"You should be honored," her mother had said as she bustled about the house, throwing things into a small pack for her to carry with her.
"You must be good," her father had said, sitting back in his chair and stroking his beard while a stern look on his face.
"Don't mess this up," her older sister had hissed into her ear as she painfully tugged hairbrush through her unruly red hair.
"I heard he's insatiable," her best friend had said wistfully, twirling her hair around her finger as they stood in the village square, awaiting the guarded procession of the King to arrive.
The girl rolled her eyes. "Wren, you're only nine and ten years. There are many older women here. Look, there's Gwyneth; she's twenty-one and known as the most beautiful girl in the ward. Do you think he'd pick you?"
Wren sighed as if she were daft. "Isolde, that's the point. Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying?" Wren flipped her hair and stared off dreamily into the distance. "From what I've heard, the King has a harem like that sultans of the east. It takes up an entire separate building, like another mini castle on the grounds. The girls are treated lavishly, but they're all different! Different ages, ethnicities, body shapes...it's a menagerie of women!"
"And where did you hear this?" Isolde asked skeptically.
"Oh, from one of my cousin's friend's sister's. She's a maid, so it's very reliable information." Wren smiled again before giving another lost sigh, her blue eyes looking like the color of the sky.
"Uh-huh," Isolde said, not paying attention. She was just here to try and get a job at the castle. The king's men had put a decree on the bulletin board in town center announcing openings in the palace staff for women; chambermaids, kitchen wenches, the like. The poster had said that on the next Thursday the guards would come to inspect all the young, eligible women for the positions. But the women of town who had relatives or friends who worked in the castle said that the King was looking for something more...a new addition to his so called menagerie of courtesans.
Wren stood ramrod straight and whacked Isolde on her arm. Before Isolde could open her mouth to even say ow, Wren was pointing at a dust cloud near the square's gate. "They're here! Oh, the guards are here!" She started fussing with her hair and pinching her cheeks, unlacing her bodice some. "How do I look? Do I look okay? Do I look intimately appealing?"
Confused, Isolde answered, "You look like regular Wren."
Wren sighed again. "You'll understand when you're older."
In a chaotic moment, the girls gathered in the square rushed to form a single file line as the horses pulled up. Suddenly, a twitter started at the front of the line. Isolde leaned forward to see what the fuss was about and was shocked to see a silver warhorse pull to a stop in front of an ornate carriage. But the person on top of the horse was what made her stop cold.
The King himself, dressed in purple and gold, a ceremonial sword at his side. He sat tall upon his horse, towering over the majority of his men. He had a sharpish face, mouth set in a line, and a stately profile. Upon his forehead sat a golden circlet, holding back his hair and showing his sovereignty. Wren gasped beside her. "He's just as handsome as they say..."
Isolde had to agree. He was a comely man. As the King dismounted, everyone in the square fell to their knees in a bow, leaving only the king and his men standing.
"Rise," he said dismissively, then turned to say a few short words to one of his men. The guard nodded and stepped forward.
"The King has come today to personally choose his staff. Speak only when you are spoken to. If you are chosen, step forward and into the carriage. We will take you to the palace from there. My liege..." He said, stepping away and letting the King fill his spot at the front of the line. As so the inspection began.
It was simple, efficient, and fast. A quick glance over the girl and a word. "Kitchen, maid, chambermaid, wench, do you sing? You do? She's with the bards and dancers." Sometimes he would stop and make a girl turn around slowly, and let his eyes linger over them. Gwyneth was sent to the kitchen.
Isolde felt Wren buzzing with excitement as the King got closer to the end of the line. Even she stood up straighter and tried to look older than her eighteen years. She needed this job to help support her family.
The King came closer and merely glanced at the two of them, passing over honey haired Wren without a second glance. Wren's breath left her with a woosh. His eyes flicked over her once, and he kept moving forward, but stopped mid-step. Quickly, he spun back around. Isolde was too shocked to move as his eyes raked up and down her, from her loosely braided red hair to her dirty brown boots on her feet.
"Turn," he commanded, and she did so, conscious of the fact that she had quickly outgrown her dress and that her ankles could nearly be seen.
When she faced him again, he had a small smile on his face. "Wyl," He called to the guard, "I do believe I have a special place for...what is your name?"
"Um, uh, Isolde...sire." She bobbed a clumsy curtsy.
"Yes, a special spot for Isolde." And the King strode down the rest of the line.
Isolde stepped forward, her head a tizzy in how fast that exchange has been. Had he even assigned her a place? What was a 'special spot'? With a panicked look back at Wren, she caught her friend's confused look as well. But then the guard, Wyl, stepped forward with a 'miss', and guided her into the carriage.
She waited for two other girls to trickle in, both assigned to kitchen duty, and looked at the other six girls would had been chosen. They were squashed together in the tiny carriage, turning the opulence into discomfort. Wyl shut the door and closed them off from the view of the square; the square where Isolde had lived her entire life. Nervous, Isolde clutched the pack her mother had given her the spare clothes she might need. Then the carriage lurched and she was off. Off to her new life in the king's 'special spot'.
--
Isolde's world felt as though it had been turned upside down. She stood in front of the second largest building she'd ever seen, next to the castle she'd just been in after being unloaded from the carriage.
"Come on, Miss, you need to meet the other women you'll be staying with." Wyl said, guiding her with an outstretched hand.
As Isolde stepped forward, head still spinning from the building's size, Wren's words came back to her; a harem...in an entire separate building...a mini palace...
Wyl opened the high wooden doors, and Isolde stepped into her new home.
What first struck her was the smell. Vanilla and jasmine, with undertones of citrusy orange...scents that raised gooseflesh across her arms and alerted her senses. And below all that, a musky smell, primal...something Isolde couldn't put a name to, but made her feel strange. Trying to shake her head clear, Isolde looked about her. The entire floor and walls were covered in a mosaic of bright flowers and vines entwining with one another, but if she looked closer, she could see hidden people in them, entwined just as the vines of the flowers were. She leaned in for a closer look, but was interrupted by a set of footsteps approaching her and her escort.
"Ah, you must be the new addition," a silky voice with a slight accent greeted, "Welcome."
She was divine. There was no other word for her. Tall, curvy, a buxom breast, with cascades of chocolate brown hair tumbling down her back and framing a heart shaped face and pursed soft pink lips. She wore nothing but a sheer white toga, breezily waving around her feet. "Thank you, Wyl, that will be all," said the woman, turning to Isolde.
Wyl bowed before he left. "By your leave, Cara." She waved him off and continued her observation of her subject.
All was silent, and from somewhere further in, Isolde heard the sound of falling water and girlish giggling.
"So," Cara said, eyes looking at her charge, "You are young. What is your name?"
"Isolde."
"Isolde..." The name sounded strange in her mouth, rolling it around in her foreign accent. "Yes, a good name. Come, we must get you clean. We cannot have you dirtying His Majesty's private retreat. We can also introduce you to the other girls. Come, come."
Isolde stopped and would not move. "Um, excuse me? Ma'am?"
Turning with a perturbed look and sultry voice tinged with impatience, Cara inquired, "Yes?"
"My family...I need to send money back to them...I was wondering if...um.."
With a heavy sigh and a lift of her shoulders that made her breasts bounce Cara ensured her that her family would be rewarded handsomely, then took her hand led her away.
Whisked away, Isolde barely had time to look at her surroundings as they passed through hallway after hallway, the pack her mother gave her bumping against her shoulders. Very soon, she was lost and just fell into step behind Cara until she reached a door and stopped. She pulled the door aside to reveal a more modern washroom, with a giant copper tub and tubes to bring heated water into the room. Cara instructed her to strip herself of her clothes and bathe, and told her she would be back within in the hour. With the door shut behind her, Isolde turned on the facet in the tub and let steamy water fill the tub. She stripped and step into the tub, sighing blissfully as she soaked. She couldn't remember the last time she had such a fine bath. The girls here are treated lavishly.
She scrubbed her body and hair, rinsed, and then laid back. As Isolde soaked, she let her hands explore over her newly cleaned body, a luxury she had never gotten. She started with her breasts a new anomaly for the very late bloomer she was. So newly formed, but still very pert and a fair size- each bigger than an apple, but slightly smaller than an orange. Her nipples, slightly pointed from the cooling water, were small, as was the areola around them. Her hands went down her sides, over her deep waist and over her unshaved mound down to her thighs. They were small enough that her mother had clucked that she would have a hard time bearing sons, but big enough to still catch attention from the boys her age. She let her hand rest on her mound, playing with the hair until the water was cool enough for her to get out without shivering. Just as she was finished drying off, Cara walked into the room again.
"Enjoy your bath?" Cara asked, eyeing her in the towel again.
"Very much so, yes," Isolde smiled happily and reached for the pack with her spare clothes.
"What are you doing?" Cara had a horrified look on her face as Isolde pulled out a brown peasant dress from the pack.
"Dressing...?"
"In that rag? No!" Cara spit in disgust and snatched the pack away. Holding it at arm's length, she threw it into what seemed to be a trash bin. "I have new clothes for you."
Isolde held a blue fabric in her hand. The material was expensive, to be sure; silky, gossamer. And sheer. Very, very sheer.
"Well? Put it on, girl." The goddess motioned to the mirror in front of Isolde.
Isolde waited a few moments to see if Cara would turn to give her some privacy, but when it was evident she would wait until she put on the garment, Isolde dropped her towel with a flush of embarrassment. She slid the blue garment over her head and let it settle across her shoulders...or...just shoulder. It was a one shoulder dress with an extremely low neckline, scooping from her left shoulder across her right breast, so low that her right nipple was nearly shown. Instead, it was barely covered.
Isolde felt her cheeks burn as she stood in front of the mirror and looked over her reflection. The dress fit her well, a straight cut that moved like water across her and brushed against her sensitive skin. All of it was sheer. It was hard to see through it unless you really looked, but her pubic hair was a dark spot among the fabric that helped to define her shape.
"Cara, I can't wear this."
The goddess lady scoffed. "You can and you must." She leaned down and arranged Isolde's still damp hair around her shoulders. "The King orders it, my dear." A gentle smile appeared on her face. "You will get used to it. Come, let's meet the others."
