People pity Edmund for all the wrong things: poor thing, he was born to be a bastard, of course he’s rough and lecherous, just look at his mother, just look at his zodiac, of course he couldn’t help being a slut. But he knows that if anyone made him weak to the flesh it was a father who knew he could get away with it and didn’t care which maid’s life he ruined in the process; and if anyone made him bitter it was a society that told him he’d never amount to anything and made him itch to prove them wrong.

Love is a scam, of course, but it’s all he wants, and if the heat of bodies is what it takes to silence his desire, then he will keep seeking it out, one dishonest kiss at a time.