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“I imagine things will improve once we reach the palace,” says Shenya hopefully.
But I’m not so sure. So far it seems that the king doesn’t consider us to be cherished potential brides. At best, we’re possessions to collect, objects to evaluate. At worst, we’re holes to enjoy and wombs to fill.
The next time the wagon stops, it’s dark. Moths whir near the guards’ lanterns. They let us piss again and give us each a thin blanket and a pillow. The captain declares, “We’ll be traveling through the night. Tomorrow you will be fed, refreshed, and prepared for your service to the king.”
He offers no other information, despite the clamor of questions that rises from the women. The wagon door slams shut.
Tucked in a corner, leaning against the wall, I doze off. When I rouse a few hours later, Shenya is slumped against my shoulder, snoring.
My stomach gurgles, protesting the lack of food. To lull myself to sleep, I mentally concoct a recipe inspired by the fat pumpkins currently ripening in my garden by the mill.
First, one of my secret spice blends: ginger, nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, black pepper, all finely ground. A couple of eggs, a hint of vanilla, a sprinkle of salt and a half cup of buttermilk. Two cups of flour, two cups of sugar. Plenty of butter. Baker’s ammonia for leavening. Pumpkin puree. Maybe a swirl of the maple syrup the Parbridge family produces from their groves. And then… oh then, the creamiest of frosting, layered over the cake once it cools.
I can almost taste it. Delicious, moist, thick, pumpkin cake, with frosting so smooth it’s divine.
My fingers itch to be in my kitchen, with my earthenware mixing bowls and my copper pans and my well-used wooden spoons.
And now I feel even more homesick.
The wagon jolts to a stop, and I wake with a start.
“What’s going on?” slurs Shenya, sitting up and rubbing bleary eyes.
I tilt my head and crack my neck, which is stiff from being propped against the wall. “Are we at the palace?”
The rattle of the chain being removed wakes the other women. It’s almost laughable to me that the guards locked us in here, when none of us have anything resembling aggressive or combative magic. But I suppose a woman with intelligence is equally dangerous.
The door wrenches open, and a watery dawn light leaks into the stuffy space. Only when the fresh breeze hits my face do I realize how thick the air has gotten in the wagon—how much it smells of bodies and breath. I surge forward, eager for freedom.
“One at a time, ladies,” calls a tall, slim man with white hair. His thin wrinkled skin stretches over the fine bones of a face that’s still handsome despite his advanced age. He’s dressed in gold tights and a flamboyant crimson-and-teal doublet with puffed sleeves. A large gold brooch with a giant amethyst is pinned to his shoulder. Pursing his lips, he steeples his fingertips and surveys us as we tumble out of the wagon into the early morning light.
Despite the freshness of the air, there’s no freedom to be had in this place. We’re in a courtyard surrounded by walls, and I spot at least eight guards in addition to the ones who escorted us here. At one side of the courtyard a house rises—four stories of stone, adorned with the sculpted art—nude people coupling, flowers blooming, and cornucopias overflowing with berries, gourds, and fruits.
“Welcome to the House of Bounty, historic home of the royal wives, mistresses, and concubines,” says the white-haired gentleman. “I am Venedict Luron, Steward of the House. I’ll be taking care of you from now on. I’m sure we’ll all be very good friends.” His cheeks crease as his smile widens, showing all his narrow teeth. “As you may know, the king hasn’t taken the time to fill the House since it was emptied after the death of his illustrious father. You ladies have the privilege of being permanent residents here, and one of you—” he waggles his eyebrows— “shall have the peerless delight of becoming the Queen of the land! Isn’t that exciting?” He clasps both hands over his heart. “In the past, all but the most favored royal concubines would share rooms within the House, but the King has requested that each of you be given your own private quarters.”
Most of the women in our group perk up at that. I’m relieved, because if I’m not sharing a room, there’s less chance of people pestering me to show off my supposed gift.
The captain who escorted us clears his throat. “You and your men have this well in hand, eh?”
“Oh, of course!” exclaims Venedict. “You’ve had a long journey. Go and eat something, and—” He sniffs delicately. “Have a bath as well, while you’re at it.”
“Here’s the list of their names, towns, and abilities.” The Captain hands over a notebook, then gestures sharply to his men. They troop after him, leaving the courtyard by a side archway.
Stable-hands come forward to take the horses and the wagon, while Venedict continues his speech.
“A few rules,” he says. “Each room has its own privy and running water, but no bathtub or parlor. Rooms with parlors and tubs are reserved for the most favored concubines. You will bathe, dine, and enjoy leisure activities with the other women, but only during prescribed times. Otherwise you are to remain in your room. You are not to speak to, touch, or look at any male from this point onward, unless they wear the livery of the House of Bounty.” He points to a couple of men in leather vests, yellow shirts, and dark pants. “The yellow shirts mark them as eunuchs in the service of the house.”
“Eunuchs?” whispers Shenya.
The girl with the lavender hair and red eyes smirks and whispers back, “Men who have been castrated. Their balls are removed and their dicks shortened so they cannot soil the King’s concubines.”
Horror flashes through me. The idea is barbaric… and also seems a bit foolish. After all, male guards or servants could still pleasure a woman with their tongues or fingers. But I suppose after enduring that procedure, sexual activity of any kind would be far less appealing. And castration eliminates the risk of any illegitimate pregnancies among the King’s women.
Venedict is still speaking, and I focus on him again, fearing that I’ve missed one or two important rules.
“Once you’ve bedded the King and performed all the magical tasks he sets for you, you’ll be given full status as a royal concubine,” he says. “After that, you’ll be allowed to come and go as you please within the confines of the House, its courtyard, and its garden. You are not to venture into the palace itself unless you have written permission from myself or Lady Reese, the house matron. You may not attempt to contact the King in any way. If he wants you, he’ll send for you.”
Several elements of that speech deepen my sense of horror. We’re expected to sleep with the King? I assumed he’d want to test our magic… apparently he wants to test our bodies as well.
