"You’re all a bunch of nervous old women," He sneered, his voice rising. "It’s no wonder the kingdom’s affairs are in such a state with men afraid even to speak the truth. The truth is, the whole royal household has grown fat and lazy, even to defend us, the people. The king is bewitched and sees nothing. The future Queen spends her time with her four mates enjoying their cocks in her nasty holes. The princesses: one derives joy from gossiping, the other acts like she has control but can barely shoot an arrow. And the Prince..." he paused for a second, letting the contempt drip from his words. "The prince is a milk-fed weakling who couldn’t command a chicken, let alone an army."

The insult to the prince was one thing. It was gossip, unwise but common enough. But dragging the king, the heiress, and princesses in a public inn was a line most of them would not cross.

"Scylles, enough!" The voice was firm, and it came from a broad-shouldered young man named Vael, whose father was also one of the elders in council.

Scylles looked straight at him. "What did you just say?"

Vael was known to be good-natured and kind and easy-going, but now his face was set in hard lines. "I said that is enough. You’ve had your fun. You’ve made your point. Let it go."

Scylles’ brown eyes flashed in anger. "Let it go? Who are you to tell me to let it go, Vael? You are afraid of the prince who is not even here. I’m not surprised. Your father licks the boots of the King to get his words acknowledged. I suppose that makes you an expert on what should and shouldn’t be said."

Vael’s face reddened. "I am not afraid. I am just not stupid. And indeed, walls have ears."

A few of the others nodded in agreement.

Scylles scoffed. "Then do not listen." He continued speaking anyway. The drink and his sense of inflated importance had taken hold. He looked at Vael, a nasty smile playing on his lips. "At least my father earned his position. He wasn’t given it because his wife spread her legs for the Queen’s cousin."

The silence that followed was absolute. The insult was specific, crude, and aimed directly at Vael’s mother. It was a violation of an unspoken rule between them.

For a moment, Vael didn’t move. He just stared at Scylles, his face going from red to pale white. Then, with a speed that shocked everyone, he lunged at Scylles.

"You shouldn’t have mentioned my mother!" He grabbed Scylles by the front of his fine tunic and hauled him backward off the bench. His cloak fell off.

Scylles crashed on the floor, his leg hitting the table and sending several pitchers of ale and cups off the table. The women screamed and scrambled out of the way. The young men surged to their feet to separate them.

"You bastard! Your father would agree with me." Scylles gritted.

Vael got on top of Scylles and landed his fist on his face. "You don’t get to make a mockery of my family like yours is any better! Your mother was a damn right whore who slept with her blood brother! And your father can’t keep his damn cock in his pants, that’s why he frequents the whorehouse!" He punched him again.

Two men pulled Vael off Scylles while some helped him up. Scylles felt insulted. He twisted out from those holding him and grabbed Vael. They rolled, grappling, knocking against the legs of the heavy tables. Scylles’ lips were split and bleeding, his eyes wild with a fury he had never felt before.

He regained his balance and shoved his fist into Vael’s chest. Vael fell against the table, head hitting the wood with a sickening thud, and for a second, his vision blurred. There was screaming and pulling. Scylles used that chance to pin Vael to the table. He saw a small knife used for cutting meat lying abandoned on the table near a greasy plate.

Blinded by rage and without thinking, Scylles grabbed the knife. He pinned Vael’s shoulders to the table with his left hand, the knife raised in his right. Vael’s eye went wide, the fight draining out of him, replaced by stark terror.

"Take it back! Take back what you just said about my family!"

"You are a son of a whore!" Vael spat.

Scylles’ eyes widened as he set to drive the knife into Vael’s right eyeballs.

"Scylles, no!"

A strong hand clamped around Scylla’s wrist. It was Orinthal. He used all his strength to keep the knife from descending. The two of them struggled, Scylles trying to pull his arm free.

"Drop it, Scylles! For the love of the moon goddess, drop it!"

Other men joined in, took the knife from Scylles, and helped Vael stand properly.

The reality of what he just tried to do finally pierced the fog of his rage. He saw the terror in Vael’s eyes, the horrified faces of the other men crowded around them, and the whores who were huddled in the corner.

He stood in the middle of the mess, his breath ragged. His fine tunic was torn, his lips throbbed, and he could taste blood.

Vael’s chest was heaving. He looked at Scylles with a mixture of fear and hatred, then he turned and walked out of the room, shoving past the innkeeper who had come running at the sound of the commotion. Orinthal followed him immediately.

With a sound of pure disgust, Scylles ran his hand through his hair and scoffed. He pointed a finger at them, his hand trembling slightly. "Any of you," He said, his voice a harsh rasp. "Any of you who speaks ill of me or my household ever again...I’ll not be so entertaining. I’ll not bother with words."

The threat hung in the air. No one responded. They all looked at him. There was no admiration in their eyes, no respect. There was only shock and a wary distance.

He continued. "If you enjoy these gatherings, keep your opinions to yourselves."

Rathion, after a long moment, let out a breath. "Right. Well, that was something. More ale tapster! We should enjoy the rest of the night." He clapped one of the other men on the shoulder.

A few of them nodded. Slowly, hesitantly, the other men began to move. They adjusted the benches and the tables. They coaxed the women back to their places, though they kept glancing at Scylles in fear. One of the women picked up fallen cups. Another began pouring ale again.

Gradually, the noise returned. The music started once more. Someone cracked a joke, and they laughed.

Within minutes, the room sounded almost the same as before. The young men began drinking again.

But Scylles was quieter now. He leaned back in his chair while the others talked around him. The woman beside him tried to pull his attention back. But he barely reacted. His mind was elsewhere.

He kept seeing Vael’s face pale with terror as he pinned him to the table. He thought about the words he had said, not the insult about his father or mother, but the cautioning words from before: Walls have ears.

He had been quick to dismiss it as cowardice, but now with the taste of blood in his mouth, the words felt different. He had let his tongue run wild, and it had led him here, sitting alone with the smell of ale and his own shame, while others tried their best to pretend nothing had happened and that he didn’t exist.

He hated the fact that Vael and Orinthal might have been right. Scylles hissed as he stood up. He grabbed the woman’s hand next to him and pulled her up aggressively, and they walked out of the room. He needed to pour out his frustration on something or someone, and the whore would do for tonight.

He dragged the whore into the room, pushed her until her hand was holding the wood of the bed. Without saying a word, he pulled down his trousers and raised her skirt.

She let go without hesitation. His hand slid under her skirt, rough fingers digging into the swell of her thigh before dragging her panties to the side. No warning. No teasing. He shoved his cock into her core.

Her gasp turned into a moan when the stretch burned—sharp and demanding. His palm cracked against her hip, fingers biting into the flesh of her hips as he set an unforgiving pace.

"Young master!"

He pushed her to the bed, her position on hands and knees, and her forehead dropping deeper into the sheet as his cock dragged against every inch of her cunt.

"You fucking whore! You’re gonna bear the brunt!" Scylles growled as he fucked her harder, each thrust sending her deeper into the bed.

He laughed darkly. "Don’t worry, I’m gonna toss you as many coins as you want!"

She giggled in excitement at his promise of coins. "Use me, young master. I am yours!"

She had taken his cock in her core a few times, but the way he gripped her this time, fingers bruising, cock driving in deep enough to make her whine, left her overstimulated. His thrust was brutal. Her nails clawed the sheet, her thighs trembling as his hips pistoned against hers, the slap of his balls against her clit the only thing anchoring her to reality.

"A whore can never be mine!" He snarled, one hand leaving her skin to grab a fistful of her hair, pulling her upright just enough that his cock could fuck her even deeper, the stretch almost unbearable.

Her walls clutched around him, desperate and slick, as the first sharp climax forced its way through. He didn’t slow. Didn’t relent. His fist pulled at her hair more strongly, heightening the friction.

"Young master!" She sobbed, her body locking under the weight of his cock, the stretch too fucking perfect as he finally reached the edge too.

Scylles pulled out immediately. He took his trousers and reached for the pocket. He tossed the woman a few coins and signaled for her to leave.

She pulled up her panties and skirt and walked out of the room.