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That issue being my very own father, Silas Tudor.
I never expected the wanka to present himself this evening for dinner or send well wishes to Sarah, for that matter. Against Luxury’s orders, I find myself making long strides in pursuit of him in the North Wing.
Iamlistening to her orders.
Lips set in a line, I quietly argue, “Luxury’s commands should’ve only involved Madeline or anyone included in the cunt’s schemes. Not my father.”
I stop for a second, realizing that I’m quarreling with myself like I had when married. Most men in the House of Tudor loathed individuality when their women were involved. I sort of appreciated the disagreements; great sex followed shortly thereafter. Until I stopped listening.
But this isn’tthat.
This moment will not go down in history as the first time I disregarded my fiancée’s requests. It’s fine.As long as my father doesn’t die.
Energized by that very caveat, I stalk through the hallways. A curse punctuates each commanding step. “Where. The. Bloody. Fuck. Is my father!”
The night staff scamper to me from all directions. Some hold dust thingamabobs while others rub their exhausted sockets.
“Where. Is. He?” I order, grabbing the collar of one particularly daft chap whose yawning in my face. The bloke chokes on his rancid breath.
“Most likely in his cigar room,” he stutters.
Without another word, I’ve unhanded him and stalked off. Not four minutes later, I am standing at the oak doors, which will lead me into the cigar room. I grip both handles and stalk inside, which smells of mild, smoky tobacco and leather. The glow from the various chandeliers adds a soft light to the room. Gripping a whiskey snifter in one hand and a cigar tucked beneath his index digit, Silas nods his head to me. “I expected you sooner.”
“Did you?” Sarcasm reeks in my tone as I amble to the fireplace and grab the whiskey from the mantle. I pour myself a drink.
“War was declared between the Tavarian people and those still in Saudi Arabia since the sheikh’s assassination. Anyone with half a brain comprehends that one must wipe out the entire lineage. Not just the sheikh and his princess. He hasbastardsons, you know.”
“I don’t give a bloody fuck about Al Rafi’s sons.”
Silas sips his whiskey. “All I’m saying is one eradicates all descendants, even the wives. They could claim to be carrying the sole heir later.” Oblivious that I’ve grown stiff, Silas continues to ramble, “I’m surprised you had the balls to murder him without my assistance.”
“Oh, is this the part where I have myself a laugh, Silas? I should’ve groveled and begged you to assist me with murdering a fat old bloke andthe cuntfrom his loins?”
“Stop it!” The flat of Sila’s hand strikes the wooden side table. “Damned the treaty. You signed a stupid piece of paper. You damn well know that I hadn’t expected you to play by the rules, Victor. You never have! Just the thought of you never bearing arms for the sake of your woman is ludicrous.”
“Because of my woman,I won’t kill you today.” I offer a psychotic laugh.
“You’ve deliberated murdering your own father?” He gasps sarcastically.
I glare through him. “The day you placed a rifle in my hand, only fear stopped me from creating a target out of you.”
“You’ve targeted me before, Victor.” The padding of Sila’s index and middle finger slide over the puckered area where I stabbed him with Al Rafi’s pen. “And to think, I’m why you survived a second time. To return home and claim your woman. I resented you in the beginning, Victor.”
“I don’t care.”
“The first child.” He pauses to pull heavily at his cigar. “After a few years of me condemning you with my bare hands, I saw your resilience. Would you have gone back for Luxury if I hadn’t instilled such values in you, boy?”
“Yes,” I reply confidently.
“Ahhh, the Tudor blood is self-assured. Just as sure as you would have gone, you would have died, Victor, devoid of my training,” he spits out. “Perish the bloody thought.”
I pour myself another round, settling back in my seat. “Although I’d rather welcomed that probability, I’ll be man enough to agree with you in that regard, Silas.”
As I scrub my hands through my hair, Silas seems relieved by my agreement. “You created a monster in me, one who’d not shy away from death,” I say. “Nevertheless, the first time I scented the Saudi Arabian air, I was there under an assignment. I craved blood.”
“What’s wrong with that?” The sweet scent of cigar smoke clouds the air.
I roll my eyes away. “I don’t want to kill anyone anymore.”
