Jolie knelt before her pallet in the tiny cell, head bowed. Her hands rested against her slightly swollen belly, the only visible evidence that she carried the King's child. As often did, the image of her sister and her father flowed through her mind, and sadness washed over her. She longed to see her family again. Jolie didn't want her baby born on an alien planet, far removed from everything familiar and dear.
Would the King let her go when he eventually tired of her? Or would she be imprisoned in his harem forever, a forgotten plaything having to suffer the petty meanness of his favourite love slave, Liana? Hopelessness welled in her at the horrid thought.
She was drawn from her meditations by the familiar footfalls of her attendant. Her head turned and lifted. Kiara stood at the entrance to her cell, a length of shimmery violet cloth draped over her arm.
Jolie sighed inwardly. Rising gracefully, she swept her long golden mane over a bare shoulder and turned. Long used to Kiara's way, Jolie held still as her wide, amber eyes were carefully outlined in black. Shimmery dust was brushed teasingly over her shoulders, breasts and belly. Jolie was familiar with Kiara's wicked little games, and refused to acknowledge the growing ache between her thighs. It was forbidden for an attendant and a love slave to have relations, yet Kiara delighted in tormenting Jolie, knowing that Jolie was also forbidden from finding her own solitary release.
At Kiara's instructions, Jolie silently held her arms aloft. Kiara expertly wrapped the sheer cloth around Jolie's curves and joined it over her left shoulder with a jewelled clasp of purple gems with mysterious magenta swirls in their depths. A gold chain was looped around her hips, and her hair was clipped back from her delicate face with a series of golden clasps.
Kiara stepped back to inspect Jolie, then smoothed the cloth over the thrust of Jolie's tiny breasts and the curve of her hips. Jolie knew the hard rosy tips were visible where they pressed against the flimsy material, and pink stained Jolie's cheeks at the thought of the heated gazes of the King's generals roving over her paleness as she was escorted through the palace. Yet none would dare touch or speak to her, for the new swirling tattoo on the small of her back distinguished her from the palace slaves, marking her as the King's personal property.
Jolie had been on Loas for several months now, yet still she was adjusting to their strange customs. She was a princess on her own world, and treated with the utmost respect. Here, she was the King's love slave, and it was expected that she satisfy her master's every whim when called upon to do so. Nudity and sex was not to be hidden behind closed doors on Loas, but something to be freely exhibited and enjoyed.
Jolie knew her circumstances were luckier than most. She was one of the handful of Alverdian women that had been brought to the palace rather than one of the many wenching houses of Loas. Intimacy with a man was something she had been unfamiliar with until her capture. It was the tradition on her world that upon a woman's twentieth birthday she would chose the man to whom she wished to join hands with. Jolie was not given that choice, but had spent her twentieth birthday in an alien palace in the arms of its King. Since that time the King had joined his body with hers a handful of times, and now she carried the fruits of his lust. The knowledge both terrified and excited her.
Jolie pushed her confused thoughts from her mind as Kiara led her along the wide halls of the palace. Before her the other Harem slaves fell into place, each accompanied by their attendant. Liana led the line, as was her right as the King's favourite. Jealousy stabbed at Jolie as she brought up the rear. She was the most recent addition to the King's harem, and her lowly status was reinforced by the knowledge that she was rarely called upon to service him. Her tiny stature, creamy skin and long golden hair only served to set her even further apart from the other loves slaves.
They eventually reached the wide, silver doors intricately carved with images of warring men and beasts that signalled the entrance to the main hall. Guards swung the doors wide, and heat swirled up over Jolie's cheeks as a roar filled the chamber. They were to be paraded through the throng of warriors, a visual demonstration of their King's virility and power.
A circular stage had been roped off in the centre of the hall for the night's entertainment. There was to be sparring among the prisoners. Those that had been sentenced to death for crimes they had committed were given an opportunity to redeem themselves in the eyes of the Loas gods. From the little Jolie understood, they would fight one another until the last remained. His or her victory was seen as a blessing of the gods, and would earn them their freedom.
The chamber fell to a hush as the love slaves moved along the pathway to a curtained dais overlooking the roped off area. Jolie felt as though a hundred pairs of eyes devoured her, rising up over the line of her legs, the sway of her hips, the thrust of her breasts.
Before her Liana moved up onto the dais where she arranged herself in a luscious display of colour and flesh behind the fall of gauzy curtains. The other slaves followed suit, gracefully laying about the favourite. Jolie had reached the bottom of the steps when a loud commotion stirred the crowd.
"Princess, Princess!" a voice cried, and Jolie halted abruptly. It took a moment for the reason to register: her native tongue. As though in her daze, her head turned as her gaze fell upon the man who threw himself on his knees before her. Golden hair gleamed in the light, setting him apart from the bronzed warriors of Loas. Yet the molded leather vest with silver insignia proclaimed him a Loas warrior. And then it hit her. Her world hadn't just been conquered when Jolie had been taken captive. It didn't end there. Her culture was being assimilated by the dominant people.
As Jolie struggled with the unwanted knowledge, hands closed around her arms, dragging her back as dozens of guards drew their swords, separating her from the man who bowed before her.
"No," she cried, snapping out of her reverie as the man's arms were brutally pinned behind his back. "No!" She unknowingly spoke in her own language as she tried to struggle from Kiara's grip. It was a penalty of death to address or touch one of the King's love slaves, and horror raced through her.
She pulled free of Kiara's grasp, leaning down to whisper in her own language "Please rise."
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the floor. "You are my princess. It is wrong that this has been done to you."
She swallowed hard, knowing by 'this' he meant whore. "Forget this, and return to your place. They will kill you otherwise."
Her hand reached instinctively to lift his face to hers when he shook his head. Only a sword halted the movement midair, the flat of the blade resting against her wrist.
"You will not touch another," a voice commanded angrily, and the warriors fell to their knees before their King. Only Jolie, in her distress, didn't, and found herself tugged unceremoniously to her knees by her attendant.
"My Lord, this man addressed your Korva, and we sought to restrain him," a guard informed his King.
A black eyebrow raised as he gaze fell upon the Alverdian. The man's face was impassive, his eyes never rising from the ground before Jolie.
"I did not address your Korva, my lord. I addressed my princess," the man ground out, jaw clenched.
Arik gazed down upon the man for what seemed an age. "Take him back to the warriors quarters. I will deal with him later."
