The Semerov estate was vast, lying over acres of land in mother Russia, and for the first time in over a century, a new King reigned over its domain.
There was no worthwhile war to wage.
No new conquests to kill for.
It left King Cassius--a bloody-knuckled soldier at heart--incredibly restless.
He lie awake on his bed, surrounded by satisfied bed slaves, staring at the ceiling with excruciating boredom. He was well fed, well-f****d, and incredibly unsatisfied. Pursing his lips, he wasn't sure what he wanted.
Something else.
He'd thought that when he took the title the increased authority would be enthralling, and in the beginning it had. Terrorizing anyone who displeased him, using political affiliation as a new weapon to watch men twice his age squirm--it had made his blood boil
