The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light down on Gwennalyn and Deiara as they rode through the cobbled streets of Rendevel. Up ahead, a building beckoned them forward, pink curtains fluttering on the windows, sounds reaching them from the open front door.
Gwennalyn was to be in Rendevel for a week, accompanying her parents as they visited their vassal city. As their daughter, she was not expected to do much more than be at the feasts as a pretty and otherwise vacuous presence.
It had been a month since her experience with the orcs. Something inside her had been awakened, some hunger for congress, some desire for unchecked carnality. Since then, she had spent every night with Deiara. They would spend much time entangled together, bodies writhing, hands exploring, mouths tasting. Sometimes, Deiara would have a guardsman or soldier visit her, and Gwennalyn would watch them, the male always unaware that the princess was watching him ravage her handmaiden, fantasizing that she was at the mercy of his desires instead.
Luckily, Lucien had left, returning home to assist his father in his duties, freeing her from having to spend time with him. Despite the understanding they had reached about their mutual lack of love, he had still insisted on bothering her numerous times a day. But with him gone, she had more time to herself, and more time to cavort with Deiara.
The two women stopped outside the pink-curtained building. The ride from the castle had been simple enough; the challenge had been finding a way out of the castle that would not arouse suspicion or attention.
It would not do for the princess to be seen coming here.
It had been Deiara's idea to come here.
The Pink Petal was a brothel, slightly higher-class than some of its competitors. Its owner, Caria, had been a courtesan overseas in Arzaros, sharing a bed with one of the Arzaroan nobles; when the specific noble had died, sans heir, he had left her with the bulk of his wealth. While Caria could have lived comfortably with minimal effort, after a visit to Rendevel, and the Pink Petal, she had bought the brothel. The large amount of time spent with the Arzaroan noble, who had been in charge of coin for one of the larger noble families, had helped Caria hone a keen mind for business. So along with refining and reshaping certain practices to improve morale for the prostitutes, understanding that they were the lifeblood of the brothel, Caria had created an opportunity for curious and coin-laden women. These women were given the opportunity to work for her, entertaining the men who passed through, living a night in the life of a whore, something which apparently interested many highborn women. They would pay to spend a night there, dressed and perfumed like a whore, their husbands and fathers none the wiser. Deiara had heard about it from some Rendevelian handmaidens, and had come to Gwennalyn, with the idea that it might help soothe the lustful cravings that had recently sprung up inside her. The princess had initially balked, despite the interest such a notion provoked.
"It would be all too easy for me to be recognized," she had protested.
"Princess, do you really think the Pink Petal's patrons know what you look like up-close?"
She had shrugged at that, unsure of the answer.
"They don't," Deiara had supplied, "and even if somebody does, they would just think there was a strong resemblance. Who would expect the daughter of the king to be whoring in Rendevel?"
Deiara had continued in the same vein. The spirited pleading had made Gwennalyn smile, as she could tell that her handmaiden, who had promised to accompany her and partake in the same charade, sorely wanted it to happen.
"Very well," she had finally relented, "but I want to take a tour, see the premises."
"That's part of the package," Deiara had countered, "the first step. You can tour, and then back out if you feel nervous about it all."
Her handmaiden had returned later in the day, having apparently set up a tour for the next day. Cleverly, Deiara had switched their roles, presenting herself as a visiting dignitary, and Gwennalyn as her handmaiden.
The tour had been enlightening, helping to soothe certain misgivings that Gwennalyn had still held.
But a swooping anxiety in her belly had still persisted. She had imagined it would not go away until she was in the midst of the charade.
Part of the package that Caria offered also included transport to the Pink Petal, from two of the guardsman that helped keep order in the brothel. The two men who had been waiting for Gwennalyn and Deiara looked like any other man; they wore no armor, no helmets, only carrying swords hanging from their hips. As it was night-time in an unfamiliar city, Gwennalyn had appreciated the service.
Before they had snuck from their room to slip out of the castle, Deiara had given her a potion, one that looked similar to white blossom tea, but slightly darker in color.
"It's called safe brew," her handmaiden had said. "It's to make sure you don't catch anything unseemly."
Gwennalyn had arched an eyebrow at that.
"Lots of strange men visit the brothel. The white blossom tea will stop you from coming away with a baby, and this'll stop you from coming away with something much less cute."
She had drained the cup, trusting in her handmaiden.
Caria was waiting for them just inside the front door.
"Greetings, ladies" she said.
"Good evening, Caria," they responded, following her deeper inside, up the staircase, to a door on the first landing.
Caria opened it, to reveal a small room, with two small tables and a trunk.
"We 'ave clothes and perfumes for you 'ere," Caria said, gesturing around the room, "choose what you want, and come downstairs to the main room."
She left, closing the door behind her. Gwennalyn was struck with a sudden nervousness, but Deiara stroked her shoulder, sensing the uneasiness.
"No one will recognize you," she purred, "it'll be fine."
Gwennalyn nodded, and headed over to the table, while Deiara went for the trunk.
