章 139: The Dinner—Cojónes Grandes!

Israfel turned this way and that in front of his long, gilded bedchamber mirror. He was preparing—in his chosen wear of prim casual slacks, a crimson inner; a sensous onyx doublet, bringing out the ebony rings in his iris—for Lady Fairfield's dinner.

"Oh fuck the tux!" He tossed a marine bowtie backward to the bed. Leaving the top strings that would knit his shirt a few inches down, he said aloud in a calmer voice. "What do I call you, system? You still haven't told me."

Rafel had to wait a beat, but then, the reply came; a soft voice that sounded like the singing of a maiden washing by the stream.

[Ding!]

[You can call me Peitho.]