The ministers were quiet.
The room was quiet. The torches guttered. The wind outside howled — the barbarian wind, the cold wind from the northern mountains.
M'baku smiled. The white teeth. The dark skin.
"Years ago," he said. His voice was conversational. Relaxed. "When I was young. The King of Doria — the old king — he brought me and my brother to his palace. He showed us his harem. His favorite. A woman with dark hair and pale skin and the body of a goddess."
His hand went to the woman's breast again. He pinched the nipple. She gasped.
"I fucked her," he said. "All night. In every hole. She was delicious. The king watched. He stroked himself. He signed a trade agreement while I was inside her."
The ministers were silent. Some of them knew. Some had heard the story. Some had been there.
"Then I killed her," M'baku said. His voice was light. Casual. "Accidentally. Strangled her. The king did not mind. He used it for leverage. Asked for compensation. Got more than he gave."
