Chapter Five
A crisp cool morning in Illusia, the sovereign stared out his windows looking longingly on his realm. He walked the corridors of the castle in the afternoon, moody and gruff with anyone who passed him. In the evening, his loins were locked in battle, the intensity of his desire undiminished by any act he tried to contain or to vent the s****l fury in him. The castle tarts that played like mice in his bed had about as much substance as their rodent counterparts. He was bored with them and angry for wanting them again. Angry for not wanting them, too. Angry because he couldn’t be satisfied with anything less that what he was accustomed to.
“Damn her!” he roared to the inconstant, fickle heavens. He would shake his fist that way, but it would do no good.
“Sir, you’re unusual
