golden blood through their veins. Perfectly lovely, all these beings wandering through their meaningless lives. The things he could see! Not ten lengths from him, Lady Ellianne Thremayne talked with Lady Melline Jespert over dinner and brandy. Lady Thremayne was perhaps three or four moons pregnant. An unmarried lady—such a scandal! He hoped she wasn't drinking the brandy on purpose. Brandy did such unfortunate things to babies.
He smiled and resumed eating. Despite the scandal, ladies and their problems did not interest him; they were simply not worth his trouble. Servant girls, however, were perfectly wonderful to behold. A pair of serving wenches walked by and he watched them. One had lost three back teeth on the left side, above her cracked jaw bone. Likely the fault of her easy-to-anger suitor, the damaged jaw surely made speaking painful. He wondered how well she could scream and he smiled as he added her name to the list in his head. He sought out other girls, adding names as he saw fit, and smiled at a group of linen maids who had settled around a table not far away.
He knew the six girls of this group quite well. One was already prominently featured on his list, and another, a dark-haired morsel and surely the prettiest girl in the castle, had captivated his attention and desire since he first saw her. He licked his lips as he looked at her, then drew his attention to other servant girls before she noticed his amorous stare.
They glowed beautifully in their youth—the power of their organs pulsating in their bodies, their bones straight and strong. Nella laughed over her meager supper tray, her face golden with all the blood rushing to it. The plump, giggly girl at the end of the table pretended to swoon, fanning her face, and he felt a flash of sadness that she would not be on his list in the foreseeable future. Surely a plump girl would be tasty. Sweet and tender, not salty.
He watched them as he ate, and sought other girls just as delightful. What a pleasant supper in the great hall. Such perfect variety. Such succulent morsels. He looked all around him, adding this girl and that to his evolving list until he finished his supper and could linger no longer. Before he stood, he glanced at his feet.
A shadow of stain from two drops of blood on the toe of his left boot remained, even though he had wiped them off before coming to supper. They glimmered gold and dim against the green boot leather. That snot-nosed page Lars had missed them during questioning, but they had been there, plain as day. Two spots. Fytte's blood. Dubric wouldn't have missed them. The bastard might be old, but he was a long way from dumb.
He shrugged as he stood, and looked at the perfectly delightful banquet of girls in the great hall. He smiled and ran his tongue over his lips. Dubric had left the questioning to Lars, and Lars had not noticed. All the more perfect luck for him, and for the girls on his list.
* * *
The night spread out before him, cold and blue purple, no different than daylight with the cloak. The horse beneath his backside glowed golden and red and its breath plumed green. The cottage lay ahead, a delicious blackness peeking between blue trees.
The horse shied, tossing its head, but he didn't care. "Get a move on!" he said, slamming his heels into the beast's flanks. The horse jumped, took a few awkward steps, then whinnied in fear. "Damn wretched beast!" He cursed and kicked it again, gaining three more steps toward his goal.
Near to panic, the horse refused to go farther despite the beating, so he slid off with the reins clutched in his hands. Cursing under his breath, he tied the useless beast to a tree and set off on foot. Only a couple of hundred lengths to go, all of it sloppy with mud and half-melted sleet. Explaining the mess might prove bothersome, but no matter. He could not stay away, not tonight.
The blackness of the cottage blossomed gloriously and he smiled. He opened the door and peered inside, the
He smiled and resumed eating. Despite the scandal, ladies and their problems did not interest him; they were simply not worth his trouble. Servant girls, however, were perfectly wonderful to behold. A pair of serving wenches walked by and he watched them. One had lost three back teeth on the left side, above her cracked jaw bone. Likely the fault of her easy-to-anger suitor, the damaged jaw surely made speaking painful. He wondered how well she could scream and he smiled as he added her name to the list in his head. He sought out other girls, adding names as he saw fit, and smiled at a group of linen maids who had settled around a table not far away.
He knew the six girls of this group quite well. One was already prominently featured on his list, and another, a dark-haired morsel and surely the prettiest girl in the castle, had captivated his attention and desire since he first saw her. He licked his lips as he looked at her, then drew his attention to other servant girls before she noticed his amorous stare.
They glowed beautifully in their youth—the power of their organs pulsating in their bodies, their bones straight and strong. Nella laughed over her meager supper tray, her face golden with all the blood rushing to it. The plump, giggly girl at the end of the table pretended to swoon, fanning her face, and he felt a flash of sadness that she would not be on his list in the foreseeable future. Surely a plump girl would be tasty. Sweet and tender, not salty.
He watched them as he ate, and sought other girls just as delightful. What a pleasant supper in the great hall. Such perfect variety. Such succulent morsels. He looked all around him, adding this girl and that to his evolving list until he finished his supper and could linger no longer. Before he stood, he glanced at his feet.
A shadow of stain from two drops of blood on the toe of his left boot remained, even though he had wiped them off before coming to supper. They glimmered gold and dim against the green boot leather. That snot-nosed page Lars had missed them during questioning, but they had been there, plain as day. Two spots. Fytte's blood. Dubric wouldn't have missed them. The bastard might be old, but he was a long way from dumb.
He shrugged as he stood, and looked at the perfectly delightful banquet of girls in the great hall. He smiled and ran his tongue over his lips. Dubric had left the questioning to Lars, and Lars had not noticed. All the more perfect luck for him, and for the girls on his list.
* * *
The night spread out before him, cold and blue purple, no different than daylight with the cloak. The horse beneath his backside glowed golden and red and its breath plumed green. The cottage lay ahead, a delicious blackness peeking between blue trees.
The horse shied, tossing its head, but he didn't care. "Get a move on!" he said, slamming his heels into the beast's flanks. The horse jumped, took a few awkward steps, then whinnied in fear. "Damn wretched beast!" He cursed and kicked it again, gaining three more steps toward his goal.
Near to panic, the horse refused to go farther despite the beating, so he slid off with the reins clutched in his hands. Cursing under his breath, he tied the useless beast to a tree and set off on foot. Only a couple of hundred lengths to go, all of it sloppy with mud and half-melted sleet. Explaining the mess might prove bothersome, but no matter. He could not stay away, not tonight.
The blackness of the cottage blossomed gloriously and he smiled. He opened the door and peered inside, the
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