"LET’S HOPE DA GOVERNOR ain’t a fucking fag none, eh?" Kam had said this scoffing, and when she had she certainly wasn’t expecting anything more than a laugh. But the concierge heard this and just had to chip in.

May the Eighth volunteered, "no, she isn’t a fag. But she is gay."

Everybody in the penthouse froze.

Eotigan’s eyes shot open. His brain was a spinning penny. ’Did May just say SHE?’ He hoped he’d heard wrong. He was going to address the second part of that sentence later. Now...now he had to know. "Hold up, May. The Governor is a WOMAN?"

May stopped fondling with the wheeler. She had just handed the last tub of cold cream to Thyra, but the girl was in no hurry to spoon up now that fresh gossip sang in the lavish hotel suite like a hummingbird. "Hello, earth to May!" Inaia snapped her fingers in front of the concierge’s ashen face. May was thinking maybe she should’ve just continued being a wallflower. But her constant need to be a diligent hostess had come forth—at the most inopportune time.

"Uhh—" May gulped.

"Come on lady, speak up—" Thyra popped her cold-cream pack, dipping and having for herself a slow, enjoyable spoonful. "our Lord isn’t pushing sexism if that’s what’s going up there." She did circles on the side of her head to illustrate, "so ease your fears, May, and explain."

May didn’t think Eotigan was a sexist, but what was up with all the Lord and Master shite.

The girls looked comfortable in calling him such though, and if they didn’t, she could do nothing about it really. Ten minutes ago she had just watched the man dunk a vampire into a glass shell, plus she had seen some pretty wild shit in her thirty years as concierge of the Mayflower. This hotel wasn’t first-class for nothing. Blinking quickly, May dragged on her big girl pantaloons and started the tale of how a ’woman’ came to be Governor of—arguably—richest island in the Nine Realms. Not Governess.

"The last Governor of COLONY was a kind man, warm-hearted and fair to all. Ser Atticus Juste was his name, but, he fancied him prepubescent holes—if you know what I mean. And for a long time we did overlook some of his off proclivities, but then he was caught hiding a tourist school-girl in his illegal bunker. His cabinet revolted. Protests swelled in the streets. Banners of To-Hell-With-Men and End-Patriachy movements went up everywhere. Propaganda exploded.

"Brothels closed up, wives refused their husbands sex, it was rumored that the ones who still put out didn’t suck dick. Men, even innocent men felt the stigma.

"They had to compensate for Ser Atticus’ fuck-up even if it wasn’t everyone’s fault. So naturally, the position of Governor fell to the females. The right of [Femma Logos] was instituted in this province, and many Maesters despised this. Nonetheless the sin of Ser Atticus Juste was so big to look over. Society demanded a recompense, and Lady Merriam Torres was it."

Thyra was halfway down her cup of cold-cream when May was done. Eotigan had listened to all the concierge said with a keen ear. Inaia was in his head. He could feel her—the ticklish roaming orb in his [psyche bridge]. He let her pervade his mind, thinking, ’this would make Mission II hard, subservíena. I knew that the top dogs of Colony would never willingly let the highest position of power on the island fall to a woman.’

His godmother was a murderous cunt, but Lilith Firstborn was no pussy. She ruled as [Rank S] in Hel, the toughest, roughest, baddest bitch in the supernatural.

’—the Maesters would rather see an imp call the shots, as long as he’d a cock down there, easily proven in the case of Ichabod Crane.’ He was sure plenty of other men in the island’s council will have guessed the Master of Coin was a vampire, and a boy-fucker. But they had let him keep his seat—for two centuries. Now to him, that was sexism. A nosferatu versus a woman apparently wasn’t a hard choice for the good men—and women, of Colony.

In fact, if not that Governor Atticus’ schoolgirl fetish had blown up in his face, Eotigan’d bet a cool thousand the wily bastard would still be wearing the golden signet.

The steampunk revolution following the [War of Three Cities] had hit this island harder than the others, yet the high society had adamantly kept the obsolete Maesters. It told Eotigan everything he needed to know about Colony. Well, not everything...now with the female Governor. Colony’s polity was weird. But he had his work cut out for him. He needed to be smart to reach [Mission II] success.

’How does one man seduce the wife of a Governor was hard enough, now if that Governor was a woman?’

’Did the lady Governor even have a wife?’

Eotigan rubbed a palm over his hard jaw; he was aware of his open chest, and May’s brown eyes struggling not to fall into it—the concierge in her own head was thinking how a man’s abs could be that thick. Eotigan recalled the Governor’s name as he said, "...this Merriam Torres must be quite the woman then?"

May nodded. "Absolutely, sir." She looked at his hands; they were big too. Only him had not so much as touched his cold cream. Eotigan relaxed back into the love sofa. He pulled Kamili back with him. She smiled and continued eating her cream, quietly adoring his ruffian beauty. Clearly he was done talking. He needed more intel on Merriam. But not from May.

The concierge was afraid of him but she had a duty to the Mayflower first. She could rat him out if it threatened her precious hotel; he knew it, so he refrained from interrogating her further. But Thyra wasn’t, "I don’t get it, why can’t they just call her Governess?" Her voice was petulant. "I’d thought she’ll want to stamp the fact that a girl made it there in the history books? Like, what is the point of fighting so hard for a position if you can’t even make it yours?"

Eotigan had a smile waiting for May when she looked his way. His eyes said, he too wondered at the same thing. His smile widened more when Thyra reached for his own unopened cup of cold cream. "You greedy bitch—" Inaia wouldn’t let her have it. And they began playfully tangling for a pack of vanilla that belonged to neither of them in the first place.

"It’s a concord in the script during her oaths, annexed into the [femme logos]." May replied, "The maesters couldn’t bring themselves to fully commit under Her rule; they had to have the title as masc. Also her reign hasn’t exactly being approved by the Empyrean."

"Huh?" Eotigan’s tongue drew across his teeth. It seemed everyone was running from the wrath of the House of the Raven these days.

Ravenna de Vries didn’t have this much opposition during her own coronation, and she ruled as the Empress of the entire known planet. Perhaps it followed that at the time she’d had the full backing of Lucifer’s bro—her father, Lilith, and him.

Three Lords of Hel? Sexism had no chance.

Now though, he got why everything was so hush-hush on Colony. May did not know who he truly was or she wouldn’t be telling him all these things. She’d be on her knees, probably begging for his autograph—or doing something else. Her knees were still good from what he could see. That aside, the Governor being a man had being integral to the success of [Mission II].

He reminisced on the exact wording of it of his infernal system:

[MISSION II: Commit ass stuff with a Governor’s wife—]

’Ahh! Not ass stuff...ass-play.’ He’d come to accept that to be close enough to a woman that she let you see her asshole without paying for it, you’d have to be pretty damn close. And this was a Governor’s wife here. You couldn’t pay to see her asshole. ’—and I’ve got to play with it too. Like, you know, sniff it, finger it, and stuff.’ he reminded himself. Basically he’d fuck her—rephrasing, he’d have to fuck her. No chick was letting a rando, no matter how gorgeous see her asshole out of the blue. And now he had to stop thinking about assholes.

The bottom line was, no clairvoyant could’ve forseen this. If this woman Governor did not have a wife, he had to wonder if seducing her guaranteed mission success. Or if she did have a wife, he wondered if it would also qualify for a female.

He’d have to cuckold a woman. ’Could it be called that?’

May was looking intently into his eyes, and Eotigan raised the barricades of his [psyche bridge] immediately. He had to be careful. He couldn’t tell who was who on this riptide island, so he’d be a prick to everyone until they’d proven themselves allies, starting with the willowy concierge of the Mayflower. "That will be all, May." Inaia forced May’s eyes back on her. The concierge gave a polite bow, gathering at the empty cups of cold-cream. Thyra was quick to chime in before May could vanish out the pompous suite, "u-uh, not quite, May. Outside this hotel may be dark skies, foggy weather and shite, but we have not had supper yet."

Thyra left it at that, clearing her throat. May was good at her job and caught her meaning not a second later. "Dinner shall be right up, Lady Lars."

"Don’t be fagettin’ ta whip up dem boys to come get da faggot couch, ya?" Kambili’s accent did come out hard when she told May this, mostly due to the fact that she’d been locked in her own rom-com with Eotigan’s body throughout the questionnaire session. She didn’t even lift her head nor shift atop his lupine warmth as she said that. Only Kam had her pack of cold cream. She fed him in little spoonfuls, seeing as Thyra and Inaia had jointly consumed his cup.

Eotigan accepted to partake in this romantic dance of spoons. He wasn’t a lovey-dovey devil, but it made her happy.

"The things I do for you," he rumbled. She chuckled, taking a spoonful of the iced vanilla first and offering him the next.

Since the whole penthouse was suddenly hooked on their affair, Inaia had to clap in front of the concierge’s flushed cheeks to get her going. "Dismissed, May." The older hostess turned briskly, wheels squeaking on the jade glass floors, "yep. I’m headed right out," she caught Thyra’s jungle eyes while in the elevators, adding to satiate the girl, "...and dinner’s coming right up."

Thyra rubbed her flat torso. "It better." And once May was disappeared down the hundred levels of the hotel she looked to Inaia, telling, "did you hear what she called me?"

"Don’t get your panties in a bunch, dear. We’re all LADY LARS." Inaia hit her with the sting. "Hey! Not cool, bitch." This was the one retort Thyra could toss back. Eotigan was already smiling. He chewed down his next spoon of cold cream, issuing his first mission command to Inaia. Not in the verbal sense, but the world of mind linking them. "Set up an appointment with the Master of Coin. Ser Crane the vampire has much to tell us concerning Governor Merriam Torres."

Eotigan only now knew her name, but before a fortnight on this goth island he intended to be so close to her he could tell the color of her areolas.