Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

She could not have been over eighteen, and while she was pretty, she was no stunning beauty like Glana. She seemed frightened and to be honest a little in awe of me, and not at all cruel. I have a soft spot for well-behaved slaves. I nodded to her.

Her fingers were swift, and she daubed oils into my skin with blinding speed, and then color. It was a familiar process, even a pleasant one, despite Glana's agonized and increasing incoherent pleading.

But then she brushed colored powder into my nipples, and I moaned in involuntary arousal. The shame of it, but oh the fire! I burned, oh moon, I burned-

Tir, behind me, chuckled. "You, Glana -- come hard, now!"

And the makeup slave rubbed glittering powder on my torso, as Glana exploded in noises that terrified me and aroused me to my core. To be handled and brushed and painted at such a time was... I have no words. In my innermost thoughts I begged the makeup slave to turn into a man and touch me, rougher and more demandingly. Instead she ran her hands down my legs, gently, and I trembled. It occurred to me that she had made me more beautiful, more desirable, more ******** (yes, I know the word), and that my next stop would be a man who could do whatever he wished with me. As I looked now, he would only have one wish.

"Turn, please, daughter of kings," she whispered. "I must do your back."

"I do not think the Prince will be looking at my back."

"Oh... I think he will," she whispered, and I shivered in sudden understanding. Her eyes looked earnestly into mine. "Please, princess, you must be perfect or it will go badly for me."

So I turned, still on my knees, and that put me facing-

I closed my eyes again and whimpered, as she rubbed color and perfumes into my a** and back. Lord Tir, for his part, only toyed with the grip in my hair, bending my head back so he could look down at my face. I dared not meet his gaze, but neither could I look at the huge bulge, there near my lips. Gasping, I tried to look down, but he tilted my head further, and forced me to look up at him, into his face.

This must be said, however shameful. The men of Narsana are handsome. So much so that in the early part of the war, women would joke about how it would not be so bad if we lost. (They sang a different song when the rapes and pillages and killing of children began.) There is a darkness to these men, a dusky color, and a mercilessly deep brown color to their eyes. And while we only saw their warriors, now that I was in their city I realized that they all put a premium on physical strength.

So when I looked up at Lord Tir, I saw the sort of dark, chiseled face that women whispered about and dreamt about. I lowered my eyes quickly, but his hand dropped my hair and took my chin, and forced me to look up again.

His eyes assessed my beauty. There was no other word for it. He enjoyed my gifts, measured them, took them in with burning eyes. The shame and arousal increased in me and I closed my eyes, and that horrid makeup slave was in my hair with her combs, and I was vain about my hair and for a terrible moment I was glad Lord Tir saw me prettied -- but then one of the men behind me came, and so did Glana, and the burning embarrassment of that ended my improper thoughts.

And then, to my surprise, Lord Tir whispered, so softly that only I would hear, and in an accent closer to my people than his own. "It is a pity, what will happen to you, princess..."

The moment passed instantly. "Enough , slave. Her hair is what it is, there is no cure for the reddish cast in it. Go and fetch slut silks for her; be quick!"

"I'm to be given clothing?" I said, as steadily as I could.

"I would not call it clothing, princess. Silk, as transparent as ice, meant only to emphasize the hardness of your nipples and the flow of your skin." He lowered his voice. "Now listen very carefully, there is no time. Do not be haughty with Prince Arj. He appreciates women, but if you offer insult he will punish you as you cannot imagine. His vocabulary of pain goes beyond rape and even torments. And he has your brother. You might both survive if you do as I say. Be beautiful, use few words, do not flinch if touched, and hope you please but do not excite him. He might make a gift of you to someone decent... it is the best you can hope for."

The makeup slave returned with something crumpled in her fist, and Tir stepped back from me. "Stand, daughter of my fallen foe," he growled, and I got to my feet quickly.

The madness behind me had quieted, to just soft panting. She had obviously not been raped to death, but how she'd walk after being pounded into the floor like that I couldn't imagine.

What had been crumpled in the slave's fist was my entire outfit. Shaken out, it passed light like thin smoke, and would not count as undergarments in a hot summer in my land. Tir took them, and chuckling darkly, proceeded to tie a thin strip of cloth around my torso. I bit my lip as the stretchy silk slid against my nipples, but I did not blush further -- my skin could be no pinker. The slave girl draped the other piece of cloth around my hips.

I looked down at myself, and a tear trickled. This was me. Naked but for two strips of gauze that would not be visible in dim light unless you squinted, serving only to lift my breasts and caress my flower as I walked. My beautiful clothing had been stolen and I would never see it again. It had all been the gift of my mother, except for a few pieces from admirers. I had sworn these barbarians would not see my tears, but...

"Please no," the makeup girl said, darting forward with cotton in hand. "The color will run, and then there will be punishments. Don't cry, beautiful princess."

"I am no princess now," I said, gathering up my haughtiness. "I am to be a whore, it seems."

"All women are both," she said, simply. "It is the man we are with that decides which we are and at what times. Alright, that is as best I can do with your tears. You are so beautiful! Be brave, daughter of Rajas!"

She was hard not to like, but there was fear and darkness in my heart, and I nodded angrily and turned away. Lord Tir escorted me to the guard and my next appointment.

**

He was silent, as he and four guards escorted me though a veritable maze of wide marble passageways. Gold and brass adorned the walls (and hid cameras and sensors, I knew), and then we passed from areas of electric lighting to gas lighting, which was reserved for areas where nobility spends much of their time. Women look better under gas lighting; men look stronger.

Ahead was an obvious meeting hall, the opening adorned with both brass and living birds; the living ones were carefully managed by sonic nets so they could not stray far. They still had more freedom than I did, I thought, sadly.

I was gestured through the opening. Squaring my shoulders and raising my head, I walked in. The room was full of well-dressed people, and directly ahead there was a throne made of jade.

I had been raised well, and one rule has been drilled into me: a king on his throne is given respect no matter how small the kingdom and no matter how the politics between the nations lie. A king is a king, regardless. And a Prince is naught but a future king. There would be no spitting here. I stood before the throne, and then knelt, waiting.

"Stand, girl who was a princess."

I stood, back straight, eyes raised to his knees but not further, with my hands at my side. My hands wanted to crawl to my breasts and thighs, but I held them still. I was here to be looked at, and he was a Prince. He would have his look, one way or another.

He smiled, mirthlessly. "Stand as a woman stands."

I had no idea what this meant. I stood straighter, as a princess stands, clothed or otherwise.

There was uproarious laughter.

"She hasn't an earthly, does she," Arj roared in high amusement. "Hm... vizier, what is an earthly, anyway?"

"I haven't an earthly, Thakur," the vizier said, bowing. "But I will consult."

"So, pretty one," Arj said, returning his attention to me. "I ask you to stand like a woman, and instead you stand more like a man. You were clearly raised to respect a throne, so I do not take this as deliberate insult, but only ignorance. But it is displeasing. So my head concubine will step forward and pose you as a woman should stand in the presence of men. Do not be such a fool as to resist her suggestions."

The woman who stepped forward was scarcely older than me, but to watch her walk was astonishing. She flowed like vapor and swayed like the leaves of an aspen tree. Her long blonde hair fell in cascades to her waist. The silk she wore hid even less than mine did; she had no flaws to hide. I instantly felt threatened. If Arj had this, he had no use for me, and I was -- I admit it -- suddenly terrified of the consequences of being cast aside.

"Welcome, girl who was princess," she said, in a soft, honeyed voice. It was neutral; not friendly, not mocking, not anything at all. "I will pose you as my Thakur commands."

She laid hands on my hips, then my belly and back, then my legs, arms and head. When she was done, I had one foot behind the other, with my legs lightly twined; my hips jutted upwards slightly, and tilted with the left side raised, my back was arched, and my arms were close in and slightly behind me. My shoulders were uneven, left lower. My head was tilted back and slightly to one side, and my hair was thrown forward over one shoulder. "Eyes to his crotch at all times, whether he sits or stands. Never make eye contact unless he invites you to with his hand on your chin. If you need to lick your lips, do it quickly and lightly," she whispered as she finished laying out my hair.

I stood there, shivering now, as she flowed her perfectly shaped self to a kneel not far from the throne.

Arj chuckled. "You see, it is not so difficult to be a woman. The secret is to understand yourself in relation to the men around you. In my presence, women are to be pleasing to the eye and ear; it is my decree. Fail at it and there are other places you can be placed -- the mines, for example, or an army whorehouse. My troops and miners are less concerned with beauty than I am..."

Fury filled me, and I prayed to the moon it did not show in my face. I have had my fill of the attitudes of noble men in my own country, and here, I was not surprised to learn, matters were far worse. Moon knows a woman is a difficult enough thing to be, without men around to add to our troubles by thinking of us solely as pretty or ugly. It had been my father's idea to name me Alani the Fair, and he had never understood why I took umbrage to the title. He was pleased that I had inherited and improved upon my mother's looks, more pleased by that than my mastery of two languages, scientific arts, or my singing voice.

But for all my fury, my legs shook. There would be no rescue for me, this land was my new home, and this Prince had somehow become the decider of my fate. And I was sick to my stomach at the realization that already I wanted to be beautiful, as beautiful as the blond goddess-turned-whore at his feet.

"You are a woman of few words," the Prince prodded.

"I was raised to be such in the presence of other royalty," I said, and then cursed inwardly at the plainly audible tremor in my voice. But even in this moment, I was struck by a moment of wry humor; my father had tried to teach me to hold my tongue in court, but it had rarely gone well. After one outburst he'd had me spanked by the captain of his personal guard, and my shame and horror had gone some ways towards making his rules stick -- and towards making me much scarcer at court, because I could never again meet the eyes of his captain. That huge and powerful hand, coming down on my small shivering form, still troubled my dreams.

"Then your mother taught you well," he replied.

"My father was the teacher of that rule," I said. I again thought of that captain, his hand coming down on my suddenly exposed flesh -- though nowhere near as exposed I was now. Men have such power over women; we give it to them and they take it with both hands and use it to shape us. Why is it this way?

But I snapped back to the present, for Prince Arj had suddenly left his throne. There is only one thing worse than a man on a throne, and that's a man who is off one.

He stood a foot in front of me, towering. He was perhaps 200cm tall, broad, with a tapering waist and powerful legs and arms. His walk was nearly silent and his movements free and easy. Not all Princes, I knew, were born to their role, but this one was. He was commanding and powerful, dusky and muscular. His clothing was much more military than royal, and his leather and dragonscale dress fit him well. He had no crown; only vain princes wear them. His eyes beat down on me, on my utterly revealed and helpless form.

And my body responded to him. All women are drawn to power and react to it; in that respect a princess is little different from a washer-woman. I could do nothing about my hardening nipples or the flush of my skin, or my suddenly dry lips. I feared him for his physical strength, his aura of calm command, and the lurking cruelty that was crouching in his eyes. But it was an erotic fear. And he and I both knew it.

His hand landed on my hip, and then moved, slowly and without hurry, up my side. My breathing changed, audibly. I could not control it. It was like being spanked all over again, and I felt myself sinking into my appointed place in relation to him, inwardly acknowledging that I was less than him. Only a princess can understand the depth of that realization. I could wear any face and say any words and be as haughty as I pleased; but with this single touch of his hand he had forced me to acknowledge that his will and power were stronger. I trembled in shock and something like despair, and he felt it, but did not comment.

And then his thumb stroked over my breast and across my n****e. A hot confusion filled my thoughts, taking the place where raging fury should have been. My belly contracted suddenly and almost painfully. Oh moon, make him stop before I make some sound!

"You know little of men," he said. He was addressing only me, and it was not an insult or a jibe; it was simply a statement of fact. I shuddered in fresh horror. He was learning me. No woman wants to be understood, no matter how much we complain when we are not. We must have our secrets.

"There is much about you that you yourself do not know." Of all the shameless arrogance! "You have stayed a child, in an attempt to be a good princess for your father. You are a veneer of strength surrounding a core of submissive desire to please and be loved. In other words you are a woman, Alani the fair, but not one who understands herself. Not yet. I think I will make it my task to teach you who you really are."

His thumb, stroking my n****e... I couldn't think. I forced myself to remember that I was, or had been, royalty.

"The Prince Arj must have unlimited time on his hands," I said, as steadily as I could. If I could have said it bravely it might have been bold or at least confident and haughty, but to my ears it rang of false bravado. Which, of course, it was.

Immediately he caught the throbbing n****e between thumb and forefinger, and rolled it back and forth. My belly twinged over and over, and I had to bite my lip to prevent saying things that would have made me appear weak and foolish. My mother had taught me, over and over, that silence could be more powerful than words. Oh moon, let her be right!

"It's not that difficult a matter," he said. "It can happen in a second. It's happening right now."

I said nothing. There were no safe words. His hand moved to the other n****e, and suddenly it was difficult to stand. No man had ever touched me this way and I had not realized what effect it had. Shame and desire filled ever corner of me and no matter what I must not show it!

And then he stepped back, and addressed his chief guard.

"She is pretty enough, but very ignorant... find her quarters, have her guarded, and arrange her training. Oh -- and water, but no food, for two days; she's a bit full in the face."

Arrogant dog! My face was considered lovely in a land known for pretty women; and no one had ever dared to call me anything other than beautiful! Just because he liked them underfed -- that slut of a head concubine had a trace of rib showing -- that did not mean there was anything wrong with my face! My lips parted as a jumble of angry words rose to them-

-And somehow he heard them coming before they spilled out, because suddenly his dark eyes were on mine, and there was anger in them. Whatever foolish thing I was going to say, died on my lips.

"Or rather, three days without food, but watered wine for the third day. And keep her active. Two hours of dance a day at the very least. Her time in a crate did not do the tone of her legs any good. Now drag her out, and court, disband. Except you, Enjine; you are to my lap."

Four guards closed on me, and two laid hands on my upper arms in a grip I had no hope of breaking. I screamed in rage, but all that earned me was that the Prince looked my way, and in his eyes... oh moon I would do anything to forget what I read there. Cruel, dark, merciless amusement. He had the daughter of a hated foe in his possession. I would be abused in ways I couldn't even imagine, and when he was sick of my insolence -- or my brokenness and tears -- he'd have me killed without remorse. Oh moon, I have honored you; deliver me now!

++

I lived in an emotional hell for two days. Escape was impossible -- guards were everywhere and my strawberry-blonde hair made me the most recognizable person in the palace. Suicide was nothing I could contemplate, not while they had my brother. The man I was being trained for -- trained like a dog or horse -- was a merciless monster; I knew this not only from meeting him, but from the whispers and glances, when people saw me. "Prince Arj wants her," would be whispered -- and the pitying glances would come my way.

Not that I saw many people. The doors to my apartment had a scanner and would not open for me. The windows were open rectangles until I approached them, and then became a sheet of glassee. I tried beating on them with a stone vase, and only managed to chip the vase. Such windows are used in the rooms of very young children and it was somewhat humiliating to have them in my room.

As for the training, so far it had been simple. Physical exercises, balance exercises, lessons in applying makeup (in which I sat like a wooden doll while women showed me tricks, because they could not force me to do more.) But the dance instructor was a powerful male with a sword and a whip, and the first time he snapped that whip towards my face -- the sound is almost deafening when it is that close -- my haughtiness collapsed and I practiced the steps he commanded, over and over.

As for not eating, it made me lightheaded but not worse. I have fasted once a month at every new moon, for three days, since I was eight. It was no true hardship.

On the third day, early in the morning, Enjine, chief harlot, woke me.

The moment I focused on her face, hate filled me, and my hand slashed upwards, fingernails raking. I had quietly sharpened them on the stone of the windowsill, hoping for some chance like this, and I wanted blood and scars.

She must have expected it, because she effortlessly blocked my attack, and then stepped back and drew up a chair.

"There's no point to it, Alani. Hate me all you want -- I might, in your circumstance. But you can't help yourself or your brother if you rage."

"Hate you? You are nothing to me. You are some small princeling's lapdog. I mistook you for Ashtaroth or some sister demoness as I woke, that is why I struck. The resemblance is striking."