<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #FFBF80"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Edward d’Alambart</span><br/><span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;">The Reeve of the King</span></span></span></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/0f2924cf-6f75-4d40-9624-644687d02b67_zps91f85a12.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Edward gave Marisol a kiss and grinned again.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"Friends of mine better don't think bad of you, because of your past. Or they risk my friendship. But the two I have in mind won't, don't worry. You better start packing, honey."<br/></span><br/>He gave her a clap on her naked ass and then he kissed the same place. Edward felt twenty years younger, like a big strain had been lifted from him. He never admitted to himself, but paying for Marisol had always felt wrong. He had known that the girl had wanted out, that he should have taken her to the castle long ago, but he had never been courageous enough to actually do it. That he finally did it, felt good. No, it felt even better. Like he had done for the first time in his life the right thing.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"I guess Diana will have to lower the price. I know that you are one of her best girls, but she got new girls and I am willing to pay a reasonable sum for you to get you out of here, but not what Diana believes you are worth. Although you are worth even more. The good thing is, I am the Reeve. Either she lowers her price or I will send patrols every three hours to this house. I doubt her customers will like to be questioned by guards everytime they are here. That would be very bad for the business."</span></div>