Allister never knew their names.

Even though there was a different one every night, sometimes more than one, he never cared to ask.

So long as someone was there—male, female or otherwise—it never mattered to the self-proclaimed Prince of Mardi Gras.

The noises from the gathered guests within his mansion could be heard through the heavy wooden door of his quarters, and he was certain anyone who happened to be passing by at the right time would have been able to hear the moans of ecstasy escaping through its cracks.

Allister didn't care. The more they heard, the better. It created more curiosity, more inquiries, more allure, all of which, in turn, led to questions that would need to be asked. What, exactly, was Prince Allister doing behind his bedroom doors, they would enquire. And when the other guests deigned to answer, the need to be beyond those doors and within his presence to ask him intensified.

And so, he invited anyone who wanted to ask those questions, anyone whose curiosity got the better of them, to come to his mansion day after day. And for anyone who was willing to venture beyond the questions, he personally invited into his bedroom... night after night.

Allister couldn't remember the last time he was left by himself in his expanse of a mansion tucked away within the Garden District off of Saint Charles Street. If distracted long enough to have the chance to think about it, he would instead grab the waist of the nearest willing lover and quickly drag them happily into the closest unoccupied room, if only to clear his mind of such thoughts.

None ever bothered to question him about his methods, either.

Allister was careless, lecherous, and vulgar, but no one complained. No one asked him to stop his advances or change his ways, and sometimes, in between the nightly endeavors, he wondered if anyone would dare if they truly cared enough about the answer.

So long as there was food, drink, and music, the crowds mingled and lingered well through the night. They remained and ate and drank and danced and fornicated and no one ever sought out their host for an explanation as to the meaning of his generosity. Again, he wondered if half of them even knew it was Allister himself who supported and enabled such lavish habits.

But it mattered not to the Prince.

One Mardi Gras, during a party soon after the Krewe of Zulu parade festivities, the Prince found himself a little more curious about the rambunctious partygoers inhabiting his mansion that evening. He had just finished his time with an average blonde with an average waistline who was barely average in the bedroom and found himself in need of something... more.

He walked past guest after guest, and as with every other gathering, no one acknowledged him. Mardi Gras was well known for its lavish parties and debauchery, both within the mansions and without on the streets, so to expect anything less would be foolish. For once, Allister did not seem to mind the distracted attendees, not as he took a glass of sparkling wine from a nearby banquet table. Just as long as the guests remained where they were—within his mansion—he wouldn't mind if any of them never spoke to him.

He just needed them there.

Physically there.

A giggling guest too deep in her drink bumped his arm as she twirled by, spilling the contents of his glass on his jacket. She continued on without another glance behind her, clearly oblivious as to whom she just assaulted and the ramifications of her carelessness, but the Prince did not care. Instead, Allister merely stopped in his advance and brushed himself off, taking care of the remaining wine in his glass while his other hand flicked the offending droplets off of him and onto the ground.

It was the flash of red in his peripheral vision that snapped his head up.

She stood across the crowded room, leaning against the wall near the doorway leading to his personal study, her own glass of wine half empty in her hand. Her hair was a deep brown hhanging loose past her bare shoulders, her supple bosom supported by the red corset of her dress, but her eyes—deep as newly dug graves in the dead of night— were on him.

And only him.

To be certain, Allister glanced at a nearby gentleman just to be certain if there was the possible chance the stranger had gained her focus instead of the Prince, but when his attention returned to the woman in red, her gaze was still upon him.

A piercing start, as if those eyes were seeing through him, straight to his soul, and stripping him bare to his bones.

And he found himself wanting it.

Needing it.

For one could never be alone under a gaze like that.

Moving before considering his true intentions, Allister took a step towards her, and then another. However, to his astonishment, at the same moment he began to approach her, she took a step back, and another, until she passed over the threshold and was standing within the shadows of his study. Normally, Allister wouldn't have cared about a stranger in his house wandering through his personal spaces—he readily allowed it from every other guest at any other time. But she watched him as she did so with a devilish grin as if issuing a silent challenge for him to follow her. And then some.

For some reason, this woman in red called to him, a summoning that piqued his curiosity, and he needed to know why.

Unceremoniously pushing aside the inebriated and unsuspecting guests who stood in his path, the Prince ignored their curses as he passed by and rushed towards the study, praying to a God that no longer listened that the mysterious woman would still be within his study when he arrived.

Reaching the threshold, he lingered in the doorway as she walked the circuit around the dimly-lit room, her hand casually running along the books on the shelves as she sipped her wine. She stopped at one book in particular, pulling it from its place on the shelf and searching through it as if the tome had more meaning than just a decorative detail.

So long as she was still there, perhaps someone was listening.

He could have watched her all night. Watched as the red dress swirled around her legs or as her hair brushed against her arms. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair. He wanted to be between those legs.

"Can I help you find something in particular?" the Prince finally asked when he could find his voice and focus enough to form the words. She glanced back at him from over a slender shoulder, her deep red lips curling into a luxurious smile.

By God, he was going to get lost in those eyes, and she knew it too.

"I'm just wondering how one finds the time to read all of these lovely tomes when his home is constantly invaded by guests who want nothing more than to take advantage of his kindness."

The Prince shrugged slightly, trying to maintain his disinterest while he found himself falling over every word. "My guests know they are always welcome, or else they would not be invited."

"Yes, but do they know why you refuse to let them leave?" She turned to face him in a flash of rouge skirts and brunette hair.

If he wasn't already so taken aback by her beauty, Allister would have been startled speechless by the forwardness of her inquiry. No one had ever asked him about the reasons for the constant parties, the need for the never-ending flow of guests day in and day out, Mardi Gras or otherwise.

No one dared, or no one cared.

"Does it truly matter?" the Prince drawled, attempting to divert the conversation as he took a step further into the study and sipped on his almost empty wine glass. He wasn't fond of talking about himself, and if this woman continued to look at him that way, they wouldn't be talking for much longer.

Her irrelevant questions be damned.

"Oh, it does, my prince," the red woman countered. "Especially when one tries to hide the obvious in excess."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Aren't you?" She smirked as she perked a delicate brow. "It should be obvious if anyone took the time to care enough to pay attention."

"Then by all means, please tell me what is so obvious, if you know me so well?"

"You are alone, your Highness," she purred, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she took a step closer to him. "There is a hole in your soul, a void deep within your being, that you've been trying to fill... desperately."

Allister scoffed though he avoided her gaze. "With so many guests in my mansion and so many reasons to celebrate—not to mention the lovers lining up to join me in my bed every night—one could hardly consider my life lonely."

"Is that what it takes then, to resolve you of the despair? Having someone in your bed, I mean?" She took another step closer, the swivel in her hips more than suggestive, but Allister held his ground.

"I would be more than happy to show you how desperate I can be," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. He would play her game, so long as it ended in his personal quarters.

"I'm sure you would," she conceded, now standing less than a hand's breadth away. Her breath warm on his lips and the smell of wine was sweet to his senses. "But everything comes with a price, my Prince."

"For you, Lady, I would be happy to pay it," he murmured, his attention on those luscious lips, using every ounce of his willpower to keep his mouth from devouring hers.

"Remember you said that come the morning," she breathed, but he didn't allow her to say anything else before he crashed his lips against hers. He maintained their deep kiss as she allowed him to hoist her up, and as she wrapped her legs around his waist, he blindly walked them through the far door of the study leading directly to Allister's private chambers.