Chapter 2

"Are you even listening?" I hear a muffled voice say. "My lord," it says again. It's not until he shouts out "Thomas" that I am pulled from my thoughts.

Looking up at the round table that consists of seven men whose ages range from old to ancient, I offer an apologetic smile. "Forgive me Chancellor William. I was distracted," I say. It's true, my thoughts lingered on my father, the war efforts, before ending up on a particular pair of tanned legs. "You were saying?"

Tightening his lips, I can tell he is fed up.

"You and me both," I think.

"The people from Fogbottom are getting out of hand. We needed to do something to control their impropriety. Put a few people in the stocks, bring in the guards, hang a man or two every so often," he suggests. At this—especially the latter—my brows furrow.

"I will do no such thing and if my father were well enough he'd say the same thing. Fogbottom has always been on the more unruly side, yes, but I won't send someone to the gallows just to make an example. They have their own set of laws that they seem to abide by and never cause too much trouble so I don't see what the big deal is," I say.

"My lord—if I may be so bold—but the amount of thieves that live there are appalling and quite frankly it's making those that live in the higher district uneasy. Pretty soon they will make their way to our part of the city and pillage whatever they like!" he exclaims. The six other members murmur to themselves and from what I can hear, half seem to agree with him.

My initial reaction is to remind him that their youngest prince is married to Fogbottom's most acclaimed thief and to show some respect to their eldest prince—but, that is not who I am. Besides, lashing out in public at one of the council members in a meeting would reflect badly upon the man who is supposed to be their king one day.

Taking a steady breath, I lean backwards in my seat. "Chancellor, I know a handful of those that live in the lower district—and from what I've heard from some of the barmaids in the taverns, you've taken a few trips to Jezebels yourself down there," I say, causing him to blush. "For the most part, they mean well. They steal when they need to feed their children and brawl to earn a few extra coins. If anything we need to raise taxes on those that live in our district to give to those in need. We are all Paevians are we not?" I ask rhetorically.

The chancellor frowns and crosses his hands over his chest, saying nothing.

Sir Henry, our coin master, picks up his quill. "Would you like to make that a law, my lord? I could have a rough draft drawn up by tonight?" he asks kindly.

Personally, he has always been one of my favorite members on the council. When I was younger and was forced to join these meetings to prepare me for kingship he'd always sneak me a few sweets.

Giving him a smile, I shake my head. "No thank you Henry, I feel we might need to reach an agreement with the others before a new law is enacted. Given that I'll be leaving in the morning to finish up the war, I'd say we can cross that bridge when I get back," I say. Looking at the others, I clear my throat. "Does anyone else have something they'd like to discuss?"

When no one answers, I stand up and give a polite bow—signaling that the meeting has ended—before heading to my quarters.

Navigating the corridors with ease, I quickly reach my room, pleased to find that my belongings have already been packed away neatly and left in a rucksack on my bed. Rita—the maid I've been assigned since I was born—must have slipped in sometime today and finished what I started this morning. It's not unusual for her to go above and beyond her normal duties, she's always made sure I was taken care of—from bringing me warm milk at night when I cannot sleep to mending my clothes with her arthritic hands. "The taylors don't know the stitches I do. You just leave it up to me," she says.

I'll admit, I'm glad I do not have to pack everything up myself and I make a mental note to leave behind a few extra coins for her in the morning.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I slip off my boots before wondering if she also filled my bath. Removing my shirt, I walk into the connecting room to see that she has. There is still steam dancing from the water's surface so it must have been recently.

Quickly, I remove my trousers and slip into the tub, taking my time to bathe. When I'm done, I decided to relax until the water gets cold and rest my head back on the firm cushion.  My mind once again wanders to my father and the journey to come before landing on Maria, as usual.

Her brown locks flash through my mind and I see her coy smile as it forms across her face. I think of all the times she brushed them against my own, sometimes leaving red lipstick on my face and other parts of my body. Her tan skin was beautiful and complimented my own olive tone.

There was a point in time where I wondered what our children would look like, if we were to have them. Would they inherit my blue eyes or her fierce coffee ones? My roman nose or her cherub one?

Shaking my head, I force those thoughts out of my mind. "Doesn't matter," I tell myself out loud. She was like all the rest.

When the water eventually grows cold, I get out and walk outside to my balcony.

The warm summer air is welcomed on my naked body and gooseflesh covers my arms in satisfaction.  The sun has since set and in its place is the moon. It's not full but still casts enough light onto the city where I can make out the streets. Lamp posts casts faint shadows in the higher district where few people stroll around the city. Fogbottom on the other hand, seems to be more awake than their counterparts as faint cheers and music echo off the buildings and the area above seems all around brighter.

Those that live closer towards the palace typically do all of their business during the day whereas the lower district tends to awaken when the sun goes down.

The urge to make my way down there and join the locals in gambling—perhaps catch up with a few men I once grew up with—rises. Seeing as that I have to leave in the morning I'd rather save the irritation of having to travel hungover, but given the day I've had a few tankards of ale could give me a much needed distraction.

Deciding to make the trip, I throw on a lose black shirt, trousers, and boots before slicking back my curls with pomade. Looking myself over in the mirror, I see the resemblance between Crispin and I—lean builds, tan skin, raven hair, square jaw, and a defined straight nose. I do have my own traits that differ from his of course, such as my blue eyes that many women once compared to the ocean, lower cheekbones, and lips that are more top-heavy.

Women flock to the Carlisle brothers quite often, though I'm mostly indifferent. I've had my fun in my early twenties—sometimes having a woman in the morning and a different one by night—but now that I'm nearing thirty one, the thought seems exhausting. Sure, every now and then when mead or gambling cannot satiate the thirst of a distraction, I'll allow a visitor in my bed from time to time, though when morning comes I mentally feel worse and spend the following days questioning my worth.

Generally, women throw themselves at the three of us for bragging rights of sleeping with a Paevian prince or to see just how much free food or coin they can squeeze from us before ending in our beds. Before Crispin found Cora, he and Rory wouldn't care what the women's true intentions were as long as they got their happy ending and could hardly remember the girl's names five minutes after.

There's a knock on my door pulling my gaze away from my mirror and I walk over before answering to find Rory. Bathed and looking particularly handsome in an embroidered navy blue shirt, I know what his intentions are before he opens his mouth.

"I was just about to come find you to ask the same," I say, turning around to grab the coin pouch from my nightstand. I then loop my belt around my waist and slip the leather bag into my pocket.

"Figured we better give the ole Rooster one last hurrah before we leave," he says, leaning against my door frame.

The Red Rooster was one of the more shanty pubs in Paevia and well liked between the two of us. Rory would usually frequent it a lot because the mead was cheap and the women were willing. I enjoyed it because both the staff and patrons could care less about our title—as long as we paid what we owed and didn't cause trouble, we were one of them.

Giving him a grin, I follow him into the hallway and we make out way out into the city. With the dim street lamps alight illuminating the cobble stone roads, I felt myself relax. As we make our way to Fogbottom, the two of us exchange small talk and eventually fall  into a comfortable silence until the rowdy shouts of men from Rooster's came into ear shot.

The old painted door comes into view as we turn a corner and I give a content sigh. Even though this visit to home was cut short, it isn't a real visit unless you came here.

Reaching for the iron knob, I notice that some of the red paint has begun to chip off and fall to the ground beneath. "After you little brother," I say, giving Rory an exaggerated bow.

He offers a crooked smile and claps me on the arm as he passes. "There he is," he says, and I understand what he means. These past few days I haven't typically been my normal happy-go-lucky self given the stress, but what can I say? Shitty pubs brings out the best in me.

We take a seat at the only empty table left and immediately I prop my feet up on one of the spare chairs as I feel my body sway beneath the one I now occupy.

"You'd think by now they'd invest in new furniture," Rory jokes, gripping the round table by both sides and giving it a shake. It too is clinging to life. Really, the entire place is falling apart—from every table to the bar top which is pieced together by old ship hulls.

"I think it's quite charming," I say, looking around and eying one of the old holes in the floor that has been patched. "Gives it some personality."

The Red Rooster brings in more than enough income to restore the place—I've seen the revenue ledgers myself—so I'm not sure why the owner refuses to fix it up. Perhaps its patrons would no longer frequent as much?

A barmaid by the name of Moria brings over two tankards of mead having memorized our usual orders before walking over to a group of men playing some card game and takes their orders. She's attractive enough for being in her late thirties, but a hard life in the lower district as aged her.

Looking back to Rory, I see that he is eying me intensely and I cock an eyebrow. "Staring at me won't get whatever questions you want answered," I say, taking a long drink from my cup.

He does the same and gives a satisfied "ahh" when he's finished. "Just wondering about what is to come next with regards to the war. I still find it hard to believe that you're Paevia's general. I remember you running around in your skivvies chasing bugs to eat and now you're in charge of ten thousand men."

I let out small snort of air in bemusement as I recall that memory. A woman walks by in a dress whose corset is cinched too tight and I notice how his eyes linger on her small frame, even turning around to continue watching until she disappears out of the front door.

Smirking, I take another drink. "And I remember when you were so afraid of girls that you wouldn't even talk to one unless it was Rose. Now look you," I say, shaking my head. "You know, if you aren't careful one day you'll catching something that our maester's won't be able to cure. Or worse, you'll end up impregnating some girl and having a bastard."

Rory smiles and nods his head. "Well they have yet to fail me this far," he says and we both laugh. He then waves over the barmaid and she brings us another tankard. "Bottoms up," he says, holding the first one into the air.

I tap mine against his before we simultaneously bumping our drinks to the table and then chugging them as fast as we can. Beating him by a second, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"You always win," he grumbles, starting on the next one.

"Well I'm older so I've had more experience," I say, following suit. We chug the next one and I let out a belch.

"Another?" I ask, raising a brow.

Rory offers a mischievous grin. "Aren't I supposed to be the irresponsible one?" he asks, waving the woman over again for the third time. I notice her eyes grow wide with surprise given that she was just here moments before.

"No," I reply, shaking my head. "That's Crispin, remember?"

He lets out another laugh nods. "Not anymore I suppose. Hell, one might say he is more responsible than the both of us given that he has a wife and kids now."

The barmaid returns to our table once more, this time carrying to tankards in each hand. She sits them down and places her hands on her hips. "I see you boys plan on being here for a while. You know I'll have to collect payment upfront then don't you?" she asks, eying Rory. It's a fair request, really, I'm sure drunkards leave here all the time forgetting to pay their tabs.

"Aye," he replies and digs in his pocket for money. "That should cover us, if not remind us the next time we come in, yeah?" he says, placing a handful of bronze coins in her apron.

Her face flushes and she collects the empty tankards before walking away.

"Let's play a game," he says, turning back towards me, his green eyes alive with excitement.

I give my head a shake, "I didn't bring any dice or cards so it might be a while before we can find an opening spot," I say, studying the groups of men at different tables—all are full and seem to be engrossed in their gambling.

"I meant a drinking game. I ask a question and you either answer truthfully or you drink. Then it's your turn," he explains. Thinking this over, I give him a nod. There isn't much I to hide from him.

"Alright, I'm an open book," I tell him, leaning back in my seat.

"Since you want to bully me about the things I've caught while tumbling in the sheets, how many times have you gotten the clap?" he asks, grabbing his metal tankard as he prepares for when it's his turn.

I chuckle and shake my head. "You won't believe me even if I told you," I retort. He only raises an eyebrow. "Fine," I say. "I haven't. Unlike my two younger brothers, I have something called standards and I don't bring just any ole stray home."

Rory holds his head back and lets out a laugh. "You talk of women as if they are cats running lose in the streets," he says, still laughing.

I raise a shoulder. "Some might as well be," I retort before thinking of a question. "How many would you say you've slept with?"

He purses his lips and tilts his head as if he is thinking. "Well, I don't really know. At least a hundred I'd say or close to it."

I can't help but to snort at his answer.

"First off, take a drink for lying," I state. "Before Crispin met Cora, I know he was once not far behind you when it came to the amount of women in your beds, and he was nearing one fifty."

Rory gives frown, taking a drink. "Fine fine. In all honesty, I'd say maybe two hundred or so," he admits. "I think I might have a problem. Do you think someone could be addicted to sex?" he asks unknowingly.

Mulling over his question, I nod and think how addiction varies from person to person and how it makes one feel as if they need whatever vice to live day by day whether that's alcohol, drugs, thieving, or women. "I'd say it's highly plausible, sure."

"Have you ever been addicted to anything?" he asks, leaning back in his seat.

Scowling, I pick up my mead, taking a sip freely. "Is that a part of the game or are you just curious?" I ask.

He gives me a nonchalant shrug. "Both I guess."

Looking down, I consider on the things I have craved in my lifetime—compelled me on numerous occasions to change my lifestyle just to have my fix—and my thoughts land on Maria. Sure the sex was great, but that's not what made me so drawn to her, it was the fact that she was so funny and made me feel like there was more to the world than meetings and violence. On nights when I needed someone to vent to, she would listen and run her tanned fingers through my hair. She never tried to solve my problems unlike most of the women I would encounter, but instead just offer only her opinion. When I would be away, thoughts of our life together made the toughest nights bearable knowing she'd be there when I'd return.

But like all the rest, it turned out that she was only there in hopes to gain a title and wealth, no matter how many times she promised me that they were no concern of hers. Upon finding out that night when she had too much to drink, drunken words spoke sober thoughts. I woke up to find my room empty of any trace of her, not even a goodbye letter. "So much for the year and a half," I think. I know that in retrospect, a year and a half isn't very long, but to me it felt like a decade.

Sighing, I take another sip of my drink, I hum "mhm," refusing to give him the information he's trying to pry out of me.

"Well?" he asks, leaning closer. I can see that whatever my answer may be it won't bring him the comfort he seeks—undoubtedly he will view his addiction to women as something to take lightly.

Smirking, I toss back the remainder of my tankard and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. "I think that you've been thinking with the wrong head, brother," I say and we both burst out into laughter. Once collecting ourselves, I see two seats open up at one of the gambling tables and I motion towards it with my chin.

"Come on, let's go roll some dice, yeah?" I ask, and together we head over to the table.

After losing more money than I care to admit, Rory claps me on the back. "How about another drink?" he suggests. Nodding, I stand up and shake the other men's hands, bidding them a goodnight.

Rory slings a strong arm over my shoulder and guides me to the bar, tossing up two fingers to the Moria.

As the night draws on and after losing count of how many tankards I've had, I find that all worries about the war, my father, and Maria have slipped away.