Author's Note: Last time, Alder was referred to as "sire" but I am changing his honorific to "young master". Please enjoy the second chapter of my first erotica story.
***
When I wake in the morning, Alder is already gone. As my eyes adjust to the light pouring through the window, I run my hands over the bedsheets, luxuriating in the soft fabric.
Once I emerge from this bed, I am unsure what I will face. The threat of being sent away still pinches my chest. Last night, I was unable to satisfy Alder... Or rather, he had put an end to it before we had even begun.
Mirillis. I swirl the name around in my mind. She must be Alder's former lover. No man whispers a name so tenderly while drunk and kissing another woman unless the subject of the name was once dear to him. Is still dear to him. Where, then, is Mirillis? Why is she not with him?
As I lay pondering, the door creaks open and I bolt up to a sitting position, afraid that the Madam will barge in and reprimand me for my laziness. Yet it is only Byrde. She carries a wooden tray in, setting it on the table. The whole time, she averts my gaze. I look down at myself and flush slightly when I realize what she has seen: the straps of my silk slip pushed off my shoulders, the purple-ish welts across my chest. Suddenly self-conscious in front of this young girl, I draw the blanket up to cover myself.
"I shall l-let you eat breakfast while I fetch your clothes."
Before I can thank her, Byrde bolts out of the room. Sighing, I climb out of bed and sit in front of my meal. A bowl of hot bone broth and another half-loaf of bread, this time spread with butter. My mouth waters at these delicacies. It must be Alder himself giving the order to keep me well-fed. While it is nowhere near as decadent as the meals the nobles must enjoy, I know for certain that no other servant in this place is dining as well as I.
After I have drank the last of the soup, Byrde appears with a bundle of clothes. A simple servant's frock. I suppose my former clothes were too unsightly, low-cut and short enough to reveal my thighs. Attempting to put the girl at ease, I smile at Byrde and change into the white cotton shift, asking for her help tying the corset. Although apprehensive, she wears a smile on her face as always.
"Byrde, dear, could you do me a favour?" I venture, ensure of whom else to ask this of.
"If it is simple enough, I suppose..." she mutters in response.
Crossing the room, I pick up a scrap of paper and ink pen that I spotted earlier sitting atop a dresser. I scrawl a few ingredients on the paper and blow on the ink to ensure it has dried before pressing the paper into Byrde's hands. Her round eyes widen as she watches me do this.
"You know how to write?" she asks, face brimming with curiosity.
I return her question with a wry smile. "Yes, well, I was not always a slave." My hand grips the pen harder, recalling with ease the schoolgirl I once was. The top of my class, poised to marry a politician after my studies. That is, until my parents passed and my inheritance was not enough to cover my dowry. My fiancé's family easily cast me aside. Two hundred gold was all it took for my life to be ripped away from me. Heartbeat quickening in my chest, I force myself to meet Byrde's eyes and smile even more warmly.
She stares down at the paper in her hand and then back at me, a pout on her face. "B-but I cannot read."
"Worry not, dear. I only need you to deliver this to the kitchen and ask them for the items on the list. Tell them that I need a tea brewed with those exact ingredients every morning. It is vital for my...job here."
Byrde's face contorts with confusion at my explanation. I hope that her prudish nature prevents her from inquiring any further. The ingredients I gave her are for a contraceptive tea, a recipe I learned from the brothel. Based on my explanation, I predict that anyone else who hears of this tea will presume it to be an aphrodisiac.
As I thought, Byrde nods and tucks the paper into her pocket without prying. She picks up the tray and makes to exit the room. Simultaneously, another servant girl, seemingly closer to my age, arrives at the door.
"Izolda, your presence is requested in the parlor," she relays flatly.
I raise my eyebrows, unsure who would be summoning me, but do not hesitate to follow her.
This servant walks with her back straight, carrying far more confidence than Byrde. She leads me to a set of winding stairs and I only now realize that Alder's room is on the top floor of the building. We descend one level and stop at the first door in the hall. The walls are devoid of portraits, instead decorated with scenic paintings and large vases. The servant knocks twice and a voice beckons us in. She pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter without her.
Once inside, my stomach drops. I hear the door click shut behind me.
"Good grief, who dressed you in that?" Nicolin chides, pointing a teaspoon at me. He sits on a red velvet chaise in front of a dark wooden tea table. Without breaking eye contact, he stirs three spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. "It is no wonder Alder feels zero sexual desire towards women if this is the type of garb he prefers them dressed in."
Nicolin takes a sip of his tea and pulls back immediately, the steaming liquid likely burning his tongue. I suppress my desire to smile at his misfortune.
