Alaric listened, his body still buried deep inside Eleanor, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The soundscape from the nearby royal pavilion was... pathetic. The weak, rhythmic squeaking of the bed. The tired, shallow grunts. The sharp, contemptuous voice of Queen Kate. And then, the abrupt, ignominious silence, followed by the Queen's furious tirade and the King's pathetic snores.
It was almost too perfect. A symphony of failure and frustration, playing out just yards away while he was delivering a performance worthy of the gods right here against this tree.
He waited another minute, just to be sure. Nothing but the sawing log sound of the King sleeping the sleep of the utterly defeated, and the faint, almost inaudible rustle of Queen Kate presumably seething on her side of the cushion wall.
This was an opportunity too good to pass up.
