“My Lord,” Stragen heard a voice call from the door way. He turned slowly, his hands still clasped behind his back. His butler, Terence stood there, tall and proudly, a blank look to his face that belied boredom. “The horses are ready, my Lord.”

Stragen nodded to him but only sighed when he turned back to the window for one more peaceful glance. There was nothing for it. He would need his wits and his guard up from now on, it would be a long, long night.

Stacking the piles neatly, he unhurriedly moved to stuff them in the satchel he would carry, along with a ledger book he could reference if his accounting came into question and a journal of sorts, where he kept notes of past promises and outcomes. Criminal minds tended to gloss over honourable details when it suited them.

When finally he emerged from his office, he walked swiftly down the large corridor that opened to the front entrance, the doors already standing wide and the shifting horses and five body guards clearly visible just outside. He walked around the entrance table that displayed an elaborate floral decoration, but the subtle, temporary change in direction meant his line of sight caught a tiny pair of his own eyes, watching him from behind one of the front study, double doors. He halted.

Shifting his satchel to hitch it higher under his arm, he stared back. A tiny finger poked through the open crack and waggled at him.

Stragen frowned but crouched down and put the satchel on the floor.

“Swan, come out now,” he said quietly and watched the tiny eyes blink and shift backwards so they were further into the shadow. He nodded and encouraged the girl with his right hand, trying to control his impatience. It was he who was in the hurry and his tiny grand-daughter was only curious.

“Swan,” he said more firmly. Slowly the eyes disappeared and a second later, a small girl of five appeared in the door way, her blonde curls tumbling from pigtails over her shoulders. She wore a long, frilly nightgown that tied at the neck with an enormous pink silk bow, and matching tiny slippers with the same but smaller bows over her toes. It was a wonder the girl didn’t choke or trip on them.

Swan moved closer, coming out into the hall. Her hands slipped behind her back and her chin dipped, her eyes lowered and shy, likely for being discovered.

“Where is your mother, darling?” he asked her quietly. Swan’s eyes darted around the floor but she didn’t reply. One hand lifted and Stragen watched as the girl put the cuff of her sleeve in her mouth to chew on it. She swung a bit.

Stragen heard the horses and men waiting outside and he looked to them a moment. There was nothing for it. He had to go or he’d be late. To allow the brethren time in a room without him only left him open for scheming. He looked back to his granddaughter.

Born to his own only daughter, Sophia, Swan had many of his daughters features, even if the girl was barely a girl and no longer a baby. She had beautiful sandy-blonde hair, bright green eyes and a pert, soft pink mouth that reminded Stragen of a rosebud. She was smart and courageous, but unwise with her curiosity a lot of the time. She was frequently rescued from unsafe places, outside and in, and routinely finding ways to be free of any and all supervision. She had a governess too, which was Stragen’s current frustration.

“Terence!” he said loudly and over his shoulder to not startle her. A shuffling of feet came behind him, while Stragen lifted Swan in his arms. When he turned his butler was there, looking between them, a moment of frustration and trepidation colouring his expression before returning to polite attention.

“Where is Sophia?” he asked him impatiently. Terence fidgeted, his eyes darting back to Swan.

“In the city with the Baroness, my Lord,” he told him quickly. Stragen frowned and his butler could see, controlled his outburst.

“And Reba?” he growled then. Terence nodded, his hands already rubbing together in nervousness.

“The kitchen, I believe, my Lord,” he answered.

The silence between them was deafening and Stragen stared at the man with intent and growing impatience. Finally he sighed loudly and set Swan down.

“Swan, go with Terence to find Reba and go to bed,” he told her firmly. Swan, who’d been looking up at him in rapt attention, now dropped her shoulders in apparent defeat. Not one for talking more than a word or two at a time and mostly only to Stragen himself, Swan nodded and moved to take Terence’s hand. The butler looked uncomfortable about it, but took the girl and led her away. Stragen knew his grand-daughter, so after he stooped to re-collect his satchel from the floor her turned and waited for her to disappear from his sight. True to his knowledge, she turned one last time and waved to him, checking to be sure he meant what he said and that he still loved her. He waved back.

Stragen turned on his heel and strode now with purpose and more than enough annoyance fueling his impatience towards his horse, to which one of his men held the reins until when he was seated. Lost in his thoughts, he barely nodded to his head of security to get them started, and followed more than led in the group that surrounded him, when they pounded away from the house and down the long driveway that would take them out and into the city.

Sophia, his twenty-one year old daughter, was Swan’s mother. A teenage mistake to a girl who’d been coddled and spoiled her whole life, Stragen rarely saw the adult version of his daughter now. Swept up in maintaining her freedom and social presence, she cared nothing for the responsibility to Swan, and therefore understood none of the damage her routine neglect was causing her daughter. Unlike his grand-daughter, Sophia had been doted on and handled extensively by her own mother. Never let out of her sight, he had always criticized her for not allowing Sophia any freedoms, even to try things on her own. As a result, she knew nothing of the world outside and especially – and to the intense irritation of her father – of the vices and dangers their world offered, right outside her own front door.

Stragen’s wife, now estranged he considered her, had been a whirlwind love affair. He’d met her young, vivacious, and displaying all of the whiles that interested a young Stragen of nineteen. Full breasts, wide hips that danced and gyrated enough to move the ample gift of the bottom she possessed and knew how to use like a spell on him. Moira was all woman and had the confidence of the stage performer the likes Stragen had never seen. He’d met her at a brethren function, his father attending and bringing his son and heir along for social networking, the girl had been hired entertainment, but not a street décor, she was from a family of well-known dancers that traveled the world. When she’d taken the stage in a costume that left nothing to the imagination, Stragen had been smitten. To his intense but pleased surprise, Moira had cared nothing for propriety either, and she’d taken him for herself in a cloak closet that very first night. He’d told her right then and there, he’d make her his, but she’d only laughed at him. Kissed him warmly and smiled, but she’d laughed at him.

If only he’d taken that hint.

Feeling the cold of the night on his face, he snapped back from the memory. Stragen sat forward in the saddle and felt the horse pick up his pace. In his impatience to get there, his thoughts weren’t helping him to calm down and get focused. Moira was both his deepest regret and deepest weakness. He loved her still, he would love her always, but winds he could hate the very idea of her at times too.

One of the many things they’d disagreed on was the raising of their only daughter. Sophia was born a mere four months after they’d been married. He’d courted Moira off and on for two years. When her troop visited Divik, their affair would flare back up, intensely for the duration of her stay and then simply freeze again when she left. Stragen never took another woman in her absence and he intensely hated their separation but Moira refused to change for him. Whether she took lovers when she traveled, he assumed so, but Moira refused to engage with him on what she told him was her life and her business without him.

That changed when she turned up one day, unexpectedly, at his front door. It had been a downpour, the rain soaked the front driveway and ran from the mansion roof in torrents and rivers, and his father’s butler at the time, hadn’t known her and wouldn’t let her in while she waited for him. When he’d come down the enormous, elegant staircase to see her standing in the open doorway, sheets of grey falling behind her, her cloak had been drooped and dripping and soaked through but wrapped around her shivering body.

He’d nearly not recognized her himself. Moira was vibrant colours and flawless exotic makeup, large hair and jewellery. She was a show star, a performer, a larger than life persona, she was always warm and clean but on this day, she’d been just a girl in the rain, pleading to him for shelter.

Stragen was lost in that memory; the need in Moira’s eyes pulled at his heart even twenty years later. She’d been found pregnant and starting to show. Her parents had told her to rid of it if she wanted to dance, but to keep it meant to leave the stage and fall back to serve the troop. She had no other income save the show and to serve would have kept her fed and sheltered but relegated to the help. To keep the baby, Stragen credited Moira with at least that much heart and fortitude to show up on his door. She’d maintained it was his, and he’d believed her, even if there was no way to prove it.

It hadn’t really mattered to him, Stragen had wanted the baby, wanted Moira, that he’d always been open about. This actually felt more in line with his plans along and he married Moira without hesitation, even though his father disapproved because she brought no wealth or dowry, and her life was too different from his – which would never and could never be changed – he’d convinced him finally because she brought heirs. He had had to agree.

But like all his father’s warnings, after Sophia was born, Moira pulled from him. She doted on the child like she was a pet or doll and spent lavishly to fill her bored life. She treated Sophia more like a friend than a daughter and allowed any and all behaviours and fighting with Stragen when he disapproved or attempted to interfere. He knew his wife was unhappy left at home. He welcomed her finding something to interest her, but he suspected leaving her dancing had broken her in some way. No doubt it exposed for her how much she’d ignored by shoving the real world away to live in unrestrained fantasy and endless adoring fans, that when it came her time to live in it, she’d simply failed to learn how.

Their only interaction now was when one or the other sought solace in some physical comfort. Seeking him in his office in the dead of night, she would simply sit on his desk in front of him or lean over it and drop her robe or he’d find her in her personal suites where she lived away from him and waking her in the night or even interrupting her in the middle of the day. He would take her how he used to, with strength and purpose, a passion that exposed only when he held her this way, he’d say nothing and avoid her eyes until near the end.

Then he would look, right before he crested to finish. To look in those eyes was to acknowledge he was sorry he’d not been more for her, not been her dream and happy life. Then he’d release and she’d follow, howling in ecstasy that he always suspected was masked, unbridled contempt, she didn’t care who woke up or was startled, she rode it out with him, her body yielding to his, melding to his. He knew in some small way, she was weak to him too.

He wondered now if he’d see them together. Mother and daughter once more, daughter following mother in a lifestyle of uninhibited privilege and lavish excess, tempting every danger, every threat with every night they spent in the parlours and salons of the city. Away from him, away from the safety and peace of the mansion estate, away from the humble and noble sanctity of a successful family life. It was as if they were determined to break from him, by any means necessary, including harming themselves, and he just didn’t understand it. He’d never been violent, never prohibited or denied Moira, and in the end, relented even on the upbringing of their daughter. What had he done that was so wrong? It was never far from his mind when he saw husbands and wives together. This night, a proud wife would be dressed extravagantly and fixed to the crook of his arm. Stragen growled under the high collar of his overcoat because he knew he’d be lucky enough if Moira remembered what night it was, let alone was sober enough to stand and converse in any way befitting a baroness.

The magistrate’s offices loomed into view and the group slowed their horses to a trot, their shoed hooves clattering loudly on the cobblestone street. Pedestrians dodged the entourage, stepping aside but staying quiet, Stragen’s richly coloured cloak and horse blanket emblazoned with this house crest clear indication enough he was one of their masters and to give way.

The street lamps gutted in their enclosures, the filthy glass only letting a portion of the light through, casting an ominous light to the streets. He would complain to the colonel when he met him, it was a security concern that let out so little light, to be sure.

The magistrates building was simply the seat of local government for the city. Each of the barons had official offices there, but it was rare any of them were present themselves, they had representatives that dealt with the day to day, including the population. It was a three-story stone monolith in the centre of the city, far enough away from the block house, but not far from the barracks; in fact the complex shared a stable. From the conference room windows on the third floor, Stragen knew the west port and the east gate highway could be scene, as the enormous room took up the entire half of the top floor. He was watching it come closer as they reined it, noting all the windows were brightly lit.

“Welcome, my Lord Baron Stragen,” the steward of the building called out to him and while a small flurry of grooms ran around to collect the horses. “I trust your ride was pleasant this evening?”

Stragen eyed the man while he secured his satchel from his saddle bags. When his horse was led away, he nodded. He nudged his head at the windows above. “Are we late?”

The steward shook his head. “Not at all, my Lord,” he told him immediately. “We await Sir Rabb at this moment. Please, go ahead.”

He moved ahead when the man turned and indicated he should precede him.

Stragen climbed the stairs, feeling none of the exercise. He was attentive to his fitness, preferring to eat well and exercise regularly to ensure good health in his later years. He’d watched his father succumb to alcohol and smoke, his final years a smog of disease and yellow skin, horrid, incessant cough and eventually he’d died in a sick bed, too heavy to move or be bathed, smelling of failed bodily functions and rot. It had disgusted Stragen, he’d vowed to do better. When he arrived at the top, his men were close by, but a few of them huffed to catch their breath; he smirked at them, but turned quickly to head towards the doors.

His personal aide opened the doors for him and stepped aside so he could entre, but did not follow. This was a private meeting, only the heads of the city’s interests were permitted on this night, the exception being the spouses of the invitees, for the short reception at the start.

Stragen stopped dead when he saw Moira lounging comfortably in a deep divan, dressed in a very revealing, purple silk dress with gold shoes. Her necklace of diamonds sparkled around her collar bone like ice fire and her matching earrings dangled and swiveled when she tossed her head. She was talking to Tatiana and her husband, Bane, both women looking like sultry cats, stretched long and facing each other on the furniture while Bane perched on the armrest beside his wife. Moira’s laugh filled the air, but Tatiana had seen him enter and while her smile stayed fixed, her eyes hid nothing that she was amused to already know that he obviously was not aware his wife would be there.

“Darling!” Moira exclaimed when she finally noticed him herself. She stretched and stood slowly from the deep and low seat, her dress slipping smoothly down her thigh where it had been hiked while she’d been seated. She was a vision, he was distracted a moment, but she came to him and touched him seductively, which brought him back to the irritation of the moment.

“What are you doing here?” he murmured in her ear when he leaned to give her cheek a kiss for appearances. Moira never broke character and smiled, while she dragged a hand smoothly down his cheek to cup his chin. She held his eyes a moment and then leaned in and kissed him deeper. It was too much for the present company, but forcing her off would look bad for them.

Stragen grabbed her waist and pulled her hard against him to kiss her back just as deeply. Two could play and at least she would feel his tension about it. When it broke, she did look startled but her mouth recovered slowly it’s seductive smile.

“I’ve missed you, Darling,” she crooned, “and it’s your big night after all. I haven’t even seen our friends in so long, of course I wouldn’t miss it.”

Stragen eyed her dangerously. There was one thing Moira was not allowed to trifle with and that was the brethren. She was not and never would be higher than him, closer than him, or able to replace him. If she hurt him physically or killed him, the brethren were sworn to do the same to her. Rule his house, his family’s disfunction, hell even his bed, but the brethren were his by blood and birthright.

“Stragen, my love,” she said then, her expression softening and warming again. “Come, you need to relax. Winds, what have you been doing all this time? Still cooped up in that stuffy old office of yours? You need to get out more, you need to have fun, Darling!” she teased him and he felt her hand move around his waist while she led him to towards the bar where an attendant polished a glass and nodded in his direction when he noticed him. It was the same attendant every year, the man knew all their preferred ablutions.

Stragen was well aware the other barons and their spouses watched them, likely with some amusement at his expense. It was no secret Moira preferred a more libertine lifestyle than her husband, she was out every night in the city when he was not, and vice and inebriations were the other baron’s lesser spoken of enterprises. Moira was a very good customer.

He came to the bar just as the attendant handed him a double shot of dark, spicy, rum. Stragen nodded to him but lifted it immediately and drank more than half in the first taste.

Moira grinned and wrapped her body tighter around his left arm, her breasts soft and full and close to his face.

“Have you seen our daughter, Moira?” he asked her then, looking into his glass and frowning to look back at her. Unperturbed, Moira’s eyes rolled to the side as she considered it. Her mouth pursed and then she shrugged.

“The Silk Lounge, I imagine, darling,” she replied innocently. “She likes the dancers,” she added with a satisfied grin. She leaned closer and started to pull him back towards the room and the others who were back to their own conversations. “It’s men’s night.”

“Swan was left alone again,” he told her sharply but only above a whisper. “Reba was not with her and she got out of her room.”

He felt Moira release him slowly but maintain her pleasant expression out of the corner of his eye.

“She’s a free spirit, just like her darling mother,” Moira shrugged and suddenly waved a little wriggle of fingers at Droga who smirked at her because his boyfriend wasn’t paying attention.

“She’s alone and unloved,” he replied tersely and moved to pull a seat for her which she sat in lightly. He pulled another for himself and she inched closer. Her hand moved deeply between his left thigh and then higher in between, her mouth hovered over his ear.

“Aren’t we all,” she murmured and licked his earlobe.

He flinched. Angry but not entirely unaffected physically, he stood and smoothed his jerkin back down to cover his lap. He couldn’t respond though, Sir Rabb had just entered the room and the brethren all simultaneously changed character. Each stood slowly and put down a drink somewhere while the spouses reluctantly stood behind them and worked to wipe the expression of distaste from their faces.

“Sir Rabb,” Droga said first and formally. He walked to the front and extended a hand. The big knight reached and took it back, shaking it strongly.

“Droga, pleasure,” Rabb replied. Behind Droga, Tatiana ghosted closer and took his hand next.

“Tatiana, lovely as always,” Rabb said politely then. She smiled for him and shook his hand.

“Pontas,” Rabb said next. The likewise girthy baron nodded and leaned around Tatiana to shake the knight’s outstretched hand.

“Rabb,” he replied gruffly.

Rabb turned then when Stragen was close enough, having been last to stand and approach.

“Stragen, good to see you,” he offered and Stragen nodded and smiled politely in return, moving to shake the knight’s hand firmly.

“And the spouses,” Rabb went on, lifting his hands to indicate the small group that hovered behind the main players. “Everyone looks well, good to see you, I hope your families are well.”

Heads nodded and there were murmurs of thanks, but Stragen was too late to stop his wife by the time he realized she’d passed him.

“Sir Rabb, Darling,” she crooned at him. Moira pressed herself close enough and kissed both his cheeks.” It has been a while, you don’t come for dinner at the Stags Table anymore! Where have you been? We miss your delightful company,” she said loudly and hung lightly on his arm but turned to indicate the room was included in that sentiment. Stragen was fuming, but the room knew the charade and played along. They could give two figs where Rabb ate or socialized, but what they’d appreciated was that he frequented some establishments to show support and solidarity. He’d been absent of late on that account, and Moira was the only one fearless enough to call him out on it.

“Uh, well, Baroness, duty calls,” Rabb replied dismissively, and he tried to gentle untangle her hand from his arm.

But Moira was a pro. She let him go suavely and glided back to her husband.

“Ah well, yes,” she conceded. “Duty is what the queen is paying you for. Of course we all feel safer that you are here,” she added with a masterful dip that showed full cleavage for his viewing pleasure. Rabb only coloured slightly and his eyes bounced to the rest of the group.

“Shall we get started? I apologize for my tardy arrival,” he said to them and everyone nodded while they turned to say good night to the rest of the guests. Stragen stopped Moira by the arm before she could exit the door. He leaned close and spoke quietly in her ear.

“I expect Sophia home with Swan tomorrow,” he told her. “I expect her to spend time and I will see all of you at dinner in my hall,” he added. He leaned back to look at her, but held her arm firmly.

Moira’s eyes flashed in response. “Of course, darling,” she replied with a perfect fake smile. “We’ll all be delighted.”

He released her and watched her go. Droga’s boyfriend Sulan, offered her his arm while Bane did the same and she linked with both of them, laughing at a little joke, like no one else existed.