The long-awaited announcement had been made. King Bracca of Denholm was granting a new license. Erya had saved just enough money to apply. Once she had paid the fee, even Vassilon himself could not prevent her from taking the test. Erya was just a slave and a whore, but this contest was only open to slaves and whores. Vassilon was a Duke in the Orithea Clan, a great-grandson of Orithea herself, and Erya had belonged to him for five years, but the king had set this contest in place and nobody had the right to interfere.
If her life had gone the way she had planned, Erya would be the wife of Celyan. Celyan was not a soldier or a poet or an administrator. He was a simple chronicler, a recorder of other people's deeds. But he belonged to the Northern Quill Clan.
A clan meant security in hard times. It meant a family beyond the household. It meant there was always someone to lend a hand. It meant belonging.
But Celyan had died in an unfortunate fire. Before the marriage. Erya was left without a husband, without a clan, and without a future. She was too old to be newly betrothed. Without Celyan, Erya would be doomed to be in her father's care until he died, and then she would starve to death.
But on Erya's eighteenth birthday, her father sold her to Vassilon, Duke of the Orithea Whore Clan. She was a slave, not a member, but it was the best future her father could arrange.
She'd started out as the lowest sort of whore. She walked the streets night after night, spent her mornings sharing a bed with three other girls, and had four hours to herself in the afternoon. A street whore generally has no freedom and no money of her own. But she did have rights. And one of those rights was rewards for service.
Now, she was twenty-six. She had earned a place in a true brothel. She had her own room with a fireplace and a window. Men put money directly in her offering bowl rather than paying a pimp or madam. She was allowed five refusals a month. And her name was printed on the sign outside. Men came to Hedded House Four just to see her.
But Erya was still frightened of the future. Unless she could arrange a better Someday for herself, once age made her less attractive and she was no longer able to bring any money into the brothel or clan, the very best she could hope for was a merciful knife across her throat as she slept.
She was allowed to save money in the brothel, and House Mother Orsit had helped her invest some of it. Two caravans to Adusal and a ship to the Cheythells were carrying some good luck ebony lions that she would earn a profit from. But she was a long way from retirement.
So when the announcement had gone out, that a new license was available, Erya wanted it. She paid the fee, and on the appointed day, the House Mother gave her the day off. All she had to do was pass the test.
Erya made her way to the palace, an intimidating edifice of black and gray stone. She had been there before, servicing various members of the staff, but this time, she was allowed to enter through the front gates.
She handed over her token, proof that she'd paid her fee, to Barpik, the Palace Constable. He scowled at her, clearly remembering the street whore he'd rousted from many a tap room and tavern. He eyed her clothes, fashionable in design, though made from mediocre fabrics. He examined her token carefully, a bronze coin used for various ceremonial purposes.
Finally, he nodded, handing back the token. Barpik was no longer patrolling the city and Erya was no longer a street whore. Times had changed and they both had higher status now. He directed his lieutenant to escort her to the garden, where she would be collected by the test makers.
Erya sat nervously on a bench under a tree, considering the odds of success. The bet makers had given her a one in nineteen chance. Teegall was the favorite in the city, but it was expected that a girl from the capital would get the prize. And there was always the chance that there would be no winner. The last contest had been nine years ago, and no prize had been awarded.
The wait seemed to take forever, but she knew in her head that only a few minutes had passed when her name was called. She stood, breathed deep, and entered the testing suite.
First came the shower. There were no instructions, but any respectable whore knew to shower before meeting a new client. Erya was well aware that her every move, every word, every choice would be analyzed and judged. So she carefully selected her scrubs and oils. Nothing with a heavy scent, nothing that smelled female. The clients should never be overwhelmed with odors, nor go home to their wives smelling of other women.
Clean and fresh, scented faintly with cinnamon and lemons, Erya chose her wardrobe. For one moment, she considered just going boldly nude. But it would be inappropriate. Some clients liked that. Others did not. She needed to present herself in a way that would charm everyone. That meant that some clothing was necessary, but the choice would be critical.
The robes seemed too formal. The tunics were too casual and workman-like. The trousers and blouses were like costumes and the hosiery was just too erotic. How she presented herself was going to have a major effect on how she did on this test. And the longer she took, the worse the impression.
Erya finally chose to wear the hosiery, but she wrapped one of the robes around herself. The elegance fought with the eroticism of the outfit, but Erya belted the robe like a common tunic, for a unique new distinctive look. Character and individuality were as important as knowledge and technique in these tests.
Feigning confidence in her choice, Erya moved to the next phase of the test. There was a client waiting for her. She didn't know who he was or what he liked. Erya couldn't even be sure the client was male. So a passive entrance was probably best.
Quietly and discreetly, she opened the door, slipped inside, and gentled it shut. She smiled serenely at the client, a young man of maybe twenty, but inside, she was trying hard to conceal her shock. The client was Prince Ragon. Erya had serviced royalty before, including Ragon's two older brothers, but those were simple matters of duty. This was her test. She couldn't screw up even one detail and royalty made the whole thing a thousand times more difficult. And if rumors were to be believed, Prince Ragon was a virgin. He was betrothed to Queen Elessa's twin daughters and evidently, his family wanted to make sure he didn't embarrass himself in the marriage bed. Her test was a royal virgin.
Nobody had promised Erya that the test would be easy. Moving gracefully to the table, she plucked the bag of coins from the offering bowl and counted them. It was a good payment, worth a generous service. Whores were an integral part of the Denholm economy. Their services had value and the pimps and brothels were taxed at fixed rates. A whore who forgot to take her payment was stealing from the brothel, the clan, and the kingdom. She would certainly fail this test if she neglected that now.
Erya carefully poured out two glasses of wine. These, she carried to the bed where her Prince waited nervously. She reminded herself that he may be a Prince, and she a slave, but by the laws of the kingdom, the House Mother of a brothel had absolute authority within its walls, and in the private chambers, the whore was in charge, even if she was a slave. In the streets, the Prince could hit, kick, or whip a slave at his pleasure. But if it happened inside a licensed, legitimate brothel, even a Prince would be hanged for such an offense.
It was a crucial part of this test that Erya remember that she was in charge. She would be judged on her own choices. If anything went wrong, it would not necessarily mean failure unless she tried to blame the client.
The Prince took the glass she handed him. He sipped the wine, grateful for something to do. Erya sat beside him, considering her approach.
"We don't have to do anything," she whispered. Some clients just wanted to talk. Others lost their nerve. A good whore had to know when it wasn't going to happen. Erya had not yet made that decision, but she wanted the boy to know there would be no pressure on him to perform.
Most young men were eager to get this rite of passage well behind them. But a few of them were frightened of the act. If he wasn't ready for it, watching his precious penis vanish into the mysterious female orifice could be traumatic for a boy. It was surprising that the Prince had made it to the age of 20 without knowing a girl in bed. A thousand courtiers, servants, and slaves would have willingly offered themselves, their wives, and/or their daughters to a boy of royal birth. Perhaps he was one of those too frightened to go through with it.
But he had a duty and he knew it. "No," he told Erya. "I can't back out. Everyone is counting on me."
"Well, we can take it slow anyway. Let's try this," Erya suggested. "You stand up. I'll take off my clothes and lie on the bed. You can touch me anywhere. You can ask me questions. When you're ready to move on, we will."
The Prince was agreeable to this. He had expected a hard-talking, aggressive woman to throw him on the bed and sit on him. This gentle teacher was a relief and a comfort. He stood up and backed away from the bed.
Erya followed, choosing a spot three feet away from him to begin her seduction. A striptease was far too much for the hesitant boy, but it was just a fact of Nature that men are attracted to women. The feminine form, the feminine voice, and the graceful way that a female moves are all triggers for the male. Erya closed her eyes and hummed a light, sweet tune as she slowly took off her clothes.
She didn't make a show of it. The boy needed intimacy, not theatre. And there was no need to make a production out of the process. His eyes would be on her, she was confident. It would be nearly impossible for him to actually look away. The eyes of a twenty-year-old young man would be glued to Erya's every curve.
And she knew she looked good. Her skin was a creamy caramel color, a tribute to the pale-skinned ancestors who'd once invaded this continent and to the dark native brides they'd stolen when they arrived. Erya's hair was a dark, reddish brown with hints of gold and her eyes were a pale green. But a whore had to be beautiful in more than the face. Her breasts were not the heavy melons some men preferred, but they were not easily ignored, either. Her butt was smooth and round and swayed sensuously when she walked. She had classic curves that turned a lot of heads.
