Chapter 13: The Golden Lady
It was a warm summer morning, already promising to be a hot day, and Dorée sat ensconced in comfort, sipping her tea. She could hardly believe how things had changed since she passed through what the Duc called "the turn." He had turned her with a single word from girl to Lady, from slave to Mistress, and turned her world upside down yet again.
To be sure, her power was not permanent or absolute. But for now, she had been installed in a suite of rooms in the East Wing - the first to see the light of dawnâand given power over all the servants there. She had her own apartments, tastefully decorated in sheer curtains and pale gold silks, gilt chairs tufted in velvet and tables with slender legs like antelopes. She had her own luxurious bed, curtained and cushioned, with down coverlets. She could not call whomever she wished into that bed, of course. She had no power over the Duc's noble guests nor the servants in their domains. But she could command any of the servants from her wing, and any who entered her wing with the permission of their Master or Mistress.
She could also command the twins.
She shivered to think back on the meeting that had granted her such power. She was still raw then, her skin still sticky with Thierry's seed. She recalled sitting in the Duc's receiving room wrapt in the warm blankets she had come to cling to despite the heat of the night. He offered her a glass of wine. Uncharacteristically, she took it and drank it down in a single draught. He chuckled and said,
"You played the game well today, Golden Girl. We came to quite an impasse. One might say, a double bind."
His expansive good humour came barbed with provocation. Dorée refused to bite the hook.
"It must be quite a shock to you." The Duc continued. "But you spoke truly when you said that martyrdom brings terror, wonder, and transcendence. You have transcended your former station. Your position as a chambermaid is henceforth terminated. Ah, but what will you be now?"
"I know not, my Lord." Dorée shook her head. She'd still been dazed, then, and strangely distant from herself.
"Stand, Dorée, and look behind that door. Perhaps there you will see that which you are to become."
The Duc gestured to an oaken door. Dorée hesitated, unsure of what fresh horrors she might see behind it. But the Duc's expression was not malicious now, only curious. She went over, moving gingerly as her aching muscles protested, and opened the door.
O, someone there! She jumped back fast in fear as a shadowy figure stepped forward to confront her. But no, it wasn't someone else. It was her reflection, cast back at her from a small room whose walls echoed to infinity. It was like the oval mirrors in her room in the South wing, only amplified within a chamber fully paneled in looking glass from floor to ceiling. Amazed, Dorée peered all around. Then she stepped in, bringing a candle with her for light.
Once again she felt the sensation of herself amplified. She allowed the blanket to drop and studied her body. Yes, it was battered and torn, but the form beneath the wounds was beautiful. Her hips had filled out more since her arrival almost a year ago and her breasts were larger as well, though her waist and legs were still slender with youth. When she straightened her back, her many selves did as well, standing tall and proud. She lifted her chin, allowing her golden locks to cascade behind her. How could she not know what she was when confronted with this sight? She had been martyred and now she beheld her heavenly body, perfected through its trials.
"Vanity, away," She murmured to herself, as she had many times before. But it did not seem like vanity to recognize that what she saw was beautiful and somehow deeply powerful even in naked vulnerability. It felt like a truth long denied and now acknowledged. Her honey-brown eyes shone at her from the mirrors in recognition of this truth.
When she returned to the Duc with her head held high, he smiled in satisfaction. She found a yellow silk robe on her chair, folded and placed there by some unseen servant. She donned it carefully so as not to pull her scratches open again. It would be a pity to stain the silk with something so common as blood.
"You have seen her. The Golden Lady." The Duc said eventually.
"Yes, my Lord. She is glorious."
"Well, then, I have a gift for her. Come in!" He called out this last towards the door.
At his command, the door opened and in strode Thierry, followed by his sister Mariette, both clad only in Romanesque cloths draped over their hips and breasts. Their midnight-black hair had been brushed to glossy perfection and their strong, sleek bodies rubbed down with oil, but Dorée could tell they were abashed to be seeing her again so soon, and in such a different context. Before they had been fellow slaves suffering and striving towards pleasure together in the shadow of the St-Andrews cross. But now...
The Duc spoke, breaking the erotic tension that resonated between Dorée and the twins.
"Golden Lady, the East Wing is yours for seven days. After this term, we will judge your progress and lengthen the term as necessary. While you dwell there, you may have need of a table steward and stewardess. I bid you to use mine, and use them well."
Inside, Dorée trembled. Outwardly she kept her face calm.
"I cannot express my gratitude enough, your Grace." She said evenly. "I'm sure I shall enjoy them."
With a wave, the Duc sent the pair off to the East Wing. Dorée departed soon afterwards.
And so it was that she found herself lounging in bed on a day that already promised to be hot, sipping her tea and wondering just what she should do next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the first few days of her tenure as the Golden Lady, Dorée had done nothing but rest and heal. She stayed abed late, even taking her morning meal from the comfort of her cushions. She allowed herself to be bathed daily in hot water scented with lavender. Female servants gently sponged her wounds and applied healing balms that worked like magic. Within just a few days the sting of the nettle's poison was gone and the cuts had faded to pink lines in her firm flesh. She doubted there would be even a single scar left to tell the tale of her martyrdom.
On the third night of her tenure she invited the Scarlet Lady to dine with her in the East Wing. Thierry and Mariette alone were allowed to serve the table. Even then, Dorée was afraid to lose face in front of them, so it wasn't until after the dinner was complete and the two women were sipping cordials that Dorée dared to ask the question she was burning to have answered.
"My Lady-" She began timidly.
"Please, dear, we are equals for the time being and the formal dinner is over. Use my given name. I am called Rufina."
Dorée shivered despite herself.
"Rufina...was she not a martyred saint in ancient times?"
The Scarlet Lady nodded, laying one finger to her nose as if to say, 'It's a secret.'
"Well then, Rufina, I must ask you a question. What does a Lady do? That is, what ought I to be doing now that I'm...this?" She held up her arms on which golden bangles now danced in place of shackles.
