Chapter III: Bath
Princess Isabella’s long locks of auburn hair cascaded in waves down her back, a fiery cascade that mirrored the tumult raging within her soul. Once, it had been a symbol of her status, a crown of glory befitting the daughter of a king. But now, it felt like a shackle, a reminder of the freedom she had lost and the chains that bound her to her captor.
And then there were her eyes—emerald-green orbs that shimmered with a depth of emotion that belied her tender years. They had once sparkled with innocence and wonder, reflecting the beauty of the kingdom she had called home. But now, they were clouded with sorrow and defiance, haunted by the memories of a life stolen from her grasp by an unholy war and a cruel man who thought himself to be a god.
Seventeen years old, she thought bitterly, the weight of the milestone heavy upon her shoulders. It was an age that should have been marked by celebration and joy—a time of coming of age and her blossoming as a woman. But for Isabella, it was a prison sentence, a cruel marker of her helplessness.
As she gazed upon her reflection in one of the puddles in her cell, she couldn't help but contrast the peaceful serenity of her upbringing with the harsh reality of her captivity. Once, she had roamed the lush gardens of Allendor, her laughter mingling with the songs of birds and the whisper of the wind through the trees. But now, she was confined to the cells of the Dragon King's palace, a cage that held her captive in body and spirit.
Two guards appeared and unlocked her cell. They were silent and grabbed her by the arms without the slightest courtesy. As Isabella was led from the prison, her heart pounded with a mix of dread and defiance. The soldiers flanked her, their eyes devoid of sympathy as they guided her through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace.
Eventually, they arrived at the entrance to the Dragon King's Harem—a place whispered about in hushed tones, where the most beautiful women in the realm were kept to satisfy his desires. As the heavy doors swung open, Isabella was assaulted by the scent of exotic perfumes and the soft murmur of voices.
Stepping inside, she was greeted by a group of maids, their eyes assessing her with a mixture of curiosity and pity. Without a word, they began to disrobe her, their hands rough and impersonal as they stripped away her clothes, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.
Once she stood naked before them, they ushered her towards a marble bathing house, with several baths filled with steaming water, fragrant with sweet, floral oils. As she stepped into the warm embrace of the water, she couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of being bathed by strangers.
The maids worked quickly and efficiently, their hands gentle yet unyielding as they scrubbed away the grime of captivity from Isabella's skin. Each touch felt invasive, a reminder of her loss of autonomy in this gilded prison.
After what felt like an eternity, the bathing was finally complete. Isabella emerged from the fragrant water, feeling oddly exposed yet strangely rejuvenated. The maids descended upon her like graceful vultures, their hands deft and efficient as they dried her skin with soft towels. They proceeded to comb her hair, which was wet and very damaged from the two months she spent in captivity. As they worked on her hair, the maids kept whispering amongst themselves in hushed tones, their eyes assessing Isabella with a mixture of curiosity and pity. They knew what kind of fate awaited her within these walls, yet they dared not speak of it openly, for fear of reprisal.
Once her hair was done, the maids set to work on her skin. They rubbed a mix of scented oils and lotions all over her body, massaging her softly, which made her feel a little relaxed, despite the exposure. They rubbed a honey-like substance on her nipples, lips and in the middle of her legs. Isabella protested, but they firmly held her open and spreaded the thick liquid all over her womanhood. “She seems intact,” one of the maids murmured to the other after closely examining her private parts. Isabella felt relieved when they finally let her close her legs. She was gestured to get up and they began dressing her in the garments befitting a concubine of the Dragon King. Silken robes in shades of light rose and gold were draped over her shoulders, their soft folds caressing her skin like a lover's touch. Intricate patterns adorned the fabric, shimmering in the golden sunlight entering through the vitrals of the bathing house. The dress was much lighter and revealing than what she would usually wear as a royal princess. The lack of modesty of her dress was a reminder that beneath the veneer of silk and jewels, she remained a captive—a pawn in the sick game of power and ambition of a cruel and greedy man.