I was not going to refuse you, Karina,” Arel said.
And they went off to dance.
The servant carefully placed a mint green envelope on the table in front of Kors:
“This is for you, sir,” he bowed politely.
“What is it?” Kors was surprised.
“I don’t know, sir, they just asked me to tell you.”
“Who?”
“This letter was given to me by a lady’s slave, sir.”
“Father! It seems that some red lady wants to meet you,” Karina laughed.
“What?” Kors waved his hand towards the servant. “Good. You are free, you can go.”
He opened the envelope, inside there was a note.
“I am writing to you first, and that already says it all. What else can I add, knowing that now you have the right to punish me with contempt, but…” and then everything in the same spirit.
Kors smiled, amused by this situation, but at the same time flattered that only he was sent a love note:
“So they are not as hammered as they might seem? She won't be executed for this?” He turned to Karina.
“But you won't tell anyone and you won't compromise her?”
“No, of course, but I will not approach her either.”
“And you won't ask her to dance?”
“No,”
“But why?”
“I’m not interested in faceless circumcised women, and to be honest, they are all too fat here.”
Karina laughed again:
“This is the daughter of the head of the Green House, she may well not be circumcised, not all red men adhere to these rules, there are those who are quite loyal and give their women freedom, don’t mutilate them for the sake of traditions. If she dared to write you a note, it means that she is quite free in her manifestations, it simply would not have come into the head of an obedient circumcised woman.”
Kors looked towards the part of the room where the family members, whose color was green, were sitting at the tables:
“She's wearing a veil, and I can't see her face, maybe she's ugly.”
“Invite her to dance and see.”
“Let her write notes to Arel, he is a handsome prince, and I am already old for this. I'm not interested in flirting.”
“Dad, don’t sell yourself short, well, what the talks of being old?! If she is so disposed to you, I think that business may not be limited to flirting.”
“So that her relatives would force me to marry her later? Well, no,” Kors laughed.
He brought the note to the candle, burning it:
“Let her look for someone else.”
But in his heart he was very pleased that this girl singled out him, and not young and beautiful Arel sitting next to him.
24
Blood ties
And the holiday went on.
Vitor Kors, Nikto and Arel left the main banquet hall for a while and went to the room that the reds called the hookah lounge, and for the blacks the hookah was a curiosity.
Vitor Kors was sitting on a soft sofa, buried in brocade pillows. In his life, he had already tried this fun of the reds, and he liked it. Therefore, he enjoyed the moment and, at the same time, with his arm bent at the elbow, he relaxed hugged his Nik, who sat next to him, around the neck. Kors pressed his head to his chest, kissing the bright top of his head every minute. Nikto didn’t resist at all and allowed Kors to hug him and press him to himself as he wanted. With his free hand, Kors stroked his bangs. Nikto’s ponytail had long been disheveled, but Kors didn’t care now. He didn’t brush his hair anymore, he didn’t alter his tail, he just stroked and fiddled gently through his hair, ran over the bangs that obscured Nik’s face and his eyes, without removing it or opening his face, stroking him like a beloved pet – a cat or a dog.
Only sometimes, between puffs, he nevertheless slightly shifted his white hair aside, leaning towards the face of Nikto and kissing him gently on the forehead or eyes:
“I love you, I love you, let me kiss you on your such beautiful long eyelashes…”
Lis’ father entered the hookah lounge, he winced, trying not to inhale the smoke, Igmer clearly intended to disturb their bliss, and Kors looked a little questioningly and arrogantly at him, not caring at all about his reputation and what Igmer might think, did not change his posture and didn’t let Nikto go.
“Vitor Kors, we need to talk,” said Igmer. But Kors only smiled smugly, continuing to hug his Nik, he didn’t make a single movement towards Igmer. He stood in front of him, and Kors continued to sit imposingly lounging on the pillows.
Igmer hesitated, and seeing that Kors was not going to get up and somehow show his respect, he continued:
“Can we go out and talk?”
“About what? I have no secrets from my Nik and Prince Arel. Tell me now, what do you need?” Kors took a deep drag and blew fragrant smoke from his mouth towards Igmer.
“Well, well…” It was noticeable that Igmer barely restrained himself, and Kors saw it. “Well… Kors… I noticed that you advise my son a lot, did you write a new set of rules and laws?”
“Yes,” answered Kors, “so what?”
“My son listens to your opinion…”
“Listens?” Kors chuckled. “He follows him. Because it is correct.”
“The code of laws that you wrote and which he began to follow is wrong.”
“WHAT?!”
“It is wrong,” Igmer repeated with pressure, and it was evident with what difficulty this conversation was given to him, “wrong. There are too many restrictions and unreasonably cruel punishments for the slightest offense. The endless curfew and access system paralyzed the city. Residents of Ore town are free townspeople, they are not used to this. You literally locked them home!”
“Yes? Well, let them get used to it!”
“Vitor Kors, I repeat, your rules are too strict and need to be revised.”
