The Prince's Pet (12 page)

It was so ridiculous I almost
laughed. I was enslaved – a pleasure slave with a master who tied and punished
me. Who would one day rule and marry, and probably forget me or relegate me to
the harem. Who was nonetheless kind in his own manner, and made me feel
protected and cared for. The feeling was contentment. I was content.

How amusing life was.

T
he mood was relaxed between us
the next morning. We slept in far later than was proper, and finally my prince
had to run, late for his daily sword drills. I confessed I didn't want him to
leave, playfully holding onto him as he tried to get out of the bed. With an
indulgent smile, he told me he would have someone sent to take me for an
outing.

He thought for a moment and
looked around, opening a drawer and snatching up a purse. He dropped it on the
bed next to me as he kissed me. "Buy clothing," he said. "Books,
if you find anything in your tongue. Something for your hair. Whatever you
like."

When he'd left I sat alone on
the bed, the leather purse in my lap. I could tell by the weight there was more
gold in it than I'd ever seen at one time. I suppressed a frown, feeling for a
moment like a paid whore. Then I shook my head. No, I was not a whore. I was a
slave. He was not obligated to give me anything, he was not paying for a
service.

I had expressed my love of
reading and regret that I couldn't decipher the Cimbrai books in his library.
I'd complained about wanting to look nice for him and having nothing to wear in
my hair for the royal dinner. He'd done it to be nice, in his own way.

Two guards dressed in full royal
armor arrived to escort me. The prince had instructed them to take me to the
city.

I couldn't believe I was allowed
to leave the palace. It felt good to be out walking. The day was hot, the sun
already glaring overhead, but I was grateful to be outside.

Atshye went with me, and the two
guards followed discretely behind us. We were carried in a litter over the
bridge and into the town and then we disembarked, saying we wished to walk.

Atshye was excited and girlish,
holding me by the arm as she led me, telling me about each place we passed. We
made our way to the market - Atshye called it a 'bazaar' - in the noble
quarter. Groups of richly dressed women stopped talking as we passed, peering
at us over their veils. Of course, Atshye and I were unveiled.

“Why do your women cover their
faces?” I asked her, whispering behind a hand much as I'd seen the gossiping
women do.

She smiled. “It is tradition.
For modesty. They cover the face and sometimes the hair, as it's considered an
intimate thing to look on a noble lady's face – a thing saved for her husband
and immediate family.”

Of course, Atshye and I were
slaves, so our faces were naked for all to see. And see they did – a bubble of
silence followed us as we passed through, all eyes turning to look at us. It
was disconcerting. I was very conscious of my foreign appearance, and the
golden collar around my neck. I'd never veiled my face, but now I felt very exposed.

They looked at Atshye, too. The
queen's favored slave wore what seemed like all of her jewelry on her person –
bangles stacked up her wrists, arm bands on her arms, and golden hoops in her
ears and nose. She even had delicate rings on her toes and necklaces around her
neck to accompany her collar. It was a wonder it didn't all weigh her down.

I knew it was not a proper thing
to wear your wealth like this – only a pleasure slave would do so. It was a
very open declaration of her mistress's favor. Atshye held her head high and
smiled, indifferent to the stares.

We entered the bazaar, suddenly
surrounded by a crowd of people, both men and women. Our guards stuck close,
not hesitating to push away the people around us when necessary so we could
walk through untouched.

I'd never seen such a market.
There must have been hundreds of stalls: rows and rows of stalls selling fabric
with everything from plain linen to expensive embroidered silks. Veils,
scarves, jewelry, cosmetics, shoes. Perfumes, soaps and spices. Candies,
spices, fruit and huge spits of fresh meat ready to be carved and eaten right
there.

Unlike in the small country
markets I'd frequented, there were no livestock or great quantities of farmer's
produce for sale. This was the noble section, Atshye said. It was a slave's
duty to purchase the food for a noble household, and that part was relegated to
a neighboring street.
So that the noble folk don't have to encounter the
rabble,
I thought. And indeed, when I looked around I saw there were
few slaves or common folk around us, and guards blocking the ends of the road.

The stall holders haggled more
aggressively than I was accustomed to. It was a good test for my skills at
their language - or lack thereof. Atshye had to translate for me on more than
one occasion.

I was searching for fabrics the
seamstress could make into dresses for me, and here I was spoiled for choice.
We both purchased bundles of fabric - and instructed their delivery to the
palace - and hair ornaments. Atshye bought cosmetics and advised me on what I
should get for myself. She bought a beautiful scarf. "For the queen,"
she said. "I always get her something." I wondered if I should do the
same for my master.

The merchant tried to make her a
gift of it, knowing her as the queen's handmaiden. Atshye refused and paid the
gold, promising to favor him with her business again.

As we made our slow way back
toward home, I peered through the crowd and the gaps between the low buildings.
We crossed a narrow road and I could see the next street.

The road was unpaved, and there
huddled livestock and many vendors in plain, crowded tents. In contrast to the
lively colorful bazaar we'd just left, unveiled women carried huge loads of
goods balanced on their heads and hips. Naked children darted laughing between
the crowds. Men pulled laden carts and slaves in their metal collars bartered
with stallholders. It reminded me of home, and my mood sank.

We rode in the litter back over
the bridge, reclined on our soft cushions. I looked out through the tiny
lattice window, watching the slaves that bore us. They were clothed only in
loose trousers, and I could see that several of them bore the faded scars of a
whip on their bare brown shoulders and backs.

I stared down at my own hands,
once so rough with perpetually dirty jagged nails. Now they were clean and soft
from lotions and oils. They rested on the deep blue silk of my robe - a piece
of clothing that was probably worth more than my father's farm.

I couldn't stay melancholy for
long under Atshye's girlish enthusiasm. We bathed in the harem, I shaved myself
(blushing furiously while I explained the prince had instructed me to do so)
and Atshye tried to teach me to braid my hair the way she did hers.

We attracted a gaggle of younger
girls - unmarried relatives of the King who resided at court for part of the
year. They laughed as they played with my hair, taking great amusement in
seeing their traditional styles on the foreign slave. I tried to show them some
of the ways Thessian women arranged their hair, but I'd never been much good at
things like that.

The girls were pleasant company,
and I was able to converse with them enough to have a good time. They painted
my eyes with kohl and my nails with a pale pink color. I'd never seen such a
thing done before, but I thought it was lovely. Looking in the mirror I felt
almost as glamorous as Atshye - though she made it look far more effortless
than I.

The young women were all
dancers, and they took turns tutoring me in the pleasure dance, practicing in
giggling groups. They were all graceful and beautiful, and I despaired of ever
matching their skill.

––––––––

I
ssander returned in the late
afternoon while I practiced the newest dance moves over and over, alone in his
chambers.

Unexpectedly, my heart jumped
when I saw him. I stopped what I was doing and met him at the door, flinging
myself at him for an embrace.

Astonished, he laughed and
encircled me in his arms, lifting me off my feet briefly. Then he held me at
arm's length and looked at me, taking in my hair and my painted eyes. A strange
look came over him, and for a moment I worried.

"Don't you like it, my
Lord?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He blinked blankly at me, then
smiled. "Oh yes. It's only that you look so different." He curled the
end of my braid around a finger. "Did you have a good time?"

I grinned. "Yes,
Lord."

As I removed his boots and took
his weapon and armor I told him of the beautiful silks I'd had sent to the
palace for the seamstress, and the sights I'd seen at the market. He listened
indulgently.

"And what did you do
today?" I asked him. He looked disheveled and somewhat dirty, as he often
was after a day out. I poured him a drink and passed it to him.

"I went riding."

"Horse riding?"

He nodded, flopping heavily into
the big chair by the fire.

I knelt at his feet in front of
his chair. "My family could never afford horses," I said, "but
sometimes when I was a child I would ride my neighbor's ponies. I remember how
much fun we had, riding down to the river and trotting through the fields."

"Well," he said,
"You should come riding with me. My horses are the best in the kingdom...
or so they say." He gave a smug smile.

I laughed. "I have not
ridden for so many years my Lord. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to keep up with
you." I laid my arms crossed on his lap, and rested my chin on top of
them. He stroked my hair, and that warm feeling of contentment bloomed in my
chest - the one that was growing so familiar.

"Well," he said,
"you have to start somewhere."

Why was he being so nice to me?
Sometimes he made it hard to remember I was just a slave. I sighed, closing my
eyes for a moment just to enjoy the feeling of his hand on my hair. "My
prince," I said quietly, "you should take someone else riding. A
proper lady, who you can court and marry."

I looked up at him and saw that
he was staring at me with a furrowed brow. "I know the summer feast will
be soon," I continued. "Noble families have started arriving. Many
women will vie for your attention over the next few weeks."

He stopped stroking my hair,
taking his hand away and resting it on the arm of the chair. For a moment, I
held my breath. I had offended him. Would he punish me now?

"Should I now?" He
asked archly, and I bit my lip waiting for a scolding, filled with an odd mix
of dread and anticipation.

"You are right." He
said quietly. "Many young girls will pursue me. They will be urged on by
their families, seeking a way to improve their station. My father will push me
toward them in order to strengthen this alliance or that. Just like last year,
and the year before that, and every year since I came of age."

He leaned forward, putting a
hand under my chin and making me sit up and look at him. His beautiful eyes
burned into mine. Suddenly, I felt my own eyes start to sting and water. The
look was too intimate. I wished I could glance away, but I didn't dare.

"You are
mine
,"
he said, his voice low and his tone itself fiercely possessive. "And if I
want to take you riding, I'll damned well take you riding."

I let out a laugh that was half
a sob. My lower lip quivered, and I wondered again what was wrong with me.

Issander's eyes darkened then. I
wondered what he was thinking. But I didn't have time to ask before he bent
forward to kiss me.

There was no planning ahead this
time, no order to await him in the bedroom, leaving me to grow nervous with
anticipation. No slow undressing. Our lips locked together and he took me in
his arms and pulled me closer, up on my knees.

My heart fluttered pleasantly as
I wound my arms around his neck, our tongues playing together. I ran my fingers
through his hair, and he let his hands roam my back.

Of my own volition, I started to
untie the laces on his shirt. He didn't mind, encouraging me by pulling the hem
free of his trousers and raising it over his head. I pushed him back in his
seat, caressing his chest and leaning over him, kneeling between his legs. I
ran my palms up and down his chest, savoring his warmth.

I was hungry for him. It had
been only a day but it felt like too long since I'd felt his touch, his bare
skin on mine. My body had responded at the first touch of his lips, and now I
could feel the heat and wetness in my sex, the hardness of my nipples pressing
against the silken fabric of my robe.

When I started to fumble with
the belt of his trousers, he stopped my hands, cocking his head at me.

"What's this?" He
asked.

I paused, biting my lip.
"I'm sorry, my Lord, if I was being too forward." My face turned
instantly hot and I lowered my gaze.

He seemed to consider for a
moment, until I looked up at him and saw the glint of humor in his eyes.
"Do not be sorry, my pet. Only tell me what it is you want. It pleases me
to hear it."

I stammered. "I... I only
wanted to give you pleasure. I wanted... to do for you what you did for
me."

He took his hands off mine,
leaving me free to move. Beneath my hands, I could feel him growing hard,
beginning to strain against the linen.

His member soon sprung free. Up
close, I marveled at its size and perfect shape. I slowly curled my fingers
around it, stroking the silky skin. Looking up at my prince, I could see him
watching me, his full lips slightly parted. He sat regally, reclined back in
his chair with his arms resting casually.

I looked back at my prize, and
bent my head to lick it, taking an experimental taste. He smelled warm, musky
and male, but he tasted only of clean skin. When I licked the length of his
shaft, trailing my tongue over the swollen head, I found a drop of moisture
there, sweet and salty at once.

Issander made a soft sigh, and I
looked into his eyes as I began to lap at him with my tongue. I watched for the
signs of pleasure, taking note of the places that were especially sensitive; of
the way he reacted when I circled here or sucked lightly there.