Giggles, sighs, and moans floated out through the locked door. This night, like those before it, was filled with the same drunken, high, stupid revelry that the banished prince always filled his nights with. Cut off from his kingdom, yes. Cut off from his mother, less so. And cut off from mommy's money, well, even less still. The blonde, Petruchia, was one of seven girls that often kept him company. Ostintibly, the prince suffered from cold-bloodedness and could not sleep alone for the shivering.
That his sources of warmth were whores did not bode polite mentioning, especially where Petruchia was concerned. The dame wasn't a gentlewoman, and she'd knock you upside the head as quick as tumble you if she perceived some slight. A bold one, tart and saucy, ever too brave for her own good. It was really no wonder that, when a commotion from downstairs grew loud enough to interrupt even the banished prince's festivities, she was the one who volunteered to go downstairs and find out what on Earth was more important than the prince getting his dues from his loyal, loyal subjects. Loyal because of the gold, loyal because of the gowns, but loyal nonetheless.
"Oh no. It's bad enough the dame puts on her clothes, but now she takes my sword!" I lament, throwing my hand over my forehead dramatically. "Must you go, fair Petruchia?"
"Shaddup, idiot," She offered, helpful as ever. "Someone's gotta see what's going on, and none a you craven bitches is doin' it."
"But my sword, Petruchia! It were my grandsire's!" I continue, just to watch her riled.
"If yer grandsire knew where this sword 'ad been, he'd be grateful it were leavin' this room," She shot back. That's why I loved her. Quick as a whip and twice as mean.
"And if you don't hurry back into bed, it'll explore a few new places before the night is done."
"An' if they's that's downstairs is looking for your head, it'll explore yer neck," She promised in return, hand on her hip with a scornful look on her face. "Don't flatter yerself, hon. I'm only in this for the coin."