Here I was again in Trostis, the capital of Amella, the glittering jewel of the East. For some definitions of the words "glittering" and "jewel", I guess.
More like the somewhat shiny, polished stone of the East.
Regardless, I was back in my home country for the first time in almost two and a half years. But I wasn't here to reminisce, and I had no family worth visiting.
Trostis is sometimes called the city of churches, and true to its name it is chock-full of huge, opulent churches and cathedrals dedicated to the gods of humans, dwarves, halflings, and even elves. But I wasn't here for religious pilgrimage, either.
I was with my son, Davor Junior, who was already sixteen months old and only just now seeing the land where his mother was born. We were mere days away from the edge of the orcish clan-lands, and by extension his father - Davor of the First Fire clan.
Or at least that's who I assumed the father was. The truth is it could have been any of three different orcs.
But it was Davor Senior who had invited me to live with him when we met, so it was Davor we were looking for. I had already bought a horse, a patient mare that had thinned out my coin purse quite a bit. With a route planned, my method of transport ready, and my coin purse a big light, you'd think I would be buying last-minute supplies and getting moving.
Instead, here I was, in some fancy clothier's shop, looking at some very expensive undergarments.
The clothier, Sophie apparently, had been busy with another girl when I came in. I busied myself taking in the massive assortment of lingerie available. They looked like they were made in a few different sizes, a few looking like a good fit for a child, or maybe a halfling, and others looking like they were sized for someone significantly bigger. And the number of shapes and colours... good gods, where was I supposed to start?
There were a few pairs of lacy underthings that looked like they might be a good fit, but they covered so little that it was almost funny. I wanted something sexy, and I had never been afraid of being adventurous... but a patch of black lace that wouldn't cover even the most sensitive parts seemed a bit much, even for me. Or not enough, maybe. And why were the smallest ones the most expensive, anyway? You'd think that less fabric used would mean a lower cost...
The other woman in the shop was on her own now, and I heard the soft clicks of her heels as she meandered over to where I was. She came to a stop beside me, looking over the same floor-to-ceiling display of overpriced lingerie.
I'd given her a once-over when I first came in, but I spared a quick side-eye to get another. Her hair was like black satin, falling in a smooth wave over her exposed shoulders, and I felt a small pang of jealousy at the thick, straight hair that must be so much easier to take care of than my natural waves. Her skin was a dark olive colour, and flawless in a way that spoke of youth and never having had to work in the sun. I suppose I had that going for me as well, a gift of my father's elven blood. The hair and skin colours marked her as being from Sawarra - or at least her family.
She had clearly put so much effort into maintaining her beauty, despite looking young even for a human, that at first I assumed she was nobility. But the way she carried herself was too reserved for Amellan nobility, and I doubted the Sawarran royal family would lower themselves to shopping in a streetside shop.
We stood in silence for a moment, taking in the almost infinite variety. She probably knew more about this kind of thing than I did, even if she was at least a full decade younger than me.
"These sure have gotten pretty popular these days, haven't they," I mused aloud, tucking a curl of red hair behind my pointed ear. My grandmother would have reprimanded me for fidgeting in such an obvious way, but I'm not a full elf and don't feel like I have to imitate their glacial stillness. Especially not here in the lands of my human family.
"They grew in popularity pretty quickly," the lady agreed, and I felt myself relaxing a shade. I couldn't really afford to shop in a place quite this nice, but she either didn't notice or didn't care about the class difference.
"Some fancy-pants noble probably wore lingerie to a party," I joked, "now everyone wants to match the style." She smiled at my light poking, and I decided she was definitely not proper nobility. "My name's Amaranthea. Most people call me Amy."
"Pleased to meet you, Amaranthea," she answered and gave a genuine smile complete with little dimples. This girl had no lack of suitors, of that I was certain. "I'm Arabela."
I turned my attention back to the two-piece sets. Maybe keeping it simple was the way to go?
I could feel Arabela's gaze travel over me as I considered and rejected another pair (too frilly!). I had inherited the height and slenderness of my elven father's side of the family, and some curviness from my mother's - and my breasts had only gotten larger since having Davor. The red hair, green eyes, and long pointed ears all added to the exotic beauty. There was a kind of objectification that I only experienced from other women, where they either wanted to be me or dress me up and show me off like a doll. I wasn't sure which end of that spectrum Arabela fell on as she looked me over from behind a veil of hair.
Men were simpler: they usually just looked at my hair and breasts and then tried to fuck me. Sometimes they went as far as ogling my waist or ass before coming to that conclusion. Who says chivalry is dead?
"There are so many more types and shapes now," she sighed. "How's a girl to settle for just one?"
Probably that longing sigh was about the pretty panties, but she wouldn't have been the first lady to show that kind of interest in me. There had been a couple of human women years ago, not to mention Ilaira the nymph...
I felt a hint of heat in my cheeks as the memory resurfaced, and quickly grabbed an item off the wall to distract myself from that train of thought. Those two nights with Pux and Ilaira had been magical, and I still couldn't think about either of them without blushing.
"Mhm," I mumbled as I turned the thin cloth over in my hands. It looked tight around the chest and looser after that - it would have been a perfect piece while I was pregnant, but the baby weight was months gone and I would rather show off my slim waist a bit more than this would do. "Last time I was in the city, you had to go to a specialist to get proper lingerie."
"How long have you been away from Trostis?"
"About..." I started, then did some quick maths. "It's got to be a bit more than two years, not as much as two and a half."
I was trying to decide how to side-step the inevitable question about what I was doing abroad when I heard Davvy burble to himself. He'd been napping, but apparently my brief interlude of baby-less silence was done now.
