King's Justice

CHAPTER EIGHT

The sun rose a violet and orange backdrop to his lakeside perch. Lott slept soundly beneath an apple tree, bone-weary, with the gentle laps of the lake providing all the lullaby he needed. He'd always found comfort at lakes. The heavy footfalls of an approaching brigade stirred him from slumber. A staggered caravan of four figures on horseback coalesced into view. Though quite a distance away, it became readily apparent that the parade consisted solely of women. Each wore a red cap, a beret of sorts, and slowed as she neared as if beckoning him to follow her. Few women crossed him. Fewer still drew his attention.

The first had a familiar bearing as if she'd always been around the way, a presence in the neighborhood he'd taken for granted. She drew back her long black hair from her Asian-looking eyes. Her horse, black as death and hate. Eyes reflecting ambition and power. Glaring at him, she found him wanting. The horse snorted in disapproval, and she rode on.

A commanding dark-skinned beauty if one could see past the layers of clothes with which she wrapped herself, Lady G rode second. Her horse a wild-eyed, wildfire-red stallion, untamed and unfettered yet she rode him with a practiced, graceful aplomb. An inviting flutter of her eyelashes framed the sidelong glances of her slow-moving eyes. Her lips curled with understanding. Romantic and ridiculous, she took peace from him, her vicinity smashed right into his nature. His eyes couldn't help but to follow her. Despite other horses coming into view, he always went back to her.

The third horsewoman was Omarosa astride an ashen horse with a grey, mottled mane. She carried a great sword. Drawing up, she paused at the far side of the lake. She dismounted from her horse and let it drink while she crouched beside it to scoop water into her mouth. Her vanity held out for conquest.

Lott wondered where Lady G had ridden off to.

The fourth rider was unknown to him. Atop a white horse, a bow slung around her and a crown atop her head. She rode with the confidence of a conqueror. His heart leapt at her approach, yet he allowed her to pass by also, too preoccupied with tracking the movements of Lady G.

"The thing about women is that we don't share. It's not in our nature," Omarosa said, her voice as clear and close as though she stood next to him. Its waters clear and deep, she glided across the surface of the lake. "I've spent a lifetime listening to men who seek prostitutes. Some blamed their wives for making them choose to spend their money to be with another. Others wept with guilt and shame, though that didn't stop them from having a head bob in their laps in car seat trysts. Others, in fits of machismo to mask their childishness, spoke in grandiose terms about their lives, bragged about themselves, wanting to be praised. Or they even turned violent. All to satisfy the demands of an ego to show they didn't actually need to pay for it."