Her pleasing, soft body was distracting, which was exactly what he wanted. What he needed. When he touched her rounded curves, he didn't think about Arie. All he thought about was the bounce of her body and the feel of her tight cheeks around him. Her harsh, feminine cries were music to his ears.

Harder, firmer. He wanted her to scream. He wasn't gentle; he yanked the whore's hair to force her head back. The slaps of flesh on flesh were heard, drowning out the heavy thump and clatter outside. Then the twin heavy oak doors flung open. In his private quarters stood the Lady Shadowglade, staring at him as he defiled a woman he paid to touch him.

He was cross. His brow knotted. He immediately stopped what he was doing. He hadn't yet finished, but he was done now.

"I said..." Kia growled as he pulled himself out and searched for a blanket to momentarily cover himself, "that I was to not be bothered. Who the fuck are you, and what did you do to my guard?" He could see from the opened door that one guard stood gaping, wide-eyed and slack-jawed from anger and shock, and the other was lying on the floor. A finger twitched. He was very, very dead.

Lady Shadowglade had somehow forced her way inside, into the barge, and directly through his entire security team. The slam of the doors opening stirred the air and whipped the black and crimson of her gown and cloak about her like the unfurling of a raven's wings. Her face was a mask of cruel, cold beauty, and she stepped over the corpse, hitching up her skirts so that even the silk of her dress wouldn't touch something so far beneath her.

"I," she said, pausing at the foot of his bed, eyeing him. "am Lady Lillandyr Shadowglade, Marquis of the Third Quarter. Your sovereign." Her voice was a dulcet purr and held a haughty lilt. She kept her sharp chin lofted and her cold, glittering gaze on him. His nudity and the rounded ass of the woman he'd been mounting.

Kia was impressed by the sheer gall of the woman, but he didn’t allow his expression to shift. He wrapped a blanket around his waist and cracked his hand across the whore's fleshy behind. She whimpered, and knew it was a dismissal. Naked, she made herself scarce, too eager to escape the murdering noblewoman and the drug lord.

The Old Dog didn't bother dressing immediately. He took his sweet time. He found a smoldering cigar in a glass ashtray and tucked it between his teeth. Only then did he collect his shirt from the floor and searched for his pants. As he began dressing in front of Shadowglade, never minding modesty, he grunted back to the trespassing noblewoman. He didn't bother hiding himself.

"To what do I owe this... intrusion?" Not pleasure, he thought. Fucking rude break-in.

She lofted a golden brow. Displeasure made her look pouty, not sour. "You turned away the Maester of my pleasure houses when he sought an audience," she said smoothly. She didn't look bothered by his lack of dress. Her gaze lingered far too long on his ugly body for a lady of her stature. But she did not flush. "Thus I had to make the visit myself." Agitation crept into her sweet voice then and her eyes narrowed.

The raven in the corner of the room squawked quietly and curiously. The bird shifted his weight on his tall, wooden perch. His feathers puffed and bristled at the demanding, authoritative tone of the unfamiliar female. At times, the creature mirrored the uncomfortable feelings of his owner.

He buttoned his shirt, one at a time, facing the mirror. Kia was only partially listening. A heavy hand slicked back his mostly gray, long hair that brushed well past his shoulders and dangled near the small of his back. He didn't look dapper. He didn't look well put together. He always dressed like a baker or a farmer, a fisherman or a cobbler in plain, worn tunics and pants. He straightened his collar with an amused half-smile.

His pink burn scars were raw and ugly, like a flayed animal, and stretched across half of his face. The disfigurement didn't allow for a full smile. His grins were always physically lopsided and uncomfortable. The muscles yanked and pulled when he tried.

He really needed to do something about his security, he thought to himself. Two break-ins in one evening. Something needed to change. Maester of the pleasure house? He asked himself. Oh, right. The faggot ponce. He remembered now. He spun on his heel, turning away from the mirror to look back to Shadowglade.

"Right!" he agreed in a sudden and unexpected quip. "So. You're here now. Can I get you something?" He removed the cigar from his lips and motioned to the bar in the corner. Crystal vials, flagons, and decanters of all shapes, sizes, and colors held an array of alcohol to choose from. Many were exotic and from faraway places. Others were brewed close to home.

Shadowglade was clearly appeased by his offer for a drink and at having his full attention. Even though he towered over her sumptuously curving figure, she managed to look down her nose at him. With a flourish of silks and the black shine of her jackboots snapping smartly over the floor, she inspected his collection of alcohol. She lifted a decanter of brandy and poured herself a glass half-full of the thick, amber liquid. Her gaze stayed on his unpleasant face and she sipped delicately. It was one of the more expensive vintages there. She wrinkled her nose, however, as though she were being forced to drink horse piss.

"I require the head of the captain who is fucking my whore," she said. All business. Her speech was terse and curt, her tone cold.

As she busied herself at the bar, Kia made his way to close the door of his room. Both guards were missing now. One went to dispose of the body of the other, he assumed. The sturdy doors shut with a satisfying click.

There, now they could talk privately. He was no stranger to entertaining noblemen and women. They streamed in and out of his life every day, dropping gold, gifts, and pleasantries. He serviced them well. Yet none were as influential or powerful as Shadowglade. This was a first. He had never met the woman face to face, but they had revolved around one another's worlds for decades now. He wore a polite facade to her, as polite as he could manage. He intended to hear her out, humor her. And, for the sake of politics and good business, try to appease her as best he knew how.

"Oh yeah?" he asked as he approached her and poured himself a drink from a mostly empty bottle. It was a cheap whiskey, the one he liked. Unlike her, he didn’t fancy the more expensive and foreign tastes. He was a man still clinging to his roots.

"Who's that?" he wondered with only partial interest, eying her up and down. He meant to be discreet, but he was painfully obvious. She was rounded and young, her lips painted, and her hair spilled honey. He noticed this.

She did not bend or quiver under his scrutiny nor did it seem to please her. Her face was a porcelain mask. Lillandyr’s gaze was clever and shrewd, sharp. She seemed to mentally note every move he made. There was a naked sort of hunger to her, but it wasn't lust; it was far too cold a burn for arousal. The rumors of her unsettling presence and beauty did not do her justice.

"His name is not known to me." She waved a hand sparkling with enough gems to feed the city's poor. "He frequents the Gilded Lily and beds my favored courtesan, Belindra. She is refusing men in her bed and calls only for your captain. She turned away the Marquis Eversun from the First Quarter." She let that hang in the air. It was a grave and great insult. Wars had been started for less. "I will have his head to appease Eversun." Her tone suggested no compromise.

Kia plucked several ice cubes and dropped them into his glass of whiskey with a clatter. None of this was his concern, he thought. He didn't care who fucked whom – unless it personally affected him. This was trivial. Inconsequential. He didn't care what his men did on their off times, unless it was explicitly against his rules. Sticking their cocks into whatever whore was the least of his problems. In fact, they worked better when they were happy. He reflected for an excruciating amount of time, simply letting silence linger in the air between himself and the noblewoman. He sipped the whiskey, letting it sourly burn his throat. Then he dragged on his cigar before he replied.

"Well, my lady," he said as his good eye fixed on her perfect face, "That makes it a tad harder to narrow down, doesn't it?" He gave his lopsided smile, the gold tooth shining in his mouth. Cocky and arrogant, he shrugged his big shoulders and stepped away from her to the center of the room. "And you expect me to kill him if I do figure out who is riding your whore?" he asked with a touch of salty irritation. "No." He shook his head and spoke with gruff finality in his tone that didn’t allow room for argument. "I don't think so. You know how hard it is to find someone to work for me that is worth trusting these days? I don't think it's a big enough offense to just... pfft." He waved a hand for emphasis. "Kill one of my top people for merely dipping their wick, you know?"

There was a flash of stark surprise over her lovely face. Her eyes widened and color rose to her cheeks. There was a darkness that moved over her expression, coldness. Her full lip lifted in a sneer.

"It is far from trivial," she shot back, downed her drink and cleared her throat. "It is far from trivial because I say it is." She didn't sound childish, she sounded very angry. "Your inconvenience doesn't concern me. I allow you to ply your filthy trade in my Quarter. My guards turn a blind eye to your drug peddling." She stepped around him, filling his space with the whisper of silk and her perfume. Ripe peaches and cognac. "But there will come a day, Kia Sin'del, when I no longer turn a blind eye and suddenly..." She ran her tongue over her lip. She smiled. It was show of teeth, of aggression, "I notice you." The smile was smug, self-satisfied. She exuded haughty confidence. "And if I make you my little hobby? All of this," she gestured with a wide sweep of her slender arm, "stops."

Kia folded an arm across his chest. With his other hand, he tipped his whiskey back. He stared at the Lady Shadowglade carefully. He picked her apart, piece by piece. Her words rolled around in his mind. He weighed them. Measured them. He didn't fear her, but he didn't underestimate her. Like him, she had a fierce reputation. He couldn't discount it. They both had their armies and their firepower. They could be pitted against one another fairly evenly.

But did he want to start a war over this? He knocked back what was left of his drink; the sweaty ice cubes clinked and clattered as he set the glass down. He ran his hand down his very long, mostly silver goatee that brushed his chest.

"Hm," he said in consideration. "You're threatening me." It wasn't a question; it wasn't a loud and angry declaration. It was just an observation. "I could," he said as he stepped away from her, "wrap my hands around your small, feminine neck." He, too, stepped around her. He began to circle her like a shark. They danced, verbally and physically, sizing one another up to discover who the most terrifying monster in the room was. "And snap it. Crack. Just like that, Shadowglade." He jerked his callused hand into a balled, tight fist right beside her cheek. Too close. His heavy, strong, dark hand was too close and too dangerous. His lips were near her long ear as he passed her by. His mouth glistened with cheap, wooden whiskey. He grinned. His lip lifted like a snarl of a big gray wolf. "But I won't. For the sake of our... working friendship, I will acquiesce to what you want, on one condition."

She cut him a narrowed, thin glare. More color rose to her face but she didn't tremble. She stood her ground. Her posture was straight and graceful and she canted her head so that curling tendrils of soft, perfumed hair fell over a shoulder. Her smile faded as his breath, stinking with cheap booze, washed over her elegantly curving ear. She shifted her weight once and the satin and silk of her dress rustled. The bangles on her wrists chimed. "I am listening," she said in an even, patient tone.

He stopped his pacing directly behind her. He loomed, his frame towered. "Blood for blood, Shadowglade!" his voice boomed theatrically and unexpected. It was a blast of baritone. "I will kill my captain on the condition that you kill your whore. We will be even then, and both of us satisfied." He was purposefully invading her personal space against her backside. He knew she could feel the heat of his colossal body against her skin. His thick, fleshy hand almost touched her shoulder. She tilted her head ever so slightly, glancing at him.

But then he stepped away to refill his glass of whiskey. He caught her perfume in passing. It was delicious, succulent, reminding him of summertime and sunshine. The glasses clinked as he poured the decanter of amber alcohol. He then corked it and went on.

"Sound fair? If you want, if you don't trust me... and considering my profession and reputation, I don't blame you, we can make a show of it." He swirled the whiskey in his glass as he turned back to her. "Do it in your presence."

She would be an excellent card player, for her expression changed little. Her lip had quirked at the corner as though she were fighting off a sly smile. It never blossomed over her pouting lips, however and not even the ghost of it lingered now. She kept her serpent's gaze, cold and bright, on his face, as if she were committing every ugly mark against it to memory. Finally, a slow, easy smile spread over her lips and lit her delicate features. She was achingly lovely when she smiled.

"Very well." The smile fled, giving way to the dark shadows in her eyes. "Deal with your man and I shall deal with my whore." She looked briefly thoughtful, cutting her glance to the doors. "I extend you my trust. See that you don't disappoint me, Mister Sin'del."

She took two steps back and for a brief moment she looked at the bed, sheets rumpled. She grinned crookedly and swept into a formal bow, a low dip that gave him a generous glance down her sharply cut gown. She flung open the doors and scattered his guards and employees. Any revelers left awake found themselves sobering. Her jackboots clacked against the wooden deck of the West Lion. She was gone, the double doors snapping closed behind her.

Truthfully, he could not have cared less about who his captains bedded, or who was in love with whom. It didn’t matter. He knew he ought to care for political purposes, but he couldn’t, even when he tried. He didn’t want to waste his time on it, even if it bothered the sovereign herself. Besides, hunting down all of his captains to a single place would take an extraordinary amount of time and coordination.

Many were clear across the world and doing their jobs. He wasn’t going to summon and interrogate them to find out who had been bedding a whore. It simply wasn’t worth the effort.

An upright piano stood against the corner of his room. Books, papers, and half-finished bottles of cheap alcohol cluttered around the keyboard. Two idols rested on top of the piles. One peered downward like a leering gargoyle. It was a statue of Ysimul, the goddess of fortune and luck. She had a hooked long nose and a plump, fat belly. Layers of beads and jewels adorned her neck. A dark, glittering ruby sat between her bare, fat breasts. There was a greedy, sinister, trickster smile carved into her broad, rounded face.

Beside her was a second idol, far more feminine and beautiful. The idol was of a young woman. She was a dancer, and her statue was carved in pure ivory. The long, sweeping motion of her gown and limbs was described in organic, curving lines as if to express music and nature. She was Eryss, the goddess of the arts.

Kia was religious man. He had been to a temple of Eyrss perhaps five times in his life. He had visited a temple of Ysimul only once, when he was a younger man living in harder times. He did not make sacrifices, nor did he breathe a word of why he had these statues or that he even paid them any notice. But he did. He paid homage to both goddesses nearly every day.

He felt that Ysimul kept his business safe and profitable. But he had Eyrss in his life for a far more personal reason.

He sat down on the piano bench. He picked up his gold, wire-rimmed reading glasses and slid them on to the end of his nose.

Matthias the raven flapped his heavy black wings to join him. The bird perched on top of Ysimul’s wide head. He sharply tipped to the side, looking down at Kia to watch curiously. It was a nightly ritual between them. The bird sat and watched as the Old Dog played well into the night.

He was an excellent musician. Music spilled from the room and reverberated across the halls. His good grand piano was at home. This one was smaller, more portable. It was older and needed to be tuned. The wood was peeling, and the junk he collected threatened to devour it whole, but it expressed his feelings as they crashed along the sea.

His broad, rough fingers communicated something more delicate inside of him. Through the dance of his hands along the black and white, he wove a story. He sang of anger, his glasses threatening to slip off his nose and his gray hair shrouding his face. Kia’s lip curled and he snarled as he pounded across the keyboard. Then he gradually slowed and sunk into something softer. His pace became sweet as he played a more fragile, delicate piece. It was quiet and he touched the ivory with just a gentle caress. His feet pressed the brass petals below. He played the inked notes of the sheet music until his brain and fingers were fatigued. Matthias the raven was his only audience. The bird was silent as he listened and watched with reflective, dark eyes.

He removed his reading glasses and folded them. He set them into the piano. He knew what he was going to do.

Kia plucked a clean piece of paper from the stacks that sat on the piano. Then he grabbed a jar of ink and a quill pen, made from one of Matthias’ fallen feathers. He scratched a quick note and attached it to the raven’s leg.

“Bring this to captain Tyrin,” he told the bird as if the animal understood. Matthias slapped his wings loudly into the air and glided out an open window.

When the morning came, captain Tyrin was at his door. He had expected him to come. Kia invited him to join him for breakfast in the city.

They sped across the waters on a small boat from the barge to the harbor of the Imperial city of Belshalara. It took an hour. The salt winds streamed through their hair and the morning sunburned away the fine mist. They rode in silence, and Kia reflected on what it was he was about to do.

It was about respect. He knew what Tyrin had been doing behind his back with Arie. They flaunted it in front of his employees. They were both making a fool of him. He couldn’t risk appearing weak. Since the Old Dog wasn’t about to question each one of his captains about the whore, this would be killing two birds with one stone. He was going to satisfy Shadowglade while making a display that he was not pathetic or to be trifled with in front of his people. Kia knew that Tyrin hadn't fucked that whore in the Gilded Lily. He also knew that Shadowglade didn’t truly care if he was punishing the right man or not. That’s not what politics were about. It was unfortunate, because Tyrin was a good man, a good captain, despite his dalliance with Arie.

He knew he needed to make a big display. He needed people talking about how big, ugly, and mean he was. He needed people to be whispering his name in the dark with fear and trepidation.

But first, he was going to eat.

Tyrin seemed hesitant and uneasy at first. Kia didn’t usually go out to eat with his men. While it wasn’t completely unheard of, it was just that Kia, unlike the previous boss, was a very private man. He worked too hard and was too busy to get to know many of his people on a personal level. Kia could tell by the look and body language that Tyrin was a little worried that he was going to confront him about Arie. But he wasn’t. Throughout breakfast, he kept the conversation surface level and light. Kia even made several small jokes and cracked a grin.

Tyrin was a young man half his age with short, black hair, tanned skin and a charming grin. He was easy to talk to, easy to like. His eyes glittered with intelligence and interest the more and more he and Kia conversed. Kia could tell that his walls were falling and the man seemed more relaxed. Tyrin became comfortable enough to tell several dirty jokes. He was the kind of guy with a permanent five o’clock shadow and dark, sultry eyes that women fawned over. Kia could see a man like Tyrin with a half a dozen or so women on the side. He wanted to like him. The afternoon crept in and they both settled in their creaking, wooden seats.

They ate in the Industrial Quarter. The Industrial Quarter housed the city’s harbor and was the portion of the city that Kia knew best. He had a lot of business here with the factory workers and the access to transportation that zipped in and out of Belshalara. But he needed to make it to the Flesh Quarter. Lady Shadowglade’s turf.

The lie was easy. Someone owed them money and he wanted Tyrin to go with him. Kia wasn’t normally a liar, but he made it sound convincing enough. He was normally forthright, blunt, and honest – which was an unusual trait for someone in the business of drugs, people trafficking, and gambling. Beating someone for lack of payment was a common practice in his line of work, but normally it was given to bruisers. Not the job of the top commander. Yet Kia was known for getting his hands dirty and not being afraid to do the basics.

They passed through dark alleys on cobbled streets. Belshalara was a vast city with many crevices and packed, ramshackle homes. It was the capitol of the country of Patri'ae. Children laughed, played in the stagnant puddles with swirled oil rainbows. Belshalara was a vast city laid out in a giant circle. Each spoke was divided into a Quarter. And each Quarter was dedicated to a god and ruled by a Marquis. The Flesh Quarter was the red light district. Kia remembered when it was a putrid, cankerous cesspool. But since Shadowglade had taken over, it was now profitable and the improvements were noticeable even in the smallest details. The streets were cleaner and disease less rampant. It was now a functional cog in the whirling wheel of the city.

Along the way, Kia found a large wooden tree limb that served as a good walking stick. It was as thick and broad as his wrist. He stripped away the stray twig branches. It was perfect. He didn’t tell Tyrin where they were going.

They walked and casually talked. It was a pleasant conversation. Tyrin was the youngest in his family of coopers, barrel builders. He had an older sister who was pregnant. She didn’t know who the father was. Only Tyrin knew about the child’s questionable parentage, and she was soon to be married to her lover. In a few weeks, actually. He was from Belshalara.

They encroached on the Flesh Quarter. Tyrin seemed none the wiser. He was relaxed and chatty, his belly full of pork sausage links, biscuits, and coffee.

They passed by the Gilded Lily. That’s where they stopped.

It was a high-class whorehouse owned by Lady Shadowglade. They did not open their doors to merchants and commoners, only noblemen and important businessmen with gold to spend. It was a beautiful, tall whitewashed building that jutted out of the skyline. Scarlet banners bearing the Lady’s twisted, black tree symbol flapped outside. Golden filigree accented the arched, stained glass windows.

It wasn’t the architecture that stopped them in their tracks. It was the corpse hanging from the tree, twisting in the wind directly outside the Gilded Lily.

She was probably once a very beautiful girl. Without question, she was one of Lady Shadowglade’s whores. Her hair was shining and black, though now frayed from the exposure. Ravens had landed and already feasted on her eyes. Her skin was ashy and cold. The branch creaked as a small breeze picked up, and turned her to face the two men far below. She looked down on them with empty, dead sockets.

There was a black “K” painted on the front of her soiled, thrashing gown. This was for him, Kia knew. This was the whore. Lady Shadowglade kept her end of the deal. Now he must keep his. It was callous and regrettable, but necessary. Although Tyrin was the sacrificial lamb, he wasn’t completely innocent, either. Tyrin passed Kia a questioning look, as if to ask if he knew what it meant. The Old Dog shrugged. A voice near them piped up and butted in. Kia’s good eye shot to the side and squinted. An aged woman in a scratchy brown shawl shook her head remorsefully.

“Shame, isn’t it? So pretty. General Sunmourne came in the night. That Unquenched. If you ask me? It’s not right. A servant of Nehmain working under our dear Lady Shadowglade. Killing our courtesans and ruining the city. It’s not right. They shouldn't even be in the city.” The old woman looked up and gestured to the whore’s corpse, twisting in the breeze. “It’s not right,” she repeated in a whisper.

Kia humored her and merely nodded. Some old coot.

He patted Tyrin on the shoulder in a friendly, encouraging, let’s-move-on way. His walking stick clacked against the stone road.

Kia led them to the wrought-iron front gates of Lady Shadowglade’s castle. Buttery, early afternoon sunlight beat down on them. Shadowglade’s armored guards stared at the two ruffians carefully, uneasily. They did not belong here. It was clear that the guards were waiting for them to do something. They clutched their steel halberds tightly and shifted their weight.

Tyrin turned to Kia and blinked, as if to ask what it was they were doing here. He didn’t reply, nor look at his captain.

“Hey! Shadowglade,” Kia shouted in his gritty and rusted voice. He projected, aiming his yell to the open balcony in the stone turret. Citizens and passersby turned to look at the large, ugly elf hollering at Lady Shadowglade’s manor. He also certainly had the guards' attention now. Good. He wanted as many people to see as possible. He knew that Shadowglade herself might not see, but that was fine. She would hear about it.

“Shadowglade!” he cried again. Then he lifted his walking stick and turned to Tyrin. He stared him in the eye as he bashed him across the skull with a loud crack. The sound bounced off the brick streets and open air. It was a dry snap of wood on bone. It happened in slow motion. He could see Tyrin’s look of surprise and horror before a burst of blood exploded from the boy’s ear. A second swing and Tyrin crumpled to the ground.

The stick snapped into splintering halves as he continued to bludgeon his captain to death. The more and more he destroyed him, the more rage and fire scorched in his belly. “You fucked her,” he snarled. “You fucked my woman.” Jealousy, hate, and wrath fueled him and spoke through his tight grip on his bat. Tyrin’s warm blood splattered across his contorted, disfigured face and freckled his teeth.

It wasn’t over until the guards began peeling him off the ruined corpse. Tyrin’s head was a raw pile of blood, bone, and hair. It wasn’t even recognizable as once being a body part. It was just a mound of splattered meat.

He tried to wrench himself free from their grip. His bat slipped from his fingers in the struggle. A crowd had gathered. The second guard was attempting to stave off the citizens' shock, horror, rubbernecking, and jeers. Backup had been called and a dozen or so armored guards came to subdue Kia Sin’del.

It garnered the attention he wanted. It got Shadowglade to come out of her tower and look. He saw her staring from her balcony with an expression of detached distaste. With a wave of her hand, she commanded the guards to release him.