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Ayala washed her face and combed her hair. She sat down on the edge of her bed and waited for her lord, who came in to fetch her shortly thereafter. He offered her his arm, and she gladly took it.
“Cortés has requested that we accompany him through the markets. He has also requested that we take him to see our famous ball game ullamaliztli this evening before dinner,” he said flatly. Ayala nodded; it didn’t seem like too high a request. At least he hadn’t demanded more time at the Pleasure House, she thought.
They both walked quietly out of the house and onto the street, both lost in their own thoughts, before Ayala broke the silence.
“I don’t trust him, sir,” she said softly.
“I know, Ayala. I don’t either
, but we mustn’t discuss this now, in public. Let us talk tonight, as I want to know what you observed at last night’s dinner, as well as your thoughts. Until then, I want you to watch, be my obedient good girl, and do what we must for the sake of our city. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied firmly, yet quietly.
“Should I…” she paused, nervous to say the words.
“Yes?”
“Should I encourage him? To see what I can find out, sir,” she asked shyly, daring to meet his eyes, but only for a second.
A flash of anger passed over his face, and was gone so quickly Ayala thought she’d imagined it. A look of resignation came over him.
“Only a little,” he said reluctantly. “Just remember who owns you, thoroughly and completely,” he added, his eyes roaming up and down her body. She responded by throwing her body into his and kissing him deeply, her arms draping around his neck.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered breathlessly. “I am all yours.”
Lord Eiotan smiled and took her hand in his again.
“Good girl,” he said, smiling as he led her back to the palace.
Lord Eiotan and Ayala reached the gates of the castle and were greeted by attendants. They were told that Cortés would be down to meet them in a short while. Instead, they were brought first to the king’s chambers.
Moctezuma was sitting at a large desk, reading over some pieces of parchment. He looked up and smiled as they entered.
“Lord Eiotan, it is a delight to see you,” he exclaimed. “Ayala,” he greeted, nodding his head in greeting.
“Lord Eiotan. Tell me, how has your time been with Cortés? How do you feel about his loyalties to us?”
“My king,” Lord Eiotan began. “Cortés has been a gracious guest, but I remain uneasy about the possibility of his army aligning with ours, rather than the Tlaxcala. He showcased an extreme interest in our armories and weapons yesterday, which makes me question him.”
Moctezuma’s eyes narrowed in thought as he stroked his chin.
“Keep an eye out, my lord, and see if we cannot persuade him. Do what you think is right, and what is best for the empire. Those are your orders. Take whatever money you need.”
“Yes, my king,” Lord Eiotan responded, bowing his head. They were led out of the king’s chambers to the front gate, where they found Cortés waiting for them.
“My friends!” he exclaimed. “You two look lovely on this fine day.”
Ayala smiled at him, hiding her suspicion at his very happy demeanor.
“You two sure know how to show a man a good time. And I hope you weren’t too hard on your little bride, Lord Eiotan. I must say, she looks ravishing in red.” His eyes lingered on her bust before making his way down her hips to her small feet wrapped in her slippers. Cortés quickly snapped his eyes up and met her gaze, a hungry look edging into his features.
Ayala held her smile, schooling her emotions almost effortlessly.
“Lord Cortés, it’s lovely to see you. And my husband dealt with me as he must, as a woman sometimes needs to be taken in hand.” She paused as she blushed, embarrassed she was admitting her indiscretions to this man. She told herself it was necessary and that she needed to find out Cortés’ true intentions for her city, for her, and for her lord. She would do whatever she must, even if it meant flirting shamelessly with this awful man.
Cortés’ evil grin grew to even bigger proportions upon her admission. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She played into it as best she could, letting a hand fall to her still sore bottom. His eyes watched her, hungry.
“So, Cortés, my lord informs me that you want to visit the markets, and watch our special ball game, is that right?” she said, trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction, yet still batting her eyes at him flirtatiously.
