A charging steed carrying two riders burst through the outlying roads, throwing dust, debris, and god knew what else over the open air. As they raced through the packed roads, shouts and gallops echoed nearby in light of the sky's whistling arrows. In the distance, over a dozen bells chimed into the sky as the sun emitted a glorious, red-yellow glow not usually seen until the country's early autumn intervals. One rider glanced strangely towards the dwindling countryside, which had since become a littering of side roads and irrigation ditches stretching into the horizon. Valania Proper had seen better days as did the Voltasian outskirts and it seemed nature had not proven kind to the former Kingdom's crop territories.
Valania was deteriorating and ever since he'd left, Lucius could not help, but have felt somewhat responsible for his kingdom's decline. The days spent in and out of Voltas, stalking streets, and gutting careless turncoat patricians had only earned the Prince an enormous bounty not seen since Sarife's independence. The past year involved a race across Valania and outwitting tenacious Sipahis at every turn. They were incredibly resilient bastards, even if they resembled Sarife's inexhaustible conscript detachments.
His time spent alluding their pursuit had brought him through several notable resistance circles, yet he never remained in one place for too long. The list of compromised resistance dwellings were too many to count and in lue of aggressive Nezam soldiers, Lucius found himself hunted on all corners of Southwest Carcassonne. Only the coastlines held merit, where upon the Imperial Sarifen Navy inadequately policed Valania's shores. Not known for its naval prowess, Sarife's large navy guarded its shipping lanes with mixed effect, leaving piracy confined to remote and often secluded locations. Lucius for one found himself confounded as to the resistance's lack of effort to establish any notable coastal resistance havens and discovered foreign cartels operating along what easily should have resembled resistance controlled havens.
As he mulled over what his recent coastline escapades had uncovered, his attention suddenly reverted towards the trench lines flanking the decaying roadways. The strange looks befitting the dirt-faced onlookers spoke of immense pain and hardship as some sported sunken waste lines whilst others carried stumps that once resembled arms or legs. Still others suffered through malnourishment and stalked the roads in gaunt and often skeletal forms barely resembling anything human. The occasional wagon sporting what resembled crops not only stood few and far, but became increasingly dwarfed through what resembled grim faced harvesters and large soil clumps littered in white, yellowing grub. The red orange glow of the dusk's twilight only worsened such sights and the largely emptied carts only further asserted several notions accentuated towards a bad harvest. That there still resembled small, smoke puffing cottage homes and wooden houses dotting the surrounding landscapes did little to ease the Prince's scowls as he and his companion raced past near emptied livestock pens.
It was between crossing a crowded crossroads intersection, the rear rider quickly stole a glance as the two darted past two disheveled men splitting bread with sharpened axes. In-between observing various roadside beggars, additional shouts and bow thrums immediately stole his attention as the raging horsemen continually bolted into furious, thundering gallops, further amplified through the metallic clanks projected through their armor. Many loud and synchronized shouts followed as sounds resembling clattered sticks erupted overhead, however, through sheer brilliance and skill, the lead rider's efforts managed to maneuver the horse around several merchant carts traveling the opposite direction. The two riders quickly ducked low as over several dozen arrows and javelins discharged overhead and across both flanks, some of which imbedded harmlessly onto other nearby wooden carts whilst others whistled past their right and left flanks. Several arrows struck screaming bystanders, felling the victims in a manner only befitting vegetable sacks. Cursing, Lucius watched helplessly as the pursuing horsemen trampled several fallen bystanders across the roads into heaps of splattered blood and bones.
As more riders appeared, additional javelin volleys sang through the air, only to join the chorus of purrs and war cries. The Prince clapped his companion along the shoulder and shouted several ineligible words before hurling into a low, ground level hang along the horse's left side. A moment later, the man seized a jutting javelin protruding off the road, then another, then another. Following a push to realign along his previous spot, the rear rider hurled a javelin straight into a pack of advancing horsemen, striking the leader square in the throat. The leader's fall tripped several riders into tumbled heaps and provoked an additional javelin volley overhead before prompting the front rider's decision to rear the horse over a stray broken cart blocking the road. Shouts of alarm cried from behind as the frontal horsemen ranks slammed into the cart. The screaming horses loudly rang overhead as the cart's splintered features impaled their throats and legs. Almost impossibly, other horsemen hurled over the tangled human-horse knot before regaining speed towards the two riders. A moment later, two pursuing horsemen managed to threaten the pair's flanks, swords drawn and held overhead.
“Boro be jahanam!” a nearing armored horseman fanatically screamed as he swung his saber towards the rear rider's head. Ducking the armored wearing, rear rider viciously slammed a fist across the other horseman's face whilst immediately reaching down to draw a pistol. A half second later, Lucius unholstered another pistol and forcefully jammed the muzzles along each horseman's forehead before cocking and firing both pistols at point blank. The two unfortunate horsemen jerked backwards and slowly slumped forwards as the rounds tore through their skulls, splattering blood and brains out onto the dirtied, cobbled roads.
“Relentless bastards, Ona! We can't possibly survive should continue like this,” the Prince shouted as he rose and leaped onto a fallen horseman's saddle, “Entering Voltas is our only chance!”
Ona nodded. She wasn't entirely sure she understood everything that was going on. It had been a whirlwind since she had woken. Things were so different and now things were happening very quickly. Her knuckles were white on the reins. She couldn't remember the last time she was even on a horse. She had steered and guided the beast as Lucius had kept their pursuers at bay. Now he rode on his own. Onatha glanced to her left. She dug her heels into her horse and urged it to go faster.
"I do not know where I am going!" Lucius had told her things but she was not at all familiar with the land, the landscape, geography, any of it.
"I will follow you!" She yelled to him.
Lucius shouted in warning as several javelins hurled almost impossibly close before only narrowly clattering against his shoulder guards. He had the Zhayedans and their Emperor to thank for allowing the necessary opportunity to steal a set off a rack amongst one of their many armories. That Ona had not the proper time to acquire her own suit had spelled an annoyance only further exacerbated through the untimely Sipahi arrival and their doggedly relentless pursuit. The Prince made good on proving his promise as a worthy companion and quickly wrapped an arm around the girl's chest-line before his powerful grip handily wrenched Ona backwards in an effort to dodge the additional javelins soaring overhead. The rapid motions yielded their survival as soaring javelins missed their mark or clattered harmlessly off his bowled helmet. The piercing rings and whistling rushes proved enough to test the Prince's morale amidst the rapid gallop across the cobbled roads.
Compounding these developments came the loud bell chimes ringing nearby and as Lucius quickly regained composure, he observed the rising stone walls towering into the skies. Voltas, his former home and capital city; now held under the Sarifen Empire's tyrannical authority. For a moment, mixed emotions flared as long buried, childhood memories resurfaced. Those memories weighed heavily through his heart in lue of familiar sights edging along the city's terraced ramparts before reality shattered the brief relapse. Deafening shouts spread across the walls as warning bells, signal torches, and scattered troop movements alerted the urban garrison's cry for arms. As the city walls continually rose in height, Lucius' sights uncovered several enlarging arches resembling the famous Porte de Patay, one of the city's many gatehouses. Further ahead, the armored garrison billmen quickly marshalled men towards the gate in an ragged attempt to form an entrance guarding, spear-wall. Some meters away, behind the assembling men, the portcullis creaked and clanked as interior gatekeepers furiously heaved to wind the draw bridge upwards.
Calmly, the Prince urged the horse onwards and quickly whipped the riderless horse parallel his companion's position, throwing the beast forwards into a raging frenzy that sent it surging into the half assembled spearwall. As the beast crashed into the armored men, many scattered in disarray as oblivious bystanders and stray horses reared up and around to create open pockets within the frantic garrison lines. Pointing towards the lowering, portcullis and ascending draw bridge, Lucius reigned into full gallop before shouting, “Come along, we've only got one chance, Ona so we're going to have to leap over that gate!”
Everything around her fell into disarray as Lucius shouted and for a moment Onatha closed her eyes, wondering if she were still asleep and dreaming near the chained desk.
"Gate," she repeated as her gaze narrowed to where he'd pointed.
Just make it over. Just make it over, she breathed. The sound of the horse hooves was deafening provoking Onatha to cease breaths and as they reached the moated river trench line, time seemed to slow as their horses hurled into a mid air leap ...
“If you cannot control your peoples, I wonder if sparing you and your city so many years ago was a mistake. Do not think we are blind to what happened! The lost shipments were inbound for our men and their seizure was your responsibility. The army is stationed outside this city and will recompense the losses. Clearly Yadin-Hamon is out of your favor for our warships have already sailed within ten leagues away. If there are more misfortunes as is what is clearly occurring, our vessel will soon have their guns trained on the miserly lavatory you call a palace. We will also not hesitate to use your heights to unleash our Sheng Namak-i čīnī on this filthy watering hole. Yadin-Hamon knows our crews have yet to prove their worth. This is our final warning, Souverain. Do not allow any other men to tarnish our stay or the Emperor shall bring all of Sarife to your doorsteps. Heed my words and we may reconsider our recent military deployments. Think on what we have said ...”
Sneering, the Bozorgan of Bactria spit on the royal floors and stalked away, contempt and disgust masking his face. One by one, the Sarifen Āzāds and Nezām-e Jadīd commanders followed his leave, spitting as they departed the court. As they filed out the main arched entrance, their armed retainer retinues followed before leaving the main throne room largely empty. Only several select retainers, Crown Watch officers, Valanian aristocrats, and Knights remained.
Richter Von Conqvist sat patiently upon his throne as the main palace courts emptied, ever the calculating man that had taken the seat. It was no small wonder a man of his authority could have wielded so much power as the common masses continually suffered. He'd consigned the death warrants of many thousands of labelled heretics and squeezed every bit of coin to be had amongst the surrounding populace, thereby condemned the fortunes afforded towards hard earning artisans and common folk. Who dared challenge the gifts granted in Yamin-Hamon's name? The lowly peasant swine populating his city domain would extort his will through their timeless service. He demanded continuous payments for their lowly existence and the blessing bestowed upon his ability to preserve the realm. Valania owed him its continued preservation and his salvation had thus far kept leash over the Sarifen hounds prowling its doorsteps. So long as coin plied Sarifen coffers and the land's sanctity was continually proclaimed in Yadin-Hamon's name, the Emperor's fury remained largely satiated.
The aristocratic arrival had come amidst the Sarifen empire's agent reports owed towards failed harvests, increased naval piracy, falling revenues, renewed guerrilla activity, and political assassinations. The nightmares brought many a sleepless night, though in hindsight, the cruel happenings were a product of the mismanagement, incompetence, and conspiracies plaguing his kingdom. Conqvist was no stranger to either and in either case, had witnessed much during his reign over Valania. To this end, he would murder thousands more and implicate entire generations if it preserved the status quo. He was the King of Voltas, King of Valania, and the second to none. That the Sarifens dared question his authority amidst the surging activities wrought by upstart swine proved a serious transgression he could not forgive. The most accomplished Kings did not squander their god appointed gifts to rule nor concede any accommodations towards the common masses.
Smirking, the Sovereign King rose and briskly strolled towards the finely polished windows before witnessing the Sarifen patricians disperse through the ornate palace courtyards and lush gardens. They would undoubtedly return before long and inevitably demand his head, that he was certain. Of course they would and to that end, Sarife's ruling elite could certainly try to retake his throne. He surmised they would arrive no later than the thirty first, which was, in all accounts within several weeks, marking the month's end. By then, he feared their ambitions would fall upon a rather unfortunate detour. The game of politics was ever more vicious and he understood all too well how disfavorably calamity affected profits. Men were as fickle as scattering leaves and swayed whichever way the wind blew. Conqvist understood weaknesses where ever they appeared and found that where ever trouble bred itself anew, the generous principle associated towards swinging loyalties lay within the term, plying the coin.
Elsewhere, marauding Sarifen conscripts plundered the surrounding countryside, seizing whatever wealth could still yet be found throughout Valania's villages and townships. The immediate Valania auxiliaries holding station levied no authority to halt the pillaging and helplessly watched as the unchecked Sarifens sacked the villages and desecrated tombs with relative impunity. Further still, some reported findings announced desertions as unpaid levies dispersed to form marauding bands or embarked upon lives as sellswords.
There was no law out in the country side and as Sarife dispatched greater troop build ups, the sooner their coffers emptied. It was simply put, an undeclared war of attrition, and the longer they lingered, the greater their downfall. The world would come crashing down upon Sarife and during that hour, none would mourn their passing. The fickle lords would usurp the Emperor and his Empire would fracture into a large smattering of insidious duchies as the Tyrun Isles had a century ago. The suffering masses were of no concern towards his greater ambitions and to the extent that fate dealt their hands, would continually perish so long as Conqvist consolidated his own authority.
Smirking again, the Sovereign retreated as the last patricians disappeared through the tunnels leading back towards the main palace gates and stared out towards the setting sun over the glittering blue bay. To the west, lay the inland valleys possessing much of the city's agricultural frameworks, to the north stood the peaks where the Kingdom's forges mined and smelted metal ores, and to the east along the palace rear stood the open seas where miners hauled the city's considerable source limestone reserves. Voltas was indeed as much an authoritative center as it was a gem along Southwest Carcassonne.
All the same, the rich tree groves dotting the cliff lines and heights overlooking the city harbor and the surrounding lands would soon be dotted in cannon, trebuchet, and ballistae alike. In time, he would enslave Sarife and amass a fleet to bath the coast in fire, Sarifen blood, and corpses to become sovereign over all of Southern Carcassonne. A quick glance to the west unveiled darkened smoke trails, no doubt the resulting carnage wrought by marauding Sarifen conscripts and mounted guardsmen. Indifferent, his gaze turned east as his sights trained upon the modest seagoing vessels sailing along the glistening coastlines and various fishing galleys. Valania's true saving merit involved its flagrant merchantile shipping lanes. The Sovereign had initially heeded various commissioners and through the course of his reign, approved upon the investments necessary for expansions along several wharf fronts and various dockyards.
The piers, docking platforms, storage facilities, and harbors had theoretically supported renewed trade and elevated income, however, lacking investments along other districts surrounding the dockyards quickly devolved the city into a denizens attractive towards arriving foreign cartels and Ivalian shipping monopolies. Ivalian merchants and financial investors quickly capitalized upon the destination and converted the surrounding facilities towards their own purposes, disrupting local Sarifen traders and former Kingdom seagoing vendors. In regards to localized control, the past few years had proven somewhat disastrous, yet profits continually yielded enough to fill Voltasian coffers.
“Ladies, gentlemen! I am pleased to have enjoyed your company this afternoon,” Richter voiced upon returning towards his seat along the throne, “In time you will be rewarded for your services to my court and notified following further developments within our beloved city. You are all dismissed ... until further notice. Chaque chose vaut son prix!” Everything is worth its price.
“And may Yadin-Hamon be praised!” the assembled ranked entourage answered. Silently, the knightly entourage and Crown Watch officers announced silently rose and slowly emptied the halls until only himself and several others remained. The Sovereign smiled and waited for a time as his gaze settled along the decorated domed ceilings. Many elements within his developed frameworking required lubrication and as treacherous schemes entered his mind, he found his thoughts narrowed towards the day's most anticipated events.
“Everard,” he jubilantly called, “Do inform our esteemed guests that I am ready to receive their audience!”
A portly looking man dressed in fine liveries peeled away from the sparsely assembled court audience, and rushed across the marble floors before reaching a row of famous motifs depicting Valania's ancient founders. Ever the obedient man, Everard gave no notice and simply hurried to activate a lever mechanism connected to one particular tapestry featuring Richter himself. Several oddities along the walls parted as an entire section caved in to reveal a large, glass encased corridor. Offering a welcoming hand, Everard offered a welcoming hand as the Sovereign's heavily armed retainers and most trusted subordinates entered following the Sovereign's entry. Following resealment, the passage's discreet opening once again resumed its proper position along the walls, granting the travelling men and women unrestricted movement. Their travels brought him some ways away before reaching various waiting figures.
To the left stood Saren, the Chief Inquisitor amongst the Sarife's Zendricaanist Inquisition and Valania Proper. His surrounding company featured a ravishing appearing, yet tired looking woman, and several rather strangely dressed Zendricaanist Inquisitors. The Sovereign managed several steps before halting twenty meters. His eyes cautiously darted between the woman and the Chief Inquisitor and in the chamber's gloomy lighting, offered a silent prayer towards the figurines doting the walls. A modest bed, well furnished tables, and book cases spread across the blandly decorated walls and polished, wood plank floors.
“Saren, I trust you are well this evening,” Richter grinned in earnest. The man parted arms and through a curt finger snap, summoned a robed courtier. Huffing, the petrified young boy bowed in frightening rapidity before producing a small golden chest. Bowing yet again, the boy departed, granting the Chief Inquisitor space and without hesitation, he swept the small treasury case into his waiting arms. Upon its opening, the shimmering coined contents elicited a wry smile before ultimately provoking the Chief's Inquisitor's humbling bow.
“Your activities warm my heart and reassure the Inquisition this city still yet carries Yadin-Hamon's good graces. He is with us and as always, the aptitude he brings our judiciary keepers has delivered added success over the false heretics. Fortunes be praised, the heretics populating this city have tarnished Yadin-Hamon's name. That these swine continually cling to the heresy they still call Augurianity troubles my very being. ”
“Subjects,” the Sovereign quickly corrected, “You would do well to heed my words regarding spoken titles entering public ears. The common dwellers remain content and pay their dues, knowing they are more than simple cattle. By name at least, hahaaa.” He procured a malicious laugh, earning widespread chuckles throughout the room's inhabitants.
“Do understand the nature surrounding politics, Inquisitor. It will serve you well should the occasion present itself, but ... I digress, we haven't the time to simply impersonate courtly jesters. How is she?”
“You are wise to keep your distance,” Saren retorted, offering a gracious nod before dramatically parting his arm in a cape sweeping flap towards the fatigued woman. “We've managed to subdue yet another bedeviled entity within the seer's own living form. She is a promising prospect and her results have thus far proven very impressive.”
“How many is that this year, hmm Catherine? Five? No … make that six! Gods, woman, you are Victor Delacroix's true successor and your homage would do much honor towards his name. What have you uncovered, dear?”
“Much, your grace, but I fear I am dying. I've tracked your subjects in question for over ten hours each a day and an additional ten hours these past three months. I can only do what my body may allow and I am at my wits ends. I've done everything you've demanded and to exert otherwise is sheer and utter m...”
“Saren,” Richter interrupted, “The scriptures please ...”
“As you wish, your grace,” the Inquisitor answered. Bowing, the Sarifen turned towards his fellow judiciaries and following a brief nod, the men immediately set about ripping down the inscribed parcels nailed along various locations along the chamber's walls. A scream echoed across the room before Catherine collapsed to the floor, seizing her head in agonizing shrieks. As the inquisitors removed additional parcels, more screams followed suit, forcing the woman into a spasmic convulsion. Her flails were met with indifference as the other members simply looked on and it was only after several long, drawn away minutes did Richter issue a hand gesture, animating the Judiciaries to action. As they returned the scriptures along their original locations, the woman's convulsions slowed until she lay heaving upon the floor. Smiling, the Sovereign directed yet another hand motion, arousing several Inquisitors to action whereby their forceful motions brought the woman skyward.
Another hand motion motivated Saren himself and following several gestures, the Chief Inquisitor hammered additional parcels, populating the room's scripture plastered walls. As more parcels dotted the walls, Catherine's eyes suddenly lulled over as her breath began to quicken. All at once, she began to spasm again, though in this case pleasurable moans escaped her lips. The woman bit her lip as her back arched towards the ceiling and within minutes, her thighs began to wet. Not long afterwards, the woman began to execute thrusting motions upon her pelvis until she elicited a long and pleasurable moan. As liquids ejected across the floor, amusing laughter filled the chambers as the surrounding retainers and inhabitants watched in fascination. The sphere illuminations began to flicker before pulsating gently and within several minutes, once again projecting the previous individuals' faces.
"Please ... make it stop," she gasped whilst shuddering profusely, "I am perfectly capable of delivering my services for Valania. Please ... mercy your grace!"
“I don't usually offer second chances, however, your abilities are of little use to our people if your protests continually jeopardize our freedoms, yes?" the Sovereign taunted as Saren removed the excess parcel scriptures, "We are so close to locating the purpetrators usurping our kingdom, my kingdom and it would do well that you understand the severities threatening our subjects! Now, what … have you found?”
Wheezing, the seer slowly regained composure before tending towards the varying spheres projecting warped images presenting varying individuals. Sighing, Catherine supressed the urge to vomit and simply craned as she lulled into a backwards arch. Her hands pulsed a darkened orange as her eyes shut into utter focus. Several minutes passed before each sphere illuminated enough to project each individuals' exact locations. Silent, the Sovereign watched through curious eyes as the hushed murmurs expanded across the various Inquisitor and retainer ranks. His fingers immediately snapped and a subordinate immediately pried way towards a desk along the chamber's far corners. The Inquisitors followed and the man quickly set to work inscribing various notes along various empty ledgers placed upon the table's cluttered omnibus collections.
After enduring closely observational moments, Richter unveiled yet another finger snapping motion, summoning another figure. A young man wearing entered the room wearing scribe robes, whilst laboring to grip almanacks under his armpits. His sunken eyes and mop laden hair proved stark, familiar resemblance towards the fatigued woman, yet he dared not glance her way lest he face the Sovereign's wrath.
“These men and women,” he began again, “They interest me, Rothion. What have you uncovered? I understand the forks of prophecy are quite numerous, however, given how foolishly your predecessors behaved, I surmise we must follow our customary cautions to ensure the Kingdom's stability, yes?”
“Your grace,” the young Valanian carefully answered bowing, “I've managed to reaffirm their importance in the coming weeks and months. I cannot neither pinpoint nor predict their exact life routines nor immediate decisions without plying additional forks, all of which may demand exertion on my sense. Of course, if you'll allow me to explain ...”
“Tell me what you know,” the Sovereign interrupted, “We'll uncover further details as you uncover their future as well as their destinies ...”
The robe wearing man swallowed and cast himself upon the ground before reserving a moment to delicately select his words, “The men and women you speak of; they are without question, the greatest gift ... your realm could ever find. Ensuring their meeting and gathering will follow a fork benefiting your ambitions and survivability.”
“Everard,” Richter called, “Bring the papers and prepare the invitations!”
“Your grace,” the portly Everard affirmed as he joined the busy subordinate. The two sat side by side and as the chamber's candles flickered, the portly attendant thought he saw several uncast shadows moving along the walls near the fatigued seer's location. Their forms resembled ghastly shapes only conjured or witnessed in legends, fairytales, and a horrifying nightmare.
“Gaston! Have you surmised their exact locations?”
The finely groomed subordinate nodded obediently, dipping his ink quill before turning several pages as he glanced between the illuminated spheres and his work below. His cursive filled the pages, describing their exact whereabouts and the descriptions detailing each individual's physical appearance, height, predicted age, apparent nationality, and occupational descriptions. As time passed, Gaston offered his master a question-inducing expression before ultimately acknowledging the Sovereign's curt affirmation. The well groomed man summoned Rothion forth and within minutes, had pinpointed the scribe's matching reports regarding their names and meticulously accounted biographies. Additional ledgers soon filled additional pages along Gaston's almanac, detailing and matching each individual's profile memoir.
“Everard, the invitations,” Richter commanded following a brief stroll across the chamber, “Include these exact words along each envelop. To Be Addressed to:. Space. Then ... inscribe the individual recipient's name.”
"When you have reached the cover letter, inscribe these exact words. Salutations from the seigneur de Beauvais, Ecuyer de Aubigne. Honored guest, it is with great pleasure that the seigneur de Beauvais invites you this evening for dinner at the D’Aubigne residence. Dinner will begin tomorrow at half past seven.”
Everard set about scribbling and manufacturing the necessary preparations required towards the various waiting papers and envelopes. His earnest diligence earned notable and approving nods associated towards several nearby Judiciaries. Not especially, the Chief Inquisitor himself evoked a nod as he closely examined the illuminated spheres.
“Well now,” Saren amusedly quipped, “the Seigneur de Beauvais? A clever choice! Does that man not own branches throughout the country and abroad?”
“He does, however, his importance is inconsequential towards the fate we have currently chosen! His lavish dinner tomorrow evening will merely prove a means to ensure our legacy continues. Everard, in addition, I wish to include additional invitations towards selected guests amongst our esteemed aristocratic retinue populating our beloved city.”
Several coat fumbles later, the Sovereign unveiled a key before placing it along the courtier's side. “You are permitted to enter vault number forty four. You will find the D'Aubigne's familial seal within the lower chambers. After you've concluded your retrieval, I want those invitations marked, sealed, and delivered before day's end, are we understood? Do this and you shall be handsomely rewarded for your deeds done this day.”
“I understand perfectly well, sir!” Everard gleefully acknowledged before moving to depart, “I'll ensure their delivery shall begin immediately ...”
“Wait,” Richter snapped, recovering the courtier's attention, “Do revisit our coffers? I fear a direct course of action may require additional gold and ... more persuasive assistance ...”
Beaming, Valania's Sovereign rubbed his chin before several finger motions ushered away the chamber's inhabitants, save Catherine, whose labored breaths devolved into relieving sighs. Upon their departure, a smile escaped his lips as he offered the seer a curt nod before his gaze focused upon a side passage, where upon laughter and giggles filled the air. Richter fell into a rhythmic stroll and confidently traversed through the corridor before ultimately emerging along a lavish, brightly lit bed chamber overlooking the bay. Crystal window panels opened onto various balconies, allowing fresh ocean breezes to course through the wide chamber's opening. His arrival evoked loud giggles as various voluptuous appearing young ladies swarmed his flanks. Groaning, the Sovereign fell upon the cozy bed as the alluring ladies undressed in a spectacular display that concluded the evening in rounded breasts, fleshy thighs, curved buttocks, and voracious fucking ...
