Aliadra Mecria was not an average young lady of Vilt's high court, born and raised in good pedigree. She was the only daughter of house Mecria, and the subject of utmost desire for more than half of Vilt's lordlings. Mecria women always were.
"I know Delia said he was willing to take us in, but I do hope this goodmaster Ponce will offer us his protection," Aliadra spoke across the carriage to Gwenlin, her mother. Aliadra was fidgeting, twisting and scrunching the blue hem of her dress's sleeves in her fingers. They had already discussed how to present their plea to the goodmaster far past the point of productivity.
"Whether the goodmaster accepts our request for asylum or not is in the Great Father Fortune's hands. We've prayed already, and that is all we can do until we arrive at his estate." Gwenlin's words were said in a hard tone, though she padded them by leaning across the carriage to take her daughter's hands in her own and give them a reassuring squeeze. If it stopped Aliadra's nervous kneading without the younger Mecria noticing, all the better.
The two were of a pair, one could easily have mistaken the Madam Mecria as her daughter's sister. Both were svelte but still impressively endowed, full in bust with wide hips that strained against their form fitting if rather worn silks. Thick cascades of glistening chocolate curls framed their round faces and draped above their eyes. Gwenlin's hair tinseled with lines of gray, the only aspect of her that noted her older age.
Cat angled forest green eyes, plump red lips, and upturned button small noses drew envy from ladies and desire from lords of higher blood than theirs. It spoke of their foreign, mixed heritage. A blessing and a curse, as men, who should have known better, dreamed about having even just one taste of Mecria blemishless cream white skin.
"I know fire is dangerous while the carriage is moving," A jolt through the cabin when a wheel hit a particularly nasty cobblestone on the street emphasized the point, "but maybe we should burn one more offering for Fortune's favor." Aliadra was babbling. She couldn't stand the quiet of the ride though she barely knew it.
Gwenlin sighed and left her daughter to continue on without responding. They would arrive soon enough at the goodmaster Ponce's estate.
The Mecria had fallen on hard times, tragic times really. They were never a particularly influential family in Vilt's high court, though their family was as old as the founding. Commitment to true love had left the Mecria lineage far too mixed in ancestry to be considered pure and marriageable to those of the high blood, but that did not stop the empress's consort from lusting after Aliadra. The empress, ruby rose of Viltresh, had not taken kindly to that.
The Mecria women were lucky they had been allowed to withdraw from polite society with their lives. Luckier still that Aliadra's wayward friend, Delia, had met the foreign trader goodmaster Ponce who, if his word was to be believed, was willing to offer them his protection.
The coachman called out that they had arrived and the carriage drew to a halt. Aliadra stepped down onto the road taking the coachman's hand for balance. She thanked him with a heart stopping smile which he returned with a russety blush on his weathered cheeks. As Aliadra turned to enter the arching gates of the manor, Gwenlin gave the coachman a large silver for his service.
The goodmaster's estate was much larger than the young Mecria had expected. It must have been property of some disgraced noble line. Sold off when they had fallen from favor of the imperial family, not so unlike the Mecrias themselves. Rows upon rows of topiary animals lined gardens that bordered the granite tiled path leading up to the triple tiered mansion. Prowling lions, bucking stallions, and charging bulls were all wrought in wide leafed shrubbery. They were immaculately maintained, the goodmaster must have had a squadron of gardeners to care for just the entrance.
The Mecrias weren't alone in their approach. Steel clad sentinels patrolled the grounds at even intervals, a rather intimidating sight. The hulking guards, faceless under heavy plate mail, carried glinting steel polearms with wicked points.
Aliadra shivered and took the hand of her mother as they passed by one particularly massive guard. He stood a good ten feet tall and was large, rotund with a pot belly. He was a Neph.
Clearly the goodmaster Ponce was much more well off than Delia had let on. The Neph only offered their services for the most exorbitant prices. Few families had the wealth to hire the giants and Aliadra had not seen any willing to do guardwork save for at the empress's own palace. Violent and as drawn to battle as they were, they often refused safe work.
"No need for worry," a woman's voice said, pulling Aliadra's eyes away from the hulking Neph, "those welcomed by the goodmaster have nothing to fear from that which is his. You two must be the Mecria ladies Miss Delia recommended to us."
Aliadra and Gwenlin both turned to see a maid standing at the open doorway into the mansion. She was a strikingly beautiful woman with long lashes, bright blue eyes, and gold hair tucked under a ruffled white band. The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile that suggested she knew more than they did and found it funny.
She was also very pregnant, perhaps even days away from giving birth. The apron she wore was strained, cinched just under her breasts above her belly, an adjustment she had likely had to do to accommodate her pregnancy. Under the apron was a dark dress trimmed with lace. It hung to her knees, though the dress looked like it would have been ankle length if the maid had not been pregnant. The square neckline plunged low on both the dress and apron, a window that revealed the maid's bust, not quite as full as Aliadra's but still much more than a handful. Her breasts were stretched by engorgement caused by her new milk production allowing her blue veins to be seen through her pale skin.
"like what you see?" the maid laughed, her voice surprisingly deep but with a playful note.
"I'm sorry," Aliadra stuttered as she felt her face flush. She hadn't realized how long and where she had been staring. It was strange. She didn't quite understand why, but it was a challenge to keep her eyes from flicking back down to the maid's deep cleavage.
There was something odd about how the maid smelled. It was muzzing Aliadra's head and made her stomach warm. The smell wasn't a perfume, it was far too masculine for that. A faint earthiness, perhaps burnt spicewood, like she had been marked by the man who had impregnated her. Aliadra's blush deepened at that thought.
"Don't be," the maid shook her head dismissing the apology and pulling Aliadra's attention back to the present, "I personally take it as a compliment. You two are quite beautiful yourselves, I'm sure the goodmaster will be quite pleased to look upon you."
