Elminster Enraged

cobbled and garden-planted forecourt, he smiled happily. Aye, all in all, the mansion he and Rensharra shared was delightful.

So was having, at long last, a lass who understood his needs, just as he understood hers. Free to both take anyone as a partner for an evening or three, or even a tenday, but contentedly returning to each other’s arms, again and again.

“I believe I’m ready, Lord of Waterdeep,” a husky voice murmured from behind him, a moment before a strong and shapely arm slipped through his.

Mirt turned his head to give Glathra Barcantle a fond smile. “Ah, but you look beautiful, wench. Let’s stroll out and dine.”

“Wench?” Her tone held warning. “Is that a Waterdhavian endearment?”

“It was back when I flourished, girl,” Mirt told her gruffly. “Oh, what now? Is ‘girl’ somehow demeaning now, too? Gods, lass, the way yer dressed, yer sure telling the watching world yer a girl!”

“Your girl, this evening,” Glathra agreed happily, as they strolled out into the forecourt.

Only to see Rensharra Ironstave, in an even more magnificent gown that left one shoulder crested and the other bare, departing the eastern front door on the arm of her gallant for the evening. King’s Lord Lothan Durncaskyn looked decidedly dapper in tailored black, with one of the fashionable new tailcloaks swirling at his every stride.

Mirt went right to Rensharra, and they let go of their respective partners for long enough to embrace, kiss, and wish each other a delightful evening.

“Don’t forget the way home, now,” Mirt warned. “I’ve slaked a haunch in wine, for us to share at dawn.”

Rensharra smiled, then purred, “And I’ve a surprise for us to share, too.”

Mirt growled suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows.

She chuckled. “No, not that, but let me assure you that it’s not a new tax assessment, either.”

Mirt bowed deeply. “Until dawn, then.”

She bowed right back, almost spilling out of her low-cut gown in the process. “Until dawn.”

They all went on their ways smiling, thinking of that bright dawn ahead.