Lady Amelia of Warren was very similar to most ladies in her home and the surrounding lands: tight-lipped but amicable, quick-witted but reserved, lovely but plain. A stench of innate haughtiness and rose perfume followed them through the halls of the castle as they came and went from their studies and ate their tinkering little lunches in the blooming courtyard. It was a happy, simple life, and Amelia was the center of it.
Betrothed to the next heir to the throne, she was the quiet envy of the Kingdom, and a small celebrity of sorts: ladies whispered as she walked by, girls copied the color and style of her dresses, and they all tried to push their way in to her circle of friends. Although she knew her status was one of coincidence and family, she couldn't help but be pleased with herself. Her role as wife was one she had been preparing for her entire life, and she intended not just to be the love her husband, but the love of the entire Kingdom. Generally speaking, she knew husbands and wives weren't together to love each other, but to reproduce and strengthen foreign bonds, but her marriage would be different- it had to be. Amelia had observed too many marriages, and not one of them seemed to be what the fairytales and songs talk about. In fact, she had rarely seen the lords and ladies together, save for celebrations and entertainments. She would make sure her Prince loved her, and it would start today.
Her intended would be staying at the Castle Warren along with his family, and it was well-known that he was coming to have the public engagement ceremony, where he would officially ask her father for her hand in marriage and possibly take her away back to his home in the city.
As she sat at her vanity pinching her cheeks, a sharp rap on Amelia's chamber door broke her daydream of seeing her Prince climb down from his carriage, stopping short at seeing her again from when they were children, to now a matured beauty.
Her handmaid swept into the room heaving a deep red dress over her shoulder, the heavy fabric retarding her usually graceful steps. A new dress for the royal family's arrival, Amelia supposed. In truth she hated the impossible layers and weight of all her dresses. Although the garb of the ladies was elegant and showed their wealth all too well, she thought it did nothing to accentuate a woman's beauty, not that it was supposed to in any case. Ladies of the court were not to be disrespected by being objectified, at least not sexually. Rather, they were pawns in a more political game. Her eyes shot a covert glance over her handmaid, who always wore a variation of light, airy fabric draped around her like a Grecian goddess. It was the typical dress of the slaves, but it was beautiful.
Slaves were not altogether looked down upon in their Kingdom, like some others in older times, but rather a class of their own. A lower class, to be sure, but they had an air of charm and sultry mystery about them that was elusive to even the most revered ladies, and even the Queen herself. Amelia was both fascinated and disgusted by their unabashed sexuality.
Each House was quite proud of the quality of their slaves, and while all slaves rarely lacked a desirable trait, each House slaves had their own characteristics for which they were notorious. Warren's slaves, for example, were known for their intuition and anticipation of what is needed of them without being asked. Always a step ahead, intelligent and calm, the slaves of Warren never left anyone for wanting, usually adding their own flair of detail to whatever they did. Amelia often noted the rose perfume she so favored brushed lightly over her new clothes and bed linens, and sometimes pitted, sugary dates would appear on her pillow when she did well in her classes.
The handmaid stood at the entrance of the room, indicating that Amelia might follow. It was time for a long wash that would include Amelia's hair, nails, and anything else that would be needed to look presentable for her new family. She stood to follow with a knot of anxiety clenching uncomfortably in her stomach. Usually boosted with the confidence that came with being a source of envy, Amelia was not feeling so confident now that such unfamiliarity was only hours away.
The slave had moved the large wooden bathtub near the roaring fireplace to ensure the water didn't get too cool. She helped her lady climb into lavender laden water, then let her relax for moment and inhale the scented steam rising from the bath. Amelia smiled tiredly at the girl with gratitude; she really never overlooked anything. Too soon, the slave stood up and began to work at Amelia's fair hair, using a large basin to pour water over the long locks, she scrubbed her scalp with soap; then moving to the rest of her body, scrubbed until her pale skin had a glowing tinge of pink. Gently, she opened her lady's legs, first washing her folds, then the bud of her ass. Amelia felt her pubic hair flow in the water as she was washed, wishing it was bare and pretty like that of the slaves.
"I should remove the hair, I think. Like you women do." Amelia said quietly, lost in her thoughts. She then blushed furiously, embarrassed she had spoken to the girl bluntly; it was rare that they spoke at all.
The slave met Amelia's eyes for a fraction of a second before continuing her work. She did not think her lady expected her to respond. Instead, the slave took Amelia's hands in her own, standing her up out of the bath, and wrapped her in a fine white sheet. She kneeled down in front of Amelia, peeling the sheet from her body to expose the wet curls of pubic hair. Matter-of-factly she smeared thick, shiny oil over the hair, and taking a small eyebrow comb, the slave brushed the pubic hair, flattening it somewhat from the tufty bush it had been, and trimming the ends ever so slightly with a small blade. Amelia immediately tensed; save from her coarse washes, she wasn't used to being touched there, and the gentle brushes were causing odd flutters to erupt in her stomach. She spread her legs slightly, hoping to alleviate some of the sensations. The brush tickled, but wasn't quite reaching where she thought it might tickle most. When the torture finally stopped, she let out a sharp exhale and relaxed in muscles in her buttocks.
The slave smiled slightly at her lady's reaction. It amused her how sensitive to the touch the virgins could be.
The result of the trimming definitely left the curls looking better. But what would he want from me? No doubt he would not see her until they got married, which would be months from now, but should she not start preparing for her new, more womanly life? She traced the hairs with her finger, deciding to leave them be- for now.
After Amelia's hair was pulled into an elegant plait, rouge applied to her cheeks and lips, and her nails clipped and filed, the anxieties of the day's upcoming events creeped slowly back into her blood.
She watched her handmaid choose and retrieve a corset from the armoire. It was the one with the silk ribbons and lace detail around the bust- easily her most beautiful. She wondered if the Price would find the slaves more beautiful than he found her. It was no secret that the slaves were meant to please the lords in ways too shameful for their wives, but perhaps her betrothed would be blinded by his love, and have eyes only for her. She smiled at the thought.
More than once in the past days it occurred to Amelia to ask her handmaid about her wedding night. She had no idea what to expect or what was expected of her, and even though she suspected her mother might offer a few bland words of advice, she wanted real, uncensored talk from a woman who was taught to please men of status. Her friends often swapped rumors of what their handmaids have told them, or what they had supposedly witnessed themselves. Some girls even told stories of exchanging kisses with the boys of the court, and feeling their bulges grown in their pants, but everyone knew those girls were lying. Boys exclusively engaged with the slave girls, never the ladies. She convinced herself the stories she had heard were too shocking to be true. But now... perhaps it was time to start asking questions.
After the slave helped Amelia through the frustrating complications of dressing, she pulled out a small crown of baby's breath from beneath its hiding place in the bedsheets, smiling coyly as she placed it on Amelia's golden head. A token to make the soon-to-be princess feel more beautiful; perhaps the slave had acted of her place, but the slave didn't think so. In fact, she thought it was just what her Mistress needed in that moment.
...
When the royal carriages approached, a few choice, elegantly draped slaves rushed to relieve the horses, and more importantly, show themselves off to the new arrivals. Amelia grimaced at their lithe bodies lined up behind the lords and ladies, and scrutinized her own dress once more. While the dress was richly embroidered with gold threads and littered with jewels, it was not what she had in mind to meet the love of her life. She wondered in vain why the ladies were not accustomed to dressing in a desirable way, all the while, the slaves were expected to let their hair flow down in curls, their bosoms free from corsets, and wear sparkling golden cuffs on their wrists and ankles.
The royals stepped out of the carriage one by one. First, the portly King, who turned and helped his pretty but aging Queen. Their youngest son, their daughter, and finally, her Prince. The last time she saw him he was a child. Now he was a man, tall and broad shouldered with a stern look in his eye. He brushed his long hair from his face after hopping gracefully down from the carriage
Amelia was acutely aware of everyone glancing from her to him, waiting to witness their first interactions. No one cared of her parents and the King and Queen engaging in pleasantries, least of all Amelia. But her Prince walked past her without a glance, and instead took the hand of her mother, bent forward, and kissed it gently. Then loudly clasped the hand of her father.
Amelia stood rigid with her shoulders back and chin high, indignant. He had made her out to be a fool already, acting as though she wasn't there in front of her entire court. Her friends would be talking about it for days, she could already hear their high-pitched whispers in her mind- Did you see that, the Prince walked right in front of her... didn't even say a word!
When his eyes turned toward her, her nose remained in the air, but she extended her hand expectantly for him to kiss. The Prince smiled brilliantly down at her, and taking her small hand in his calloused one, bent low to kiss it.
"You're even more beautiful than I remember," he told her in a clear, deep voice, causing a deep flush from her neck to her forehead. She secretly hoped he had said it loud enough for all her little gossip friends to hear.
The Prince then took her face in his hands and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, earning a resounding coo from the ladies of the crowd. Amelia caught her breath and smiled from ear to ear. What a beautiful man, she thought. My husband.
At dinner they talked of old times, old games they would play as children, of his friends back in the city, and of her studies. Occasionally he would brush a stray strand of golden hair from her eye, or whisper in her ear to make her blush. They lead the dance after dinner, and he held her scandalously close. She glanced around the room to make sure her friends saw it, and once in a while, she gleefully caught the eye of jealous ladies. Amelia was ecstatic, breathless, and all at once she knew the songs were true. She was in love, and she knew her Prince loved her too. She would not have a loveless, boring marriage like so many before her- like her own parents.
The festivities, eating, and drinking seemed to go on for hours. The slaves entertained with a dance, showing off their perfect bodies, letting the newcomers know they were available. As soon as a sip of wine was taken from a goblet, it was filled up again by a beautiful girl. Pastries were passed around. Laughter was ringing in the halls. The ladies were all too careful of their image to have more than a glass of wine, but they smiled and danced nonetheless, engaging in their usual clucking chatter.
The Price often caught her eye from across the room and winked, along with that glowing smile.
Finally, sweating, full, and tired, people trickled away to their quarters. Before parting ways for the night, Amelia's Prince took her by the hand, stealthily crowding her into a stone corner. She was amazed at his brazenness, and looked up at him with full, questioning eyes.
The Prince lowered his lips onto hers, pressing firmly. His tongue glazed over her mouth, and she opened it eagerly. It was not a kiss she had ever seen anyone give another. He was pushing into her, devouring her mouth, overwhelming her. Suddenly, he detached from her. Amelia let out a small squeak of loss, reaching out to draw him back in, but he held up a hand.
"I will be asking your father for your hand in marriage in two days' time, My Lady Amelia. I will continue to go about my business as usual, and you will be there to uphold my image, and birth my heirs. You will be the most fitting Queen to have ever been at a King's side when that time comes. Not a hair out of place, not a word out of turn. Silent. Radiant in public, invisible any other time. Think about whatever that means to you. I would tell you to decide if that's what you want, but you don't have much of a choice, do you? Just as I do not." The Price's eyes bore into hers sternly after his monologue. There was no trace of a smile, no twinkle or wink was had.
