# Chapter 1 – Another Time
When night fell all the village was already gathered on the ritual field, among the bonfires and the effigies, and the air was heavy with the smoke from the herbs that the shamans were burning in their stone censers. Drumbeats carried over the meadow, shaking up dancers, stirring up blood, and ending up absorbed by the forest’s black wall. The sacred flags fastened around the trees flashed red and yellow and purple and there was laughter in the night, and the old bard took his place under the old oak and started singing from the old sagas, his voice reverberating and pouring over the meadow like smooth dark wine. The new warrior initiates were apart from the rest, dancing around their own fire by the forest edge, the white runes painted on their skin shining bright and their muscles flexing and twisting to the beat in the soft half-shadow. The other young people of the village found this relevant to their interests and gathered watching close by. Every so often an initiate would take one of them by the hand and, after a short and to-the-point conversation, lead them away from the fire, into the darkness under the trees.
Kontaria, travel guides would claim if they existed at the time, was a land that knew how to party well.
Yet not everyone shared the festive mood. A little way off the initiates’ fire, a boy named Aerin was sitting under an elm, pretending not to watch. Foy was among the giggling crowd too and Aerin saw her laugh as Bovo grabbed her round the waist, exchanged a few words, and carried her from his sight.
A pair of iron spurs that Aerin was holding clinked sadly. He sighed and looked away, to the hundreds of people shimmering in the light of other bonfires, when suddenly behind him someone spoke.
“The fuck are you sulking for, my man?”
The boy turned to glare at the interrupter of his solitude, which turned out to be Leapfrog, presently emerging from the smoke.
“I’m not sulking. Piss off, Leapfrog.”
“Yeah, you’re a right ray of sunshine tonight.” Leapfrog looked towards the initiates and quaffed oat beer from a cup he was carrying. “Oi, two more years and we’re gonna have our warrior initiation night ourselves and we’ll have plenty of gals to choose from, all wanting to bone us for good luck. Just gotta survive until twenty.” Aerin fluttered his head and let his hair fall over his eyes, hiding the blue behind the auburn. Leapfrog was about to continue, when suddenly he noticed the spurs in his friend’s hands.
“Uh dude! What the fuck, you got your iron spurs?!”
Now Aerin smiled reluctantly. “Yeah. Just today. Old Uradech said that if I keep working hard I’m going to distinguish myself as an excellent rider, end quote.”
“Oh, I’m honoured as fuck to be talking to you, then!” Leapfrog took a deep, unsteady bow. “Ha, too bad you got them on the initiation day, that kinda steals your thunder. Let’s drink to that anyway! Come on, I’ll lead you to beer. Just don’t lose the spurs, would be embarrassing.” A thought struck him. “Wait, why did you bring them here anyway? They’re sorta unwieldy like.”
Aerin glanced away and blushed. Leapfrog’s eyes glinted. Again he looked to the initiates’ fire, and connected the dots. “Oh. Oh, you wanted to impress Foy, you huge dork.”
Aerin stood up urgently. “I didn’t want to impress anyone, don’t make shit up,” he said, with a lot more emphasis than was strictly necessary to communicate his point.
“You should have just talked to her, you know? You absolute weapon! Now she got that warrior fever and stuff is going to be a lot more complicated with her.”
Aerin folded his arms on his chest and looked away with unconvincing indifference. “You’re an idiot, Leapfrog. I’m out of here. Don’t get shitfaced and throw up all over the bard.”
“Hey, I promise nothin.”
Leapfrog watched Aerin disappear in the dark. That poor bastard, if he hadn’t waited so long he’d actually have a very good chance with the girl. Well, impressing her with those spurs wasn’t that bad of a plan – this was Kontaria, and your horse-riding skills made up for a considerable portion of your overall coolness. Thing was, though, being initiated as a warrior was even cooler than earning riding distinctions.
Well, too bad that the festival’s date had been so suddenly pushed back to tonight. If it only took place next month, in June like always, then maybe Aerin would’ve been in luck…
It was actually very strange that they had moved it. Auspicious omens, they said. Well, maybe. Leapfrog didn’t know a whole lot about omens. What he did know was that his cup was now empty, and decisive steps needed to be undertaken to remedy this appalling state of affairs.
Humming to himself, he set out for the beer casks.
*
There was too much sound and too much colour here. Aerin left the ritual field and circled around the village, through the narrow paths in the ferns, heading towards the nearby lake. There was a place by the shore which was difficult to get to, enclosed by rocks and ancient spruce trees. Nobody ever walked there, except for him.
The lake was completely still and vast and filled with stars like a second sky below him, the opposite shore just a thin band of darkness two miles off. He settled comfortably in the fragrance of the soft needles and let the serenity of this double sky empty his head. The drums were barely audible in the distance; the only near sounds were an occasional call of an owl or a rustling of a mouse in the undergrowth. He stayed unmoving for a while in this private world of his, surrounded by the mellow night.
But his peace could not last for long. The image of Foy throwing her arms around Bovo’s muscular body seeped back into his head. They were together somewhere in the bushes right now, laughing and kissing and fucking, while he was sitting here, horny and alone.
Leapfrog was right, of course, that asshole. He should have talked to her sooner. But he knew he was about to get his spurs, and not a lot of people earned those at their age already, and he imagined he’d look very cool casually showing them to her like it was no big deal, and—
He’d worked pretty hard those past few months to get them, too. He brought them up to his eyes and twirled them in his fingers. They were simple, iron bands with short, blunt, curved blades. They didn’t look as impressive to him as they had earlier that day, when Uradech presented them to him. Some warrior initiates already had the next level, the silver ones. And who cares, anyway, nobody is actually impressed until you earn the gilded ones, become a proper Kontarian master horse rider…
He had had high hopes for Foy. She was very cute whenever she smiled at him, those large dark eyes lighting up.
They’d fooled around once, after the spring festival, at the lake shore not far from here. But Kontarians, to the shock of their more respectable neighbours, were pretty relaxed about this sort of thing. Foy certainly was. She enjoyed boys’ bodies, and they enjoyed hers – that one time probably wasn’t that special to her. Bovo was special to her, giggling gossip had it even before tonight.
Was there anything special about Aerin? He wasn’t sure if he had anything to offer anyone other than good intentions and a toothy smile. If he at least was built like Bovo. That seemed to do the trick. Hold on.
He moved on to the water’s edge, threw off his shirt, and examined his reflection.
He was slimmer than the initiates, that’s for sure. Still, he wasn’t a total write-off. He grew tall and was a good rider and the initiates had had two more years to work out anyway, hadn’t they?
A slight breeze picked up, carrying with it a salty freshness from the distant sea, disturbing the water’s surface, touching his naked skin. He remembered the spring festival – a cool day, weak sunrays falling in through still leafless trees, making luminous his body and hers. Yes. He could not have her now, but he could still remember.
Listening closely if nobody was approaching, he stripped naked, his cock semi-erect as it popped out of his trousers. He entwined it with his fingers, and felt it harden, beat by beat. He lay down in the fine wet sand and looked to the stars. His memory took him back, and retold to him every detail. It went like this:
Late March, late afternoon. Festive music reaching from inside the long hall in the village, music and the sounds of boots slamming on the board floor. A circle of friends gathered by its corner outside, nursing clay cups filled with wine. People drifting away. By chance, at some point, only Aerin and Foy remaining there, just talking, sitting on a bench under the long eaves.
She was wearing a thick grey woollen coat, and her hair, though brown, glowed like gold.
“I’m just waiting for them to sing the Song of Spring at sunset,” she said. “It’s my favourite.”
Aerin enthusiastically agreed, even though he had no strong opinion on the Song of Spring. He enthusiastically agreed with a great many things that afternoon, things he couldn’t recall now. He could recall the end of their conversation though, and very, very well.
He’d apparently succeeded at saying something funny, because she was laughing, a warm short chuckle that lit up those large eyes, eyes like dark honey.
She calmed herself and pushed the corners of her mouth forward, and looked at him attentively.
“You have a pretty smile,” she said. “I always had a thing for large teeth.”
This caused said teeth to be exposed in a sheepish grin. She squinted a little, then wapped at his shoulder with the back of her hand.
“I bet you have a pretty cock, too,” she said.
His brain went into a crisis mode, and his face probably generated enough heat to bring about the spring all by itself. Foy leaned back, never taking her eyes off him. Her lips were drawn tight in a stifled laughter, but her expression was casual, her body relaxed. She was unfazed by the turn she gave to the conversation, and she clearly didn’t expect him to be either – well, not too much.
Alright, shit. She’s waiting for some reply. Come on, think of something clever!
“Well… I dunno? I mean, I like it myself.” Okay. Okay. A solid four out of ten response. I’m handling this. We’re good. We’re good.
She laughed, or rather, exhaled forcefully through her nose. “Show me,” she said.
Now he made an uncontrolled and sudden movement, throwing his whole upper body to look out to the dirt path, where dozens of festive-minded people were milling around the wooden houses.
“What,” he hissed, turning back to her, “here?!”
“No, silly,” she said, standing up. She did that backhanded wap to his shoulder again. “Let’s go to the lake, we’ll have some privacy there.”
He’d worried if he’d be able to keep up his erection in the chill, but he needn’t have. Foy’s naked body leaning against his awakened his blood, sent it rushing, swelling up, hot and heedless.
They lay down in the sand by the water, he on his back, she on her side, one of her arms reaching behind his neck, hand on his shoulder, her left leg entwined with his right by the knees. Her hair tickled his neck. Her breast rested unrestrained, soft and free, against his chest. Her face was so close, the faint tiny scar on her upper lip, every freckle on the bridge of her nose, and her eyes, looking into him, looking with – what? – a playful curiosity of sorts, an ardent focus.
Her hand was warm on his shaft, and the contrast with cool March air made it feel warmer still. She gripped him, gripped hard, then released; gently, carefully, her fingers brushed up to the head, and tapped the tip.
“See, I was right,” she said in a low voice. “You do have a pretty cock.” No response, clever or otherwise, occurred to him.
She bit her wine-stained lip and stroked him. “Good job, by the way, getting so hard out in the cold.” She pressed down with her fingertips again, enjoying his sure stiffness. He let out an uneven sigh.
“You’re… making it easy,” he said. His hand went around her back and rested on her ribs. He felt her muscles shift with every slow, relishing stroke she was giving him. He reached for her breast, feeling it in his hand, playing with it. She smiled and inclined to him, to give him a better access. Her fingers slipped on his precum.
With his other hand he went for her pubic mound, passed by her hair, and brushed against her clit, to her approving murmur. His angle was awkward now, their outreached hands crossed and her forearm bumping into his every time her palm went down his cock, body weights resting on unexpected parts, the whole situation hopelessly entangled and jumbled. She laughed and nuzzled his face. They were having a lot of fun.
Limbs shifted, bodies moved, equilibriums were lost and found. She ended up sitting up on his thighs, never once having lost the grip of his cock. Her other hand could now range free over his abs and his chest. It swept all over his cold skin, rough with goosebumps. He moaned when she skimmed by his nipple.
“Oh, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He flinched and put his hands on her exposed sides. She leaned down, eyes close, piercing. “You have such a nice voice. I want to hear you moan more.” Her words were hot on his lips. Her fingers circled his nipple, teased it, brushed away and came back. He felt self-conscious hearing himself moan; it was like hearing yourself sing, suddenly aware of your own voice; but he had no choice, as pleasure grabbed him by the throat.
She was going faster now, faster, completely lost in the moment.
“That’s right,” she said. “Go louder, let’s see if you’ll echo off the opposite shore.”
He gave a stifled laugh and squeezed at her ribcage. “Do you ever shut up?” He was really, really close.
She laughed in response. “You’re so rude!” Hair fell over her face. He felt a thrilling tingling inside, something coming undone, opening up.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, the ‘f’ chafing on his dry lips.
“See? You’re a very rude boy and—” he was weightless—“a bad influence on me!”
He came hard, holding her tight, warm sperm spattering both their skins. She gave him one last squeeze, released him, and giggled melodiously. “What, that was what made you come? You lowkey reprobate.” She gave him a peck on the lips, and stood up, smiling wide in the yellow light.
“Shit,” she said, “it’s almost sunset. Come on Aerin, let’s head back!”
He lifted himself up to his elbows. “Already? I haven’t gotten you off yet.”
She was already by the water, cleaning herself up. She gave him a cheerful look. “Another time. Don’t want to miss the Song. Don’t worry, I had my fun.” She put on her clothes and readjusted her hair. “Okay, catch up!”
She’d been here – she was gone.
Back in the present, Aerin lay still, on his back and splotched with his seed as then, but a lot more alone. He let his slackening wet cock topple onto his lap.
She never meant to lead him on. She only meant to please herself and him, however…
To Aerin, Foy was all that. To Foy, Aerin wasn’t. The hazards of human interaction.
After the spring festival, whenever they ran into each other, Foy was her much unchanged, smiling self. Aerin made himself act casual too. He meant to bring up that ‘another time,’ but the opportunity was never quite right.
Shouldn’t have been such chickenshit, a voice in his mind said.
Well, another voice replied, wouldn’t want to ruin their relationship by appearing obsessed. Besides, I didn’t just want sex with her. I wanted… I wanted to be her favourite person. And what did I have to offer her that other guys didn’t?
Those are excuses, and you know that, the first voice returned.
Oh, that’s very useful. Where was this rationality when it was needed?
Here, all the time. You just chose not to listen, ’cause you’re chickenshit.
Fuck you!
What? No, you fuck you!
With a sudden jerking movement, Aerin stood up. He walked ankle-deep into the lake, splashed water into his face, and with hands still pressed to eyes laughed to himself.
You know what Foy, good for you. You dodged a complete basket case.
He took a few more steps forward and dived. Cold water closed over him, and an exhilarating rush surged through his head. He swam out some distance from the shore and then turned to his back and just floated, unmoving, suspended in the black.
Rinsed by his orgasm, chilled by the lake, he was astonished at how light and carefree he suddenly felt. Just a minute before he was having an argument with himself on how much of a fuckup he was, but now… Starshine was all around him, and he was young, and in this spring night air he sensed a million possible futures which lay open for him to claim.
It’s all gonna be alright. The sagas were full of hapless guys who ended up awing the world, after all. He was nothing special now, but he’ll change. He’ll improve himself in every way he can. He will be special, and he’ll achieve great things. Just you wait. Just you wait!
Farewell to Foy. It was never meant to be. It’s alright. He’ll prove himself before everyone, and he’ll prove to himself that he’s worthy of affection.
A faint thought suggested that this sounded an awful lot like his previous reasoning about the iron spurs, but it appeared just for a moment, and then was gone, like a shooting star.
Lazy currents caressed his skin, and he grinned at the sky. How he’ll prove himself was unclear now, but something will turn up. Some great, momentous occasion for him to seize. He was sure of it.
# Chapter 2 – Strange Tidings
As Aerin floated, Leapfrog lurched, navigating among the people seated on the grass. He was at the exactly optimal level of drunkenness, hyper-aware of the music, and at peace with everyone and everything. If he went about it scientifically, he could maintain this level indefinitely, stoking it with just the right dosage of oat beer at just the right time. Unfortunately, he was several cups beyond exact science.
He wandered the field, bumping into more or less distant friends from time to time and exchanging a few words, but then disengaging and resuming on his way like an errant nomad. He was in a mood to watch people, listen to the sounds, breathe in the smoke. He stopped by some high grass and looked around. Twinkling eyes and teeth bared in smiles surrounded him, half-obscured by the smoke; he picked up notes of a familiar song coming in from somewhere. He liked that song. The course of action that appeared proper to him was therefore to inhale heavily and start belting it out at the top of his voice.
“Mistletrush! Mistle… trush! Lay me down in tha unnerbrush! My naked feet grow weeeaaaaarrryyy in wi’tha dusk!!!”
A voice of someone crouching unseen in the high grass implored him to shut the fuck up.
“Wat? Oh. Oh, hi Modi,” Leapfrog said recognizing his critic, a fellow scout a year older than himself and Aerin.
“Ssh! Be quiet,” said Modi, motioning at Leapfrog to crouch down with him.
“Wazza matter?”
“I told you to shut up,” Modi whispered urgently. Leapfrog scanned for what was it that Modi was looking at and realized that they were by the fire around which the village elders sat.
“Ye spyin’ on th’eldurs?” said Leapfrog, focusing hard on being quiet.
“I’m not spying, I’m just listening.”
“Why’s evvyone spyin’ on people tuhnight?”
“What?”
“Uh. What d’ya want to hear?”
“The fuck you think? Tonight’s initiation was supposed to be next month, but they pushed it back at a moment’s notice. The blacksmiths have been hammering away for days now, making arrowheads. Messengers show up every day at the Copper Hall, and the elders walk around all tense and nervy like.”
Leapfrog processed the information. “Are we boutta get attacked?”
“I think they think so.”
“By Harmen?”
“No genius, by the Assfaced People of Buttland. Of course by Harmen.”
Leapfrog had to concede that this wasn’t a very good question. The Kingdom of Harmen was the only neighbour of Kontaria which possessed enough military might to mount an offensive against anyone.
“Whadda they want from us? We’re only a buncha lakes and forests neways!”
“I don’t know, tribute or horses or they want to take away all our men for their armies. We used to fight about stuff like that all the time.”
“Well then, they’ll come an’ get los’ in the fores’ an’ go home as usual.”
Modi looked at him. “I heard it’s Titulus that’s coming.”
Leapfrog immediately felt more sober.
Kontaria lay far off from where General Titulus had waged his campaigns over the past two decades, but his reputation spread far and wide. A whole catalogue of overheard stories flashed through the murk of Leapfrog’s mind; reports of famous victories and the man’s skill and bravery, but also of dread, of villages, towns, whole provinces, burned and put to sword, of neat rows of people hanging along miles of road.
The last notes of the song echoed through the night and died away. Some people clapped. Modi got up.
“The elders aren’t talking, they’re just sitting and staring. No use wasting a festival like this. Come on Leapfrog, lead me to beer.”
Leapfrog snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing such an excellent idea. He fulfilled the request with exemplary efficiency and then they found pipers and singers specializing in a bawdier kind of poetry and when Leapfrog woke up the next day under a bush he wasn’t exactly sure how had the night concluded.
*
The Capital. City lights twinkling all throughout the night, torches ever burning. Two hundred thousand people huddled together round the bend of a mighty river.
People packed dense in their half-timbered houses, labourers and merchants and craftsmen stacked from cellars to rafters, swarming during daytime in the narrow streets which with spring rain turn to mud. Passing carts splatter it all over the bleak houses, over their half-timbered walls, their windows and their dwellers, the latter in exchange yell obscenities at the drivers and their soil-encrusted horses.
Across the river the gentle hill rises and there the roads are paved among the stone houses and the elder bushes, and as you go higher the air grows breezier and the residences grander and life lighter. On top of the hill is the Royal Castle, and in this castle there is a resplendent hall, and in this hall there is a throne, and from this throne, the King of Harmen is watching over you.
Harmen is a respectable kingdom. Harmen is an honourable kingdom. The might of Harmen is founded on a strict moral code, informed by the religion and the love for the country, which all the King’s good subjects follow. Transgression will not be tolerated. Everybody abides by the rules, and the rules are good for everybody. The King is watching. Should anyone decide to behave improperly, the King shall act swiftly to correct them, before they can corrupt the innocent. This is the King’s holy duty, which he exercises through his obedient servants. The correction may sometimes be painful, but that’s just a sign of an effective treatment. So it is. So it should be.
And yet, strangely, this capital city, this heart of the sullen inland kingdom, is a place where you can live. Right under the King’s watchful eye, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. By day, you respect the grave values of your ancestors, the values of civilization, the ones that set you apart from those dirty lax foreigners. But by night you breathe, unseen in dim candlelight, you dance and drink and are stupid, and follow the other code.
The secret of every respectable country: there are two codes. One official, written and talked about, to abide by. Another, never mentioned and never learned, but felt, perceived subconsciously, a gentler code, a livable code: a code which tells you which rules can be ignored and when. Everyone knows both. Everyone accepts both. There is always a danger to ignoring the official rules, of course. Perhaps it’s more prudent to follow the righteous path. But aren’t cliffside paths always more panoramic?
Don’t get too close to the edge though. You might fall an awful long way down.
There was a long, open corridor in the Royal Castle, basking in torchlight, with colonnades on both sides: one opening to a view over the city and the bright river below, the opposite to a garden in an inner courtyard, dark and quiet in the mild spring night. Over the hallway’s yellowish tiles a man was strutting confidently, his bright blue cape fluttering behind him, a smile amid his slightly greying beard, his mind relieved and unburdened.
“Lord Cyril!”
Startled momentarily, the man stopped and pivoted on one heel to see who called to him; he smiled even wider when he recognized the woman, in a simple taupe courtly dress, standing at the end of the corridor.
“Lady Tessa! What a surprise!”
She returned his smile, in her calm, reserved way, and let him trot back to her. She was some fifteen years older than he was, over sixty by now, and yet her former great beauty has not quite completely abandoned her. It’s her eyes, Cyril thought, as he reached out to kiss her silver rings in greeting. Even in her aged face, under the sagging eyelids, the pale green irises were hypnotic.
“So you finally honour the capital with your presence! I was beginning to worry you grew completely wild, hunting all year on your estate.” Her voice was even, low, measured.
“I’m human yet! I think. But not much of a city dweller.”
The lady nodded, and they started strolling between the colonnades. He was a lot taller than she was, and he had to make small slow steps, heel-first, hands folded over his belt buckle, to match her pace.
“You’ve come here to see the Prince, I reckon?” she asked.
Cyril cringed, and tugged at the three heraldic crows emblazoned on his coat. “Everyone knows, do they?”
There was a faint and quizzical smile on Tessa’s face. “Quite everyone. Your son has caused some spectacle.”
“Oh dear. Well, what can I say. Alex is not a very smart boy.”
“I wonder who did he take after.”
“Ha, haa. Anyway, it’s over now.”
“You’ve talked with the Prince?”
“I have. Even the King weighed in, though of course officially he knows nothing of this whole business.”
“My.”
“Yes. Well, I’ve smoothed things over, no feuds will arise from this.”
“And Alex?”
“Oh, he got a stern reprimand. He’ll conduct himself better in the future.”
“And the girl?”
There was a small pause.
“Well, it’s been decided she needs better role models, and perhaps a quieter environment. She’ll be sent to live in Behem, with Lady Paula, at least for the time being.”
Lady Tessa stopped abruptly. “Oof!” She raised her eyebrows and chuckled. “That poor girl! Have mercy on her and just throw her into a dungeon instead!”
Cyril twirled his beard and looked around. The only other person in sight was a guard at the other end of the corridor, halberd twinkling in torchlight, a bit too far to overhear them perhaps.
“I won’t be heard speaking ill of Lady Paula. Not in this castle,” he said.
“No need.” Tessa’s green eyes met his, a searching and curious look now. “Whatever our opinion on her ladyship, though, you must admit that Alex got off a lot lighter. Why did the Prince’s daughter take the fall? What did the Prince say to that?”
“Oh, the Prince seems very glad to be rid of her. He’s got spares, anyway.” Cyril tugged at his crows again. “And, well, that’s the thing. She’s a princess. She’s got royal blood. If she dishonours herself, she dishonours the entire royal family.”
“Diluted royal blood, and very extended family. The Prince and the King are, what, fifth cousins?” Tessa looked up and started counting on her fingers, but gave up and waved her hand. “Please, Cyril. The Prince is not more important than you or me.”
“Blood’s blood. Appearances have to be kept, especially now, when trying times are ahead.”
Tessa gave him that look again. Light twinkled in her eyes and though her face was set, some deeper shadows in her wrinkles seemed to suggest that she was very amused. “It’s strange though, isn’t it, how girls usually end up the worse in these situations.”
Cyril smiled a lopsided smile and looked to the ceiling. “Well, you’ve got a point. Being born a girl was the first of the many bad decisions she’s made.”
Tessa’s gaze was unwavering. “Yes. What was she thinking. Some people have no sense at all.”
“None.”
They stood there for a moment still; then Tessa resumed the walk.
“But it is too bad. I’ve met the girl many times. I like her a lot. A very bright young lady.”
“If you like her that much, you can appeal for her sake before the Prince. Or the King.”
She looked straight ahead, and for a shortest moment her body seemed to slacken as her look hardened. “No. Not that much.”
“Frankly, everyone else seems to think that she’s a spoiled brat.”
Now the lady smiled. “As are all our children, and as were we, and as were our parents before us. Nobility obligates, Lord Cyril!”
“You keep saying dangerous things tonight, Lady Tessa! But!” he abruptly stopped and held her by the elbow, “speaking of dangerous, I’m taking leave of the King earlier today and who do I see walking into the throne room after me? General Titulus and that old…” he stopped himself, looked around thoroughly, leaned in closer to Tessa and continued at a whisper, “…that old bastard, Oren!”
Tessa smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. The King wants them to co-operate on a project together.”
“Titulus and Oren? Together?”
“Why not?” If she’d been amused before, she was downright fighting back laughter now. “They are both devoted subjects of the King, and can rise over their personal grudges. Especially Oren. You know him, he’s very nice. Positively cuddly nowadays, I’d say.”
Cyril snorted. His list of things he’d cuddle with sooner than with His Serene Highness Duke Oren of Haratraz was vast and included items such as wasp nests, thorn bushes on fire, and particularly irritable bears. “So what’s this common project?”
“You know Kontaria?”
“Kontaria?” Cyril browsed his memory on Harmen’s small neighbour. “Excellent horses. Excellent horsemen. Everyone knows that. Besides that, not much. It’s just a lot of forests and lakes by the north-eastern sea, isn’t it? Oh, and I’ve heard they know how to party.”
That’s funny. Tessa’d heard that somewhere, too.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/bvnk8f/a_midsummers_saga_ch_1_2