Page 76 of The Sun King's Noon

Four men, a good decade older than him, sat around a circular bench, laughing raucously. They were a mix of occupations—a red-bearded farmer, a bald butcher in an apron, a lazy-eyed bookskeeper, a ruddy-cheeked carpenter with sawdust coating his shoulders. But all wore the comfortable clothes of men with coin, and leered at the two youngsters crammed between them.

Richard set his spoon down, unease building. The girl and boy could not have been more than twenty, both slight and dressed brightly—she in a red bodice over a cream blouse, he in a vibrant green tunic. Circus folk who spoke with a Northern Ardenian twang.

These two were his people.

The men laughed again.

“—go on, sweetling, we’ve been patient?—”

“—tell Benno what you told me, tell him about the barn?—”

The girl tossed her hair off her shoulder and inclined forward, her bodice gaping. “Oh, I don’t know.”

The bookskeeper across from her placed a copper coin onto the table with a wink.

“Alright, alright.” The girl plucked the coin and tucked it into the top of her bodice. “The barn. So there’s this boy, right, from my village. So he takes me up into the hayloft, and I thought we was only going to kiss, but well—” She simpered, and the menleaned in as one. “He gets down on his knees right there in the straw, and he puts his mouth on me.”

“On your what, sweetling?” The carpenter leered, his vowels elongated in the standard Estaran accent. “Don’t be shy now, we’re all friends here.”

She blushed. “On my cunt.”

“Ohhh—”

“Ohhhh, listen to her?—”

“And?” the farmer sitting by her rumbled. His arm was slung along the back of the bench, and his fingers drifted to caress her shoulder. “He ate you, did he, this farm-boy of yours?”

“He ate me out till I was screaming,” she said, pleased. “Screaming into the hay I was so his brother wouldn’t hear from the yard.”

“Fuck yes,” the farmer breathed. His fingers now circled her inner arm. “Fuck yes, I bet you did. Bet you were loud as a cat in heat, weren’t you, lovely. Bet he had to hold your legs down.”

“He did.” She giggled. “And then, he—he used his fingers.”

“Good lad,” the butcher groaned. “And did he know what was what, or did he poke around like a man hunting for his keys in the dark?”

“Fuck you, afterwards did he?” the bookskeeper smirked, laying down a coin of his own.

The girl pretended to think about it, curling her hair around a finger. “He did. Like a bull, he was.”

A ripple of cheers resounded, and Richard’s stomach lurched. He peered at the youngsters—the girl with hair as long as Elara’s and the boy whose smile dimpled like Corwin’s—and resisted the urge to stand.

These two were of age. They had taken the coin. It was none of his business what arrangements travelling folk made with drunken villagers in a tavern. There were brothels even in High Ardenia, and so long as the workers were adults, had the optionto leave, and stayed clear of minors, Richard had let them be. While he thought little of the paying clients—indeed, he’d made it plain to Elara and Corwin he’d wring their necks if he ever heard of them frequenting such a place—he understood the need to work. Not everyone, after all, grew up in a castle with their every need catered to. And some of the workers had hungry mouths to feed.

But staying silent now was proving difficult. Clenching his hand around the tankard, Richard tried to concentrate on the mission. The plan?—

“Now, you lad.” The bookskeeper licked his lips, ogling the boy. “Your turn. Come on. You got a pretty mouth, boy, don’t think we haven’t noticed. How many cocks have you had in it?”

The boy’s smile wavered. “Oh, now, I don’t?—”

“Two coppers says he’s had three.”

“Three? You’re insulting the lad.” The bookskeeper placed four coppers down. “Come now, lad. Tell us.”

The boy glanced at his friend and declared with a grandiose confidence, “Six.”

“Six!”

“Ha! Knows what he’s doing by now, no doubt?—”