A Slave for Pleasure

DAPHNE

He walks ahead of me silently, but with confidence. I have a detailed view of the back of his head as I tip toe alongside the palace guards. Midnight black hair, tied back from his face in a loose coil, rests at the base of his shoulders. His skin is the color of warm, buttered sugar, in a light brown coating over flesh. It is almost shimmering in quality, strangely enough, and I keep trying to catch it sparkling in the light. Strong muscles accent his neck and I watch them in harmonious excellence with every slight turn of the head. A straight, perfectly delicate nose contrasts the square chisel of his jawline, where the barest shade of stubble remains. Artfully heart shaped lips sit above a slightly cleft chin, making his look appear stronger somehow, more masculine. Long, black feathered lashes crescent over smoky gray eyes and each time he looks at me, I nearly stumble. He is so beautiful that I almost tell him so.

In fact, I am finding it near impossible to look away.

“Must you stare at me so shamelessly?” He whispers as he unlocks a door at the end of a long, shadowless hall. The windows on each side of this private corridor allow for direct and uninterrupted sunlight. Warmth surrounds me from every angle on the way up, but the tower being set so far from the main rooms, ensures any screams I might make would fall on deaf ears.

Do not think things like that, Daphne.

Why would you need to scream?

“My apologies,” I say, as I follow him up the sandstone stairwell. Casting my eyes downward, I dare not look at him again. Instead, I concentrate on my slow gait as we climb to the top.

“This is to be your room,” the stranger, Ash, informs, unlatching a large wooden door and stepping past the threshold. “At least, for now.”

Joining him inside, my breath catches. Light filters in through six, polished glass panes. An enormous bed, thick with feather mattress and dressed in white velvet, crowns the room. There are dark velvet curtains tied open with ribbon along each bedpost. Next to the door stands a tall armoire made from polished chestnut, nearly as wide as one of the walls. In the corner, between two blue satin chairs, is a stone-made tub lined with copper and accented in gold, with matching chamber pot. A plush Persian carpet covers most of the space, threaded in shades of orange, royal blue, silver, and tassels of gold.

I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in. “I am to sleep here?” I inquire, my eyes dancing about the room.

He studies me carefully, observing my stained brown skirt and matching tunic with curiosity. “Yes,” he says. ”Most of the time.”

“And the rest of the time?” I ask softly.

He ignores my inquiry, but says, “You should choose something from the wardrobe and change as soon as possible. The king will be expecting your company during the evening meal.”

“Oh,” I reply, quietly, smoothing my hand over the front of my clothes. I was wearing my Sunday best. I thought I was presentable. Before I headed out of the cottage that morning, I even took a dip in the shallows of the stream next to our farm and combed my hair with Diana’s bone pick. It had been freezing, but necessary. “What if nothing in there fits me?” I ask.

He chuckles, startling me. His laugh is almost as enchanting as his eyes are. Stepping so close to me that he has to tilt his head to glance at my feet, he begins a slow appraisal.

“You aren’t very tall, and you have dainty little feet. Luckily, the king has had seven different mistresses reside in this very room. All in the space of three winters. Something will fit. You can count on that.” Then he smiles, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “And, if it doesn’t? I’ll make sure that it does.”

His smoke gray eyes grow dark as he watches me shiver, the light touch of his hand sending gooseflesh up my arms. I bite my lip to force away a nervous fluttering in my belly. He smells delicious. Like a warm autumn fire in a forest after rain.

“You have freckles,” he notes, studying me with a gaze that thrums with electric energy, their invisible veins of fire sparkling along my skin. “Just a sprinkle, across your nose.”

“Your name is Ash?” I whisper and my cheeks heat.

He nods, raising one sharply manicured eyebrow.

“Are you a slave as well?”

I don’t expect the smile that he gives me, nor the answer that I get. “Not in this world,” he says before turning his back on me and stepping toward the exit.

“Wait! Ash?”

His shoulders stiffen and he stops mid-stride, but he doesn’t turn around. “Yes, Daphne?”

“What manner of slave dresses in finery and joins the king for supper?”

I can hear the depth of his sigh as he whispers, “The kind bought for pleasure.” Then, as he leaves, he says, “I will send water for a bath and a maid to help you dress. You should disrobe.”

The heavy door shuts with an echo of finality, and I glance around the room at my new life.

“I wonder what will happen, should I not please the king.”

Something was telling me that I did not want to find out.

I came here expecting to die and instead I am to become the king’s mistress. A whore.

“Stop it Daphne! Your sisters will soon be free! The king promised to marry them off.”

I should be grateful. Truly. Not only would I be alive, but I would be away from my father and his cruelty.

Would I have done this if I knew the price was to be my virginity?

Yes. Yes, I would have.

So... I began to undress.