because he had a feeling that she loved it more intensely than he did. But he wondered if that was his imagination. "Sometimes I think about it and my body just... takes me back there."

“Religion is a tool,” she explained, eyes forward, focused on the road before them, “and the best tools have multiple uses. It provides me cover, yes, and it can sway the common folk. I’d be remiss not to take advantage of it.”

Her eyes were back on him again, as he spoke. Tracing firm arms and his strong jaw. Watching it move as he spoke, and holding back a bark of a laugh. Letting the pleasant memories replay in her mind, and enjoying the warmth that pooled in her stomach. And it seemed it wasn’t far from his mind either, not from the way he brought it up.

“It’s not really safe to talk about,” she shrugged, playing at nonchalant. “What we did…well, I enjoyed it. Thoroughly. And I hope you did as well. I hope I was worth committing treason over.” She flashed a smirk this time, taking this moment for that. There might be some privacy when they reached Bull’s March, but it’s never be long lasting. And they were playing with fire as it was.

“Do I want it to happen again? Absolutely,” She acknowledged, letting him boost his ego some. Whatever he might say, he fucking loved fucking her. Could hardly control himself. And he’d lose control again, if she offered herself, become that same ravenous animal that fucked her from behind against the altar. “But we have to be smart. We have Cirren’s trust going for us now, and we can’t threaten that if we want this to continue. Which is why I am still sleeping with him.”

Her eyes wandered him at that moment, looking for some sign of jealousy. Wishing for some jealousy. Imagining the jealousy eating away at him, to give her the resolution to suggest her next words, “You should probably get you a little side action as well. Everyone expects it of you, and celibacy would only make people suspicious. So, pick a favorite whore, and visit her regularly. Once for each time we are together, if you can. There will always be rumors, because court is a snake pit of bastards and liars and thieves, each looking for their in to power, but this will quell them some.”

He felt his lips twisting at that little reminder. They were sleeping together, of course they were sleeping together, Persia and Cirren, whatever their problems were, they were married and had a child together. Darius supposed it was too much to ask for her to swear off other men once she'd felt his touch.

Doing this, having this, and keeping his head attached to his shoulders meant keeping things quiet. Or to be more exact, it meant being silent, about things you weren't silent about with other women. And what did that mean, was he going to skulk in the shadows and distract himself with prostitutes for as long as she had an interest in him?

Damn. He shouldn't have felt disappointment by that situation. Bull's March was a farming city, filled with conservative salt of the earth types, but it was a city nonetheless, and there was entertainment in every city for people who had coin and patience. It wasn't like he'd never been able to find a woman he could tolerate - the world, honestly, was full of women who were pliant or interesting enough to pass a night or even a few nights. Still, he felt his teeth clenching as she spoke, even though he couldn't really deny the wisdom of what she was saying.

"You want me out in the gutters while you've got your nose in one book or another? You're so generous." He wasn't used to having to sneak around the corners like someone's mistress. Didn't want that.

"Fine." His body and his memories and his desires wouldn't let him speak much more of a concession than that, and he still wasn't sure if he'd actually listen to her. The first thing was that he didn't want to get caught in the middle of all this. And no matter what Cirren's trust of them was, they couldn't let the rumors spread enough that he would be forced to act on it. "We can talk about it later."

They were closing in on the city, and plodding through the ruins of the older, larger city on the outskirts. It had been burned to the ground years ago, and the last stretch into town felt like going through an abandoned fort. He gave some tired, brusque nods to the waiting guards on the way to the gate, but felt his attention drifting to the gate proper. There was a crowd, gathered and pooled around the narrow gate - they never got around to building proper outer walls here because everyone insisted that the city would be rebuilt to its previous dimensions. It was a point of pride.

He looked at Persia and sighed. Pride was fucking taking its toll on everyone lately. He worried about what would be out there - a mob? A brewing riot over this thing or that? But there wasn't enough noise for it. There was more talking than listening. Darius leaned forward on his horse, vaguely recognizing the man as he spoke - an older looking one with short white and black braids and a heavy chain around his neck.

"Is this a king who spends a great deal of time, or money, or energy on celebrating miracles?" He held his hands out, like the answer was self evident. "When someone in power comes bearing gifts it is never - NEVER - to share that power with you. There is something they want from the March. They've taken gold, they've taken food, now they want their share of blood."

They locked eyes. Darius kept his face still and let the man make his own judgements. And then he smiled, dipping into a theatrical bow. "And these must be our honored guests."

Darius felt his eyes narrowing. The fucking talkers, they always felt like they had no enemies as long as they talked with that syrupy tone of voice. "Who the fuck are you?"

“Ghevont Avaliani,” he announced, projecting his importance in a bellow. “I have the best interests of the people at heart. A shepherd must always protect his flock.”

Persia considered her options. She could quite simply have the man locked up on treason charges or for violation the Sedition Act. But silencing him would give power to his words, paradoxically. It would mean what he had to say was indeed a threat to the monarchy. And while his words were indeed a threat, she couldn’t show that. So she smiled a demure smile, wearing the mask that all women here were expected to don. Arrogance and bravado were games men could play, but women had different weapons to use.

“Pray forgive me, good sir. I had thought my piety was well known. I shall endeavor to demonstrate my humility before God, so that he may yet rain his blessing down upon Niderna.” She met his gaze now, challenge in her eyes, just between the two of them,“Tell me, how do you demonstrate your piety, given the bounty of God’s grace that Bull’s March has received?”

She was quite certain he would comprehend the sweet swipe at his devotion. After all, the past few years were hard on Bull’s March, and it wasn’t as if she’d be here delivering alms if things were prosperous.

“The citizens of Niderna have always paid the price for the hubris of the rulers,” He challenged, continuing to take an aggressive stance even as Persia played prim and polite.

“They have also paid the price for our reticence. Niderna has a history of power coming hand in hand with boldness. God helps those who help themselves, and grants strength to those who seize upon their own. As Darius can demonstrate.”

“Tall tales will not fill their bellies,” the preacher retorted, inching ever so close to ungrateful in his pettiness.

“Perhaps the truth will sate them?” Persia suggested, cocking her head to one side. “Of course, if it does not, I did come prepared with alms and grain to distribute.”

The man said his name like it was important, like everyone either knew what it was or was supposed to know. Darius sighed and leaned forward on his horse, and the horse tossed his head from side to side, flicking his ears as if he didn't want to be bothered by the intrusion. Well fine. He was relieved that Persia was taking up the slack and doing the speaking. He didn't trust himself to some lengthy public debate in an impromptu forum. He knew how to convey information, and get information, and phrase something in a way that would keep people from being too upset. He had some social graces, he supposed.

But dealing with a group of uneducated people and barking at them, swaying the tide of emotion you could run into in a place like this - well other people were more skillful, and they tended to use that skill on... well, on trivial horse shit shit. He closed his eyes and tried to follow the conversation, and it was, in essence, the conversation every Nidernan carried in their head for generations. Would they really risk losing everything a second time? For what, the spectre of national destiny, the idea that were was something that needed to be taken in front of them?

The political situation was very simple - there were too many rich and powerful people and not enough in the way of holdings. Darius thought a Niderna that didn't try to expand would tear itself apart in another generation.

He mumbled something to himself, but it came out as a low grumble.

"Sorry?"

"... are they safe?"

Avaliani twisted his neck as if he was being presented with an obscure riddle. "I don't think I know what -"

"Well, pick your answer. I meant children, but you can pick whatever's important to you." He extended a palm towards the priest and shrugged his shoulder. "Maybe you like... women to be safe. Or buildings, I've been told there's an amazing farmhouse on the opposite side of town. Maybe you're the type of person interested in protecting old priests."

The crowd laughed at this, thank God, and the priest laughed too. One of those phony cunt laughs where you show everyone what a good sport you are. Or like the words are there to entertain him personally. "Either way, you have things in this city dear to your heart and you have to ask whether it's safer now, with half-built walls and a fucking famine and with the Dahnae on the march. And it's the only question because..."

He gave the horse a signal and it moved forward, fast, almost enough to knock the priest over (and he had a half-mind to do just that) before stopping short of him and pulling to the side of him. "War's coming. It's coming again, I mean. And there's no more questioning about how to prevent it because it's here, it's been that way since we landed here and it's only going to get worse. Unoccupied land in the frontier. Nobody there, nothing harmed. And answered with arrows and knives in the night. We aren't here to talk about the war, beyond telling you that it's upon us. The only question here is are they safe? And if you feel they are. The people and things you love, your family."

He jerked a finger at the priest, his own fake gesture of magnanimity. "The church."

And a thumb back at Persia. "The Queen, who rode out here personally for your sake. Then you don't have to pay us any attention, do you? But if you aren't. Or you aren't sure, well, come to the Posting Inn, center of town. We're going to be helping the families here and talking about how to make us safe. Or you feel free to sit here and talk, whatever suits you."

He took another step forward. The priest was still talking, something about what true safety was, but he was already pulling away. Some people had to get the last word in, and if you waited for too long...

Persia hadn’t expected Darius to join the conversation, but as he demonstrated in the throne, he had a way with words. Not eloquence precisely, but raw honestly, that cut deeply. Persia was jealous of that, some. That ability to be authentic and honest. Her life was masks and deceptions. Lies that kept her safe, kept her alive in a world that would see her killed for what she was. Fabrications that would feed her ambition, lead her to rise as high as her gender allowed.

She had thought Darius a useful brute. A symbol she could hold up to sway the people. But Darius wasn’t merely a symbol, or a tool to be used. He had his own thoughts and desires, beyond her own. It wasn’t so simple as controlling him with sex, she realized. Partially because she enjoyed it as much as he did.

“Just had to show me up, didn’t you?” She teased, mostly goodheartedly. Flirting some, as well as seething underneath a confident smirk. Why did he arouse her so, even as he irritated her? No, especially as he irritated her. She liked the challenge, she realized. It had been too long, and she wasn’t as sharp as she could have been. That would have to change.

The Posting Inn wasn’t much to speak of. A older building, fallen upon disrepair. Downstairs was a small lobby and a large, empty dining hall, filled with dusty tables and little else. Plenty enough room to get to business, the retinue of guard unloading the goods in preparation to be distributed. Upstairs was a handful of room, smallish, and made smaller by the beds that took up space.

“We have work to do,” she declared, focusing herself tot eh task. She probably could have arranged for someone else to do this, but she needed to be seen performing the labor, not just passing it off to someone else. Especially given the little speech Ghevont gave. He wanted to paint her as out of touch, and she need to prove she was as salt of the earth as anyone. As much as It went against her nature.

“No, I wasn’t.” Darius just blinked and shrugged his shoulders, like she was asking a weird question he didn’t exactly understand. “I just thought, let’s say our peace and leave. Once someone has that much practice talking it’s hard to beat them at it.”

The Posting Inns throughout Niderna were one of Cirren’s brilliant ideas. And he wasn’t entirely being sarcastic, it wasn’t the kind of thing that would not have occurred to him in five lifetimes. Confidential messages were sent through the inns, with official government licensed couriers, and each message sent through the Posting system was treated with the legal authority of a royal seal – provided you were able to pay for the privilege. Workers on the frontier sent messages and money back to the west, nobles and merchants schemed back and forth, piracy was slashed to a minimum, and the Crown got a cut of everything – the rent for the inns, the drinks, the Posting seals. It was a genius little scheme.

He looked around, mostly quiet as the men set up, making a big show of acting happy and looking charitable, like a rich uncle giving an embarrassment of gifts to poor children. He felt useless (as usual) and warded it off by grabbing one of the table and opening a trunk on top of it.

“Your Majesty.” He cringed inwardly. She was right, they shouldn’t appear to be too close. She gave him a polite sort of look and looked down her nose at the box. There was fucking chocolate in here, and more than he’d ever seen in his life. He had half a mind to take it away and save it for himself, and maybe some of the boys from his unit. The frontier was the only place to get it, and you had to plant it, and then harvest it, and it took two years. Dangerous. Expensive.

He squinted at the box for a long time. It seemed too good to just give out as alms. Like giving pearls to a beggar. It was the sort of kindness that made people suspicious. After pondering it for far too long, Darius took the box in his hands and carried it away. One of the men gave him a look of outrage, and Darius gave him a look of I-will-break-your-neck-in-public-if-you-open-your-mouth-about-this, which did shut him up, thank god. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it. Maybe he would set it back down, or…

He walked up the stairs, looking to stick the box down while he thought. Most of the rooms were dingy looking – except for the main one on the upper floor, with a heavy seal that was… a bit derivative of the ruling house. Close enough to look like you were important for staying there, far enough that you didn’t get any bright ideas.

Darius creaked the door open. There was a squat looking man, likely a trader, with arms like a butcher’s, in his underwear, smoking… Darius sniffed. Some weird, tart variety of devilgrass. And of course, there was a whore shaped lump in the bed. “Uh, excuse me. This is my room.”

“Pardon,” Darius said with a sigh. He walked out with the box, back down the stairs, and set the chocolate down in front of Persia.

“Was this your idea?” He asked. Maybe the chocolate was a brilliant strategy that he just didn’t “get”. Perhaps he was overestimating the suspicion of common people.

“And there’s a man in the Sealed Suite. Do you want him to have it, or…” It just seemed strange that the Queen would have a lesser room. In any other circumstance, he would have thrown the man out without a second thought. But this was a goodwill trip and so…

And then again, the man was high and getting his dick sucked, maybe he didn’t know what was going on downstairs. Or maybe he knew but was hoping to fly under notice and enjoy his poncy bedding.