She ran from the king's house, weeping. Cholwig stood in the stockade yard, watching the small building from the deep shadow within the wall. He waited only a couple of minutes, then went and knocked at the door.
Childeric lay on his back, peering into darkness unbroken by the upset of his partner's departure. The room still smelled of sex, but the king lay inert - not relaxed.
Cholwig wondered when last Childeric had slept. He drank sometimes, and sometimes not. He took women to his bed almost without fail - some dutiful, some hateful, as this night's companion apparently had been - some even eager. None of it exhausted him, none of it gave him any rest.
He lit the little rush lamp on a tiny table, the only object of furniture in the cramped royal closet other than the bed. "Dominus, they are angry with you."
Childeric's eyes crept across the wood of the ceiling, pushing toward Cholwig with little purpose and less speed. "One too many wives?" he drawled, "Or one too many daughters?"
Fire away with feedback - but keep in mind this still doesn't progress beyond the intro piece, and my wee paltry little brain is a bit compromised today. Oh, and also - this is still a draft, y'all. Drafts don't get purty in a hurry ...
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