Ask Duncan what he’s going to do about it

“So what do you intend to do with this knowledge, Duncan?” Stewart asks the question evenly, struggling to get his racing heart and thoughts under control.

Duncan laughs easily, and waves his hand as if shooing away a fly. “Don’t worry, brother. I didn’t come here to **** you. What a man does — and whom he does — in the privacy of his own bedchamber should be left up to him. After all, you didn’t rat me out when you stumbled upon me and the future wife of the Earl of T’Bookum, did you?”

“I did not, and you should be thankful that it was I who went looking for why she was late for her wedding,” replied Stewart, feeling his panic beginning to subside.

“But it does make me wonder how my own brother managed to bag a ciguapa, and I knew nothing about it. After last night, I can also say that I don’t blame you. Tell me, is she always insistent upon so many sessions of sexual bliss before falling asleep? If so, I wonder how you manage to function on so little rest.”

“It’s a long story about Chantelle,” says Stewart, trying to deflect the question.

“Well, I’ve got all day,” says Duncan. “I just hope I haven’t spoiled her for you. Now that she has experienced the true thrill that can come only from riding on my lusty stallion, it’s doubtful that she will ever be satisfied with a boring old goat.”

Stewart does not rise to the bait but instead explains how he met Chantelle and how they have maintained their relationship, despite the knowledge that it is forbidden and that the laws of Mirantia will never allow her to be his queen.

Duncan takes it all in and nods gravely. “I assumed it was too much to hope for that she came with the room and that I would get to keep her. Thank you for confiding in me and for sharing — even if unintentionally — such an exquisite creature. I don’t think we’ve shared the same woman since....” He strokes his chin, thoughtfully. “Was it Mother’s beautician?”

Stewart shakes his head. “It was the beautician’s daughter. The mother almost ended up being the last one we’d ever have — shared or otherwise — when her husband came to the palace unexpectedly to visit.”

Duncan nods. “Ah, yes. I still don’t think he totally believed that she was treating our teenage acne with a bath of goat’s milk.”

The young men fall silent for a few moments until Duncan speaks again.

“You know, Brother, now that you are king, you can actually do something about these laws that **** you and — what’s her name again? The blue-skinned vixen who couldn’t get enough of my hard, pounding cock?”

“Chantelle,” replies Stewart, through clenched teeth.

“Right. Chantelle. I’ll need to remember that.... Anyway, what’s to stop you from changing those laws?”

“Because the people would never stand for it. That’s why.”

“How do you know? That’s just what your advisors are telling you, but how often does the king get to hear directly from his people? For all you know, everyone outside the palace is just as eager to experience the soft, sensuous lips and the fantastic oral skills — did I mention what she did with her tongue while her mouth was entrenched on my shaft? — of someone like Chantelle.”

Eager to get the conversation off of Duncan’s running commentary of his night of passion with Stewart’s own magical girlfriend, he says, “And how do you suggest I take the pulse of my people? Invite them into the palace to share their thoughts?”

“No.... No one will tell you the truth; they’ll tell you what they think you want to hear. No, the only way to find out what your people think is to mingle among them, without them knowing who you are.”

“Are you serious? Me venture among the people without them recognizing me? Impossible!”

“Not at all, Brother. In truth, I have done this many a time. Once you are out of those fine clothes and dress like everyone else, there’s nothing particularly distinguishing about you — particularly once you get out of the city.”

Stewart considers his brother’s proposal.