"Truly, Alpheo, you are far too soft in your mettle for the man most people paint you to be''
Merelao lounged across a carved velvet settee in the guest solar, looking entirely at home in a chamber that did not belong to him.
He had just emerged from the bathhouse, naked as the day he was born save for a crimson silk robe loosely cinched at his waist that covered everything but hid little.
When Alpheo had first pushed open the heavy oak door and beheld his ally glistening like a freshly oiled pagan idol, the King had offered to return at a more modest hour.
To which the Mad Bull had merely laughed, declaring he would require the rest of the afternoon just to dry his golden curls, before throwing the doors wide and summoning his guest inside as though he were the sovereign and Alpheo the supplicant.
