They were coming. I could hear their boots thudding on the floor, measured and condemning. I knew my fate would be sealed in just moments, locked within a new, far more menacing cage, now with vultures waiting to devour me at every turn. I shivered at the thought of the King's reedy little fingers poking and prodding at my flesh, his cock ripping apart my insides. His slave, draped over his arm in public, bent over his bed at will. And I would be more easily silenced than Madame Pompadour; I wasn't the great mind she was, nor the great love of the King. All I could do was bring him some form of physical pleasure.
To think someone had managed to replace Madame with a model barely five years her junior. I wonder if the King even knew what he was giving up for something novel like me. A disgraced woman recently discovered to have held onto her virtue, all to protect the name of her half-brother and her father's legacy. A virgin still, but with a sensational and seedy past attached to her name. A perfect combination for an infamous mistress. Not exactly the fate I wished for myself.
The door opened. Two guards stood there, waiting for me, their eyes slightly averted. I suppose being almost the King's property meant that my slightly exposed form couldn't be gazed upon by mere mortals. What was there to see, really, I couldn't tell you. My cerulean dressing gown modestly covered my loose shift and nearly covered my bare feet. I refused to wear slippers. Somehow the icy marble comforted me, staving the iron hot dread of sinful, gluttonous sweat deposited on my body by a man who posed as a god.
I rose with as much dignity and grace as I could. I willed my hands to be still, though my bones were violently shaking within. A guard at either side of me, they guided me down the opulent hallway to the gilded doors of hell. They swung open silently, and the mealy goblin emerged, awaiting his latest prize. He held out his hand to me, a cruel smile curling his lip. Out of the corner of my eye, Madame Pompadour had come to see my demise. I could feel her white hot anger lashing at me with every measured breath of that beautiful woman. Just as I was about to accept the King's hand, a single pair of footsteps rushed towards us, eradicating the thick silence.
"Inara!" the voice I longed to hear cried, and all eyes turned to see its owner descending upon the scene.
His shirtwaist was undone, his overcoat missing, his vest barely fastened. His sable hair was disheveled and his eyes blazed with fear and passion. Before the guards could react, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me to him. One hand firmly caressed my face, the other possessively clutching at my dressing gown. His hands refused to remain still, as he kept repositioning them. He breath was ragged.
"Inara," he whispered. "I will do it."
My eyes grew wide. I glanced at the King, shock etched onto his face, anger quickly taking over.
"Speak up," Madame Pompadour said commandingly, officially announcing her presence.
Barely skipping a beat, he said, loud enough for half the manor to hear, "Inara, I will take your virginity."
Such a vulgar declaration should have had me reeling with disgust, but I began to melt as I saw the sincerity in his dark eyes. The only way he knew how to save me. I prayed he wouldn't be eviscerated on the spot.
To my surprise, the King began to laugh. "Such boldness coming from a man in a foreign land, standing in front of a sovereign ruler. She is mine; you will kindly hand the girl over, and be on your way."
"She is not yours yet," he shot back, his arms tightening around me. I couldn't tell who was trembling more, him or me; regardless, I couldn't stave off the fear from taking over my body.
"My King," Madame said sweetly, "command your guards to be rid of him, then claim what is yours."
The King smiled at Madame, raised his hand to command his guards, only to stop. He retreated for a moment into deep thought. Another demonic smile cast upon his face, he waved the guards off. The bewildered know-nothings quickly retreated.
"Monsieur Casanova, I've heard of your extensive reputation. If you are so eager to posit this woman as not belonging to me, perhaps you could enlighten me to what ways she would be unfit for being mistress?"
Madame Pompadour sidled up to the King, "My love, what are you doing?" Confusion filled her eyes as her face held an air of indifference.
I tried to will myself to believe he wasn't going to say what he was about to. How neither Casanova nor the Madame couldn't sense what exactly he was suggesting astounded me.
"Monsieur Casanova, Mademoiselle, Madame, come," he beckoned us all into the expansive suite.
A warm fire blazed from the expansive hearth. Everything seemed to glitter and catch the fire and the light of the candelabras. The chamber was surprisingly well lit for it being the dead of night. A light breeze fluttered the damask curtains, circulating the air, a mixture of hot and cold.
Casanova firmly grasped my hand, and I held on just as tightly.
The King draped himself down on a settee and motioned for Madame Pompadour to join him. He waved us forward. "Now, Monsieur, why don't you show me how unfit she is?"
Confusion furrowed Casanova's brow.
The King continued to smile cruelly, "You said you wanted to take her virginity. Well, as her King, I command you to do so."
