Another massive thank you to Emma Kendrick for sharing her thoughts on the chapter!
The trio tramped into the inn, bellies growling, legs numb from the ride.
"Hello there!" one of the serving girls greeted them, chipper smile on her face. "Welcome to the Brazen Badger!"
"Three stews," Finley told her.
"And a pitcher of ale!" Roak called over his shoulder on the way to a table.
"Have you any goat milk?" Jonas asked.
She cocked her head.
"Uh, I'm not sure, but I'll ask!"
"What is it with you and goat milk?" Finley asked him, joining Roak at the table.
"It's a new thing. Healthier than cow milk."
"And how do you know that?" Roak cut in, stripping off his gloves and setting them aside.
"You ever seen a cow?"
"Yes."
"You ever seen a goat?"
"Also yes."
"Which one looks healthier to you?"
Roak stared blankly over the table at him. Finley burst out into laughter.
"Hold on," Roak finally spoke up, "you think goat milk is healthier than cow milk because goats look healthier than cows?"
"You ever seen a fat goat?"
"No."
"How about a skinny cow?"
"No, but -"
"There you go," he said, with an air of finality. "It's because of the milk they drink."
Roak stared blankly at him again.
The serving girl came over, holding a tray laden with three bowls of stew, a loaf of bread, a pitcher, and three cups.
"Your goat milk," she told Jonas, passing him one of the cups.
"Question for you, girl," Roak started, while she unloaded the tray. "Which do you think is healthier, cow milk or goat milk?"
Finley shook his head in bemusement, pulling a bowl towards himself, steam wafting invitingly off the contents.
She frowned.
"I suppose I don't know. Which is healthier?"
"Goat," Jonas answered, fresh off a chug of milk, white droplets clinging to his copper-red mustache.
"Really?" she said, resting the now-empty tray on her hip.
"He thinks goat milk is healthier because goats look healthier," Roak told her.
"Cows are fat, and goats are lean," Jonas explained patiently. "It's the milk."
She giggled.
"You know more about cows and goats than me, that much is true."
"He doesn't know anything about cows and goats," Roak told her.
"Still more than me."
She smiled, and then breezed away to check on the other customers.
Finley eyed her. Her enthusiasm was undeniable, everyone treated to a bright smile and coquettish laugh, from the young fellow in a brown-and-green cloak doing his best to lay low in the corner, to the gray-haired old couple hunched over a table on the other side of the room, to the tall, tanned, mustachioed bard humming to himself over a bowl of stew, painted lute resting on the chair next to him. The other serving girl did not look much older, but there was a certain, subtle detachment to her enthusiasm, as if it were simply a well-practiced performance.
"She's a lively one," Roak spoke up, smirking.
"I'd rather the other," Jonas said, breaking a piece off the loaf of bread. "This one's skinny."
"Give her some cow milk," Finley told him. "Fatten her up."
Roak snickered.
The serving girl returned to their table soon.
"Anything else I can get for you?"
"Yeah," Jonas spoke up. "Have you any rooms for tonight? We need three beds."
"Let me check."
Finley watched her go, eyes aimed at her admittedly unimpressive backside.
"Lively and pretty," Roak added.
"Skinny," Jonas commented.
"I've had some skinny things who were a lot of fun."
The serving girl returned after a few minutes.
"There's a room with three beds. You just have to talk to Kerissa."
She gestured towards the other serving girl.
"Aye, I'll do that then," Jonas said, standing and heading over to Kerissa, who was waiting expectantly at the front of the room.
"One more thing," Roak spoke up.
The serving girl tilted her head.
"What's that?"
He held out a hand, and she took it curiously.
A strong tug pulled her into his lap, the chair rocking backwards dangerously. She squawked in undignified surprise.
"Ah, that's much better!"
"You sly wolf," she teased. "You could've just asked!"
"It's more fun this way," he shot back, his hand sneaking to her ass, a squeeze there making her purr.
"Watch it," Finley spoke up. "Remember the last time you got handsy with a serving girl? Your cheek was red from her palm for a week."
"You won't be so violent, will you?" Roak asked her.
She giggled and shook her head.
"What's your name, girl?"
"Aleia."
"I'm Roak. That there is Finley, and the goat milk drinker is Jonas."
"Pleasure to meet you all."
"Did you hear that, Finley?" he joked. "'Pleasure to meet us all'. You're already in my lap, you don't need to butter us up!"
She shook her head again and adopted a stoic expression.
"No butter here, sir, I swear."
"First with the pleasure, now with the sir. Are you angling for my entire coin purse?"
"Do I look like a thief to you?"
"You certainly look like something."
She raised a finger in a playfully warning gesture.
"Careful now, or I might switch to Finley's lap."
Jonas returned.
"We're all set. Room fifteen, third floor, last room on the left."
"Want to announce it to the whole place?" Roak said in mock indignation. "Now she knows where we're staying!"
She giggled.
"Oh, I'm sure you'd be so bothered by me visiting!"
He squeezed her ass again, provoking another giggle.
The door swung open, and two men clomped inside, pulling their hoods down, revealing weathered faces and bedraggled beards.
She glanced over, and quickly stood, rearranging her skirt a bit.
"Come back when you're done with them," Roak told her, giving her a playful push in their direction.
She blushed, and hurried off.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Gwennalyn bounded up the stairs.
Her afternoon and evening had been spent in a much more menial manner of service than she had grown accustomed to with the orcs. But pouring drinks and cleaning out bowls, among other tasks, had not bothered her in the slightest. And any rudeness or impatience she had encountered had been easily tolerated, the princess too delighted by her successful deception to take offense, buoyed by the constant rush from such naughty subterfuge.
So far this has gone off without a single hitch.
Several times during her stay with the orcs, she had been made to act as a serving girl. The humiliation of such unbecoming behavior had been a delicious thrill, along with the dismissive treatment she had received from those she had served. Since those times, she had been taken with a certain fantasy. She had of course confessed it to Deiara, and her handmaiden had soon after concocted this scheme.
The Brazen Badger was well removed from the city of Crownhold, almost a quarter day's ride outside the gates, on the secondary road leading to the capitol. Her handmaiden had scouted it out, accompanied by one of her semi-regular paramours, who was unaware of the scheme, lured by the promise of a night away from the noise of the city and in the arms of the curvy and agreeable woman. And Deiara had reported back that such a location would help ensure a low chance of discovery, while also ensuring the clientele would not be so lawless as to pose a legitimate danger.
The main danger I encountered was handsiness.
Roak had not been the only visitor to be handsy. Kerissa had warned her that an overly forward personality could invite such reactions, but Gwennalyn had not cared, beyond thanking her for the warning.
I was hoping to be groped and felt up. That's one of the reasons why I did this.
She passed by her own room, heading straight for room fifteen, already humming with arousal, nipples stiff, skin flushed.
It had been almost three weeks since she had left the orcs and returned home to Crownhold, closer to the scrutiny of her parents and the gossipy court.
I haven't taken cock in so long.
Once fucked multiple times daily by orcs, she was now severely limited in her options for sexual outlets. Her handmaiden was happy to act as an outlet, and the princess was always invited to spy on her and her various paramours, with those paramours of course unaware.
But I need more than just Deiara.
She reached room fifteen, and knocked lightly, heart racing.
"Come in!"
She opened the door and slipped inside.
Three beds took up most of the space, lined up with the headboards against the leftward wall. A fireplace was set into the rightward wall, left dark and cold for the mild evening. The rest of the room was simple and sparse aside from a large bucket of water in the far right corner.
"There she is!" Roak called from the furthest bed. "We thought you might've forgotten about us."
"Nonsense," she purred. "I just had to help Kerissa clean up."
"You should've invited her," Jonas said from the middle bed.
"Am I not enough for you?" she asked, pouting dramatically. "Maybe I should leave then."
"Don't you dare!" Roak spoke up, smirking. "Finley, grab some rope so we can tie her down!"
She giggled.
"Ignore Jonas," Finley told her from the closest bed, saluting her with the bottle in his hand. "We're glad you came."
She nodded gratefully.
"Someone fetch a cup," he said to the other two. "So we can share some rum with her."
