Crompton stopped beside Sorren as they came to the capital city of Salatia. Even from here, he could see no fanfare prepared for the king. The retinue paused behind them. Crompton could hear murmuring from them, most likely noticing the same. “Do you wish to remain outside the city until you’ve had a chance to rest, Your Majesty, or do you wish to proceed?”
“We’ll go now. I don’t want to spend another night in a cot.” Sorren ran a hand down his face, looking tired with the bags under his eyes.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Crompton clucked his stallion forward, taking the lead for the king’s safety.
Crompton rode up to the familiar gates of Cassen. It was still blocked by guardsmen, but that was of no matter. “Make way for King Sorren of Anatalia and his retinue.”
The guards bowed before opening the gates.
Crompton rode through first, followed closely by Sorren. There were no people lining the streets cheering the foreign monarch, no fanfare, no excitement filling the streets as there had been on previous visits. Crompton couldn’t help but grin. This could be good for him; if King Peralta saw that the people did not welcome the foreign king, he might not either.
The palace came into view, windows gleaming orange in the evening light. Only two members of King Peralta’s council waited for them on the steps of the palace. It was a great insult, and Crompton knew it would not go unnoticed by Sorren. Crompton dismounted, clapping his horse on the shoulder. He bid the king to wait before following suit.
Crompton approached the two council members. “What is this?”
“I don’t understand, Your Grace.”
“Where is King Sorren’s welcome?”
“That is what we are here for.” He straightened himself.
Crompton raised his brow. “Where is the fanfare? The people in the streets?”
The second councilman cleared his throat. “Word has reached the capital of His Majesty’s tax on imports from Salatia that has not been imposed on the other Aratian countries, and they are not happy for it. It has hurt some of their chances of selling their wares in Anatalia.”
“I see.” Crompton tried not to smirk. He had pushed another noble to suggest the tax to replenish Anatalian coffers. He knew it would ruffle feathers, but this was more than he could have hoped for. “Then escort us in, please, so we can refresh ourselves.”
The councilman bowed. “We will be happy to, Your Grace.”
Waving the red-faced Sorren down, Crompton gestured for the king to precede him before following after the king and the Salatian councilman. This boded well—very well, in fact, for him. No doubt, King Peralta was as irritated as his subjects over the new taxes implemented by Sorren, and Crompton would stoke the fire while they were here. Crompton could think of nothing better to do with his time.
“Let the games begin,” he murmured to himself, letting out a pleased snort.
Crompton was making his way to the library to wait for his appointment with King Peralta when he heard raised voices.
“Pig! You are cumbersome and unwanted!”
Crompton waited in the corridor to see if the people would walk past him. The least that would happen was he would enjoy some gossip; the most would be he would have ammunition to use to get what he wanted.
“You could be sleeping with a king,” a familiar voice countered.
“I already am, you buffoon!” a woman yelled, storming past Crompton.
Crompton raised his brows in surprise. That surely wasn’t whom he was expecting. Sorren followed after her, but Crompton reached out to stop him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“After her. Now stand aside,” Sorren commanded.
“You cannot try seducing the Queen of Salatia for your own fun,” Crompton scolded. “Buy a whore like the rest of them.”
Sorren rolled his eyes. “You should have seen the eyes she was giving me. She wants me to seduce her. She’s just playing hard to get by saying no.”
“You’re going to ruin our time here before it even starts,” Crompton raged at the king, but he secretly wished Sorren had been successful in his seduction. “Go back to your chambers; I’ll have a courtesan sent to you.”
Sorren rolled his eyes again. “Remember to whom you speak, cousin.”
“You would do well to remember where we are, cousin,” Crompton countered, standing firm. “Someone will be along shortly to serve your needs.”
“There better be.” With nothing more to say, Sorren walked away.
Sighing, Crompton leaned against the wall. Things would be much easier once he no longer needed to keep up this charade. He would wait until after his meeting with King Peralta to send anyone Sorren’s way. Hopefully, that would make him angry enough to act a petulant child at dinner and further bring relations south.
Sorren wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. Sweat slicked the sides of his neck, and his fingers slid easily against her damp back. He let out a small noise when she moved even closer, wedging herself under his shoulder with her head on his chest. Sorren smiled, tracing circles on her tanned skin. She kissed his chest, nuzzling closer while running a hand down his torso.
“Surely, you cannot be in need of more already?” He nipped at the skin of her arm, producing a giggle from her lips.
She raised a brow, her mouth quirking into a challenging smirk. “And what if I am?”
“Then I’ll have to oblige you,” he growled, pulling her onto his chest.
“Good.” She grinned, planting her hands on his chest while she settled back on his hips.
Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he pulled her forward. “Come here.” He attacked her mouth, planting his other hand against her hip with an audible smack.
She let out a short squeal against his mouth.
The door burst open behind them, shedding light onto their entwined bodies. She jerked, trying to pull away, but Sorren kept her in place.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded King Peralta.
“I do believe I’m taking your wife at the moment.”
Queen Alaxia squirmed, trying to pull away from King Sorren.
He grabbed on to her hips tightly, glaring at her. “We’re not finished, Your Majesty. You can’t go until we are.”
“Take my lady wife to her chambers to clean herself,” King Peralta commanded darkly, his voice nearly a growl. “And ensure King Sorren’s bags are packed. It seems he’s overstayed his welcome.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” One of the guards stepped forward. He pulled off his mantle, covering the queen with it as he pulled her away from the foreign king.
“Husband, please!” Tears streamed down her face. “Please forgive me!”
Sorren rolled his eyes, pulling the bedding over himself. “Stop sniveling. You’re a queen.”
“You, stop talking,” snapped the King of Salatia. “After this day, you are no longer welcome in my home, in my city, or in my country.” With that, he left the room.
King Peralta stormed from the room, waiting until he was in another part of the palace before letting out a yell. He slammed his fist into the wall several times before shaking it out. He turned to look at one of his guards and barked, “Find me Lord General Crompton, and bring him to me in my chambers.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed before scurrying off.
Running a hand over his face, he winced once he realized it was the one with bloodied knuckles. The King of Salatia returned to his rooms, thinking all the while how he would punish his wife. He did not want to be a barbarian and execute her as earlier kings had, but he also could not let her go unpunished. He had just sat in his chair when Crompton entered.
“Your Majesty, you sent for me?”
“I did.” He extended his arm toward the seat in front of him. “I was wondering if you might counsel me, Your Grace.”
Crompton looked at him expectantly.
“How would you punish an unfaithful wife?”
Crompton’s face hardened. “Did he get to her, then?”
“He did.”
“Do you love her?”
“I do.” Peralta slumped back in his chair, covering his face for a moment before recovering himself.
“Has she given you any children, even unborn ones?”
King Peralta hesitated. “No.”
“Then strip her of her lands and titles and send her to a nunnery.” Crompton shrugged.
“And how will the people accept their beloved queen going to a nunnery?”
“Tell them she wished to devote herself to her faith,” Crompton said slowly, thinking as he went. “Have her make the proclamation to the court. Put on a show. She has been visited in the night by an angel telling her she’s barren and her true calling is a sister of the faith, spreading the good word to everyone.”
King Peralta leaned back in his seat, examining Crompton. “A very good idea, thank you.” He grabbed the decanter between them and poured himself a drink. Peralta looked to Crompton, holding until he got confirmation.
Crompton shook his head. “If that is all, Your Majesty, I assume I should be packing.”
“Indeed you should be.” Peralta waved a hand. “You may go.”
Crompton stood and bowed to him while backing up toward the door.
“Your Grace?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
Peralt’s face darkened, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. “You’ll have your war.”
A grin slid slowly across Crompton’s face. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”