"That makes ten, Your Highness. Ten women in a single week. Please... get your senses together."
Harlond's voice was low, heavy with a tired, desperate strain as he stood by the heavy doors of the private drawing room. His posture was stiff, his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back as he looked at the quiet disaster playing out before him.
On the plush velvet sofa, Crown Prince Alderon took a slow, lazy swallow of dark wine from a heavy golden goblet. He sat sprawling effortlessly between two young noblewomen whose bright, chiming laughter still lingered in the warm, perfumed air of the room. One was leaning against his shoulder, her fingers tracing the fine golden embroidery on his tunic, while the other held a cluster of grapes, offering them to his lips with a coy smile.
