Cups and Crowns.

Motes of dust danced in the summer's light filtering through the window of Moiserio Gergio's villa. The sweet scent of vineflowers, situated in decorative wine bottles around the room, filled the air with their sweet perfume as he shuffled his cards, sweat beading across his prodigious brow. Eventually, he sighed and shook his head, then placed two cards down on the table and pushed them into the flickering amber light.

"Two crowns." He said sadly, running his fat fingers through the thinning hair scraped hopefully across his bald pate. A low chuckle echoed across from the other side of the table as a Gergio pushed a small pile of gold towards his opponent. "I see I have lost again, Prince Jalante."

"Indeed you have, Bon Gergio." The other man gestured to his own cards, laid face up on the table before them. All five showed the sign of cups. The game, Storianos', rules were loosely based upon the city-state of Ellanio's convoluted history of assassinations, revolutions, coups, betrayals, and even the occasional alliance, and while the cups were normally the weakest suite of cards, that same history had shown time and again that crowns - the strongest - could be humbled by the lowest of men. "But still, is it not said that taking part is the more important? Though, I wonder if the man who claimed as such lost quite as often as you do."

Speaking of crowns, I thought, as the speaker leaned forwards. Benidicii Jalante was everything Gergio was not. Tall, muscular, and rakishly handsome, his blonde hair parted as he leaned into the light, falling around his angular face like a veil of gold. But while Gergio was a kind man, Jalante was anything but. Scandalous rumours clung to the young prince like the mud upon his boots. The stories of young women taken advantage of and paid for their silence, or of cruel beatings doled out upon the city-state's homeless and forgotten were never substantiated, but never quite faded away either. One look at the ugly smile that creased Jalante's face was enough to convince me of their truth.

As if sensing my eyes upon him, the prince turned his head towards me. His eyes were dark and set above heavy bags, as if he went long without sleep, and my skin crawled under the weight of his gaze. My discomfort must have shown, because his expression twisted into a sneer of amusement as he beckoned me forwards.

"Make yourself useful, girl, and bring us some wine."

I felt my mouth go dry in an instant. Jalante was the second most powerful man in the city, while I was a schavasesiso - a woman who had sold herself into sexual slavery, seen as even lower than those slaves forced into servitude as punishment for lawbreaking or after having been taken captive in war. If even half the rumours of his misconduct were true he could have me stolen away and incarcerated in his estates on a whim. And yet, the oaths I had taken were clear. Gergio was my owner - my master. I answered only to him. And he had been kind to me. Unlike so many of the other women in my position, Gergio had never shown me cruelty, either from simple lack of compassion or an overabundance of sadism. Though his every whim and want was like the diktat of a deity to me, he never asked too much, and ensured I was well kept, fed, and even educated.

In a way, I was more of a status symbol than a sexual plaything to him. The fat old merchant had never married, and to be seen without a woman upon his arm would have only spurred Ellanio's ruthless wheels of gossip and rumour into motion. And so he took me from place to place, dusky-skinned and crimson-haired, bedecked in rich silks and jewelry worth more money than my entire family had ever seen, but never without the heavy golden collar that marked me out as his trophy. And yes, sometimes, when we returned to his villa, he would have me on my knees with his short, thick cock stretching my lips, or lay on his back and have me straddle him, my hands upon his great belly for balance...but even that felt more like a way of exercising the power he held over me, of reassuring himself that I was his possession, rather than an act of simple lust alone.

"I - I cannot do that, Prince." Every word feels like a noose around my neck, but I force them out as best I can. "My oaths...I am pledgebound to - to Bon Gergio's will alone. I have little pride left to me, my lord, and while it might seem like a trifling matter to you, please do not ask me to go back upon my word."

The Prince's expression twisted and turned black, his lips peeling back into an animal snarl, and for a heartbeat I felt sure he was about to fly across the table and attack me. I found myself taking half a step backwards and beginning to raise an arm to protect myself - as if it would have been any defense against the man - but the moment passed and he settled back down into his seat, his face blank of anything but a small smile that utterly failed to reach his eyes.

"Of course." He said, turning to Gergio. "Moiserio, tell your whore to bring me some wine, if you would."

The word hit me like a slap in the face. Gergio had never used that sort of language around me before, he thought it vulgar. He shot me an apologetic look, then nodded and gestured towards the bottles. "Go ahead, Zavara." He said. "The Aletuvian red, please."

Greatful for the chance to turn away from the prince, I bowed to both men and hurried over to the racks, finding the requested bottle and a pair of glasses. But even though I could hear the sound of the two men discussing business - the reason why Prince Jalante had inflicted himself upon Gergio's villa in the first place - I could feel Jalante's eyes boring into me from behind. My hands shook as I poured the wine, realization slowly dawning as the prince's gaze drilled deeper into my back. I had refused him something. No matter that it had been a  small and trifling thing, and that he would get what he wanted in the end - I had dared to say 'no' to someone who was deaf to anything but 'yes', and he would not allow such an insult to stand.

Swallowing hard, I took the glasses across to Jalante and my master, doing everything in my power not to meet the prince's gaze. Gergio took his glass with good grace and a murmur of thanks, but as I handed it to him, I felt something part the robes around my legs. My heart skipped a beat as Jalante's fingers pushed aside the gauzy material and ran the dangling loops of beads through this fingers, before questing deeper and brushing against the taught, dark flesh of my thigh. I held my breath even as my mind screaming against the intrusion, the fear of what might happen if I angered the prince further stilling my tongue. Slowly, keeping my eyes fixed upon the opposite wall, I turned towards the prince and offered him his glass. His fingers shifted as I moved, his hand snaking around to firmly grasp one of my buttocks. He squeezed as he took his wine, letting me feel the strength in his grip and digging his nails into my skin. It was all I could do to bite my lip and not cry out, though - and how I cursed myself when it happened - my eyes slipped downwards, meeing his for a fleeting second. Jalante leered at me and shifted his grip, pushing in deeper until the very tips of his fingers brushed against my labia, drawing the slightest of gasps from my lips. He repeated the motion, working around the entrance with a practiced touch as he sipped his wine, his dark eyes smouldering as the first beads of wetness began to gather between my legs.  Holding out his glass for a refill, it was all I could do to stay silent and stop my hands from shaking as the Prince pushed a pair of fingers into the heat of my sex, his fingers curling cruelly inside me until my thighs clamped tightly around his hand and a strangled cry writhed out of my throat. He held me there, caught like a fish on a hook as waves of pleasure coursed through my body, before pulling himself free so suddenly that my weak legs almost sent me to the floor.

"There we are." He purred, brushing his fingers across his lips for a moment, the confused shudder of revulsion and arousal his touch had sent coursing through me as clear to him as day. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

I murmured something unintelligible and stepped backwards, shaking and sweating, just glad to be able to put some distance between myself and him. Though I had grown used to viewing my body as an object, never before had it been taken so abruptly and without forewarning. Gergio was always so considerate, telling me what he wanted and how he wanted it - firmly and clearly, yes, but there was always a sense of respect there, a sense that he imposed boundaries upon our relationship even though he was under no obligation to do so.

Jalante laughed. "A fine woman, is she not?" He said, sweeping up the cards scattered between them and shuffling them back into a single deck. "I can see why you purchased her, Bon. Though I must say, she is a trifle over-dressed. Most of the schavasesiso I see are lucky to wear much beyond jewelry, chains, and their master's seed."

Moiserio shifted uncomfortably in his seat, mopping the sweat from his broad brow with a hankerchief. "Yes, well, I've always felt that to be a little tasteless." He said, toying with his glass and eyeing the cards as Jalante shuffled them back and forth. "Being oath-sworn to a fat old man like myself must be difficult enough, but she is loyal and dutiful to a fault. It is my hope that when she has seen out the years she has pledged, she will be able to join one of the higher castes and make a life for herself."

"You would let her leave?" Jalante raised an eyebrow as he began to deal the cards out again. I frowned a little at the eager gleam in Gergio's eye. If he had one flaw, it was gambling. My master was an intelligent man and a skilled merchant, but a compulsive and a terrible gambler, and he snatched up his cards with poorly disguised glee. "I thought it was the norm for a sesiadrone to find ways of extending their ownership." He cast me a sideways look, a cruel smile twisting his lips, and a shudder of distaste crept down my spine. "You know the law allows for such things, yes? Certainly, I would not allow such a beauty to escape, should she fall into my hands."

Though I felt my gorge rise at the prince's words, Gergio did not reply, too absorbed in the opening stages of the game to notice - or, perhaps, politely ignoring them for fear of encouraging the man. It was a long-held tradition for two men to play several hands of Storianos before engaging in business. Minor favours, slaves or servants fallen out of favour, or simple possessions and sums of gold would be won and lost as each man gleaned the measure of his opponent, whetting their appetites for the cut and thrust of negotiation to come. Gergio would lose, of course, but while I found his obsession for the game somewhat unseemly, the prospect didn't worry me. My master had grown quite accustomed to taking advantage of the overconfidence his miserable card skills fostered within his opponents when it came to the real negotiations, and I trusted that the Prince would have finished his business and left within the hour.

After the way the Prince had manhandled me, I was glad to retreat into the background and let the two men play, and quickly busied myself by preparing another bottle of wine and replacing the wilting bellflowers with new cuttings from the vine-laden trellises outside the window. There was something soothing about the simple chores. They made me feel useful and valued, and I found my spirits beginning to lift, banishing the thoughts of Jalante's unwanted ministrations. There was no denying the man was attractive, and perhaps if I was a free woman - and if I had not known of his shroud of ill-rumours - I might have allowed myself to be swept away by his overwhelming, domineering presence. As time passed and no further imposition was made upon me, I even allowed myself to believe that the Prince was satisfied with what petty revenge he had already claimed.

It was, of course, not to be. "Zavara." Gergio called, and I felt my guts turn to ice at the unhappy tone in his voice. "Could you come here, please?"

I set down the glass I had been polishing and trotted over, my hands clasped nervously behind me. Gergio had slumped down in his chair, looking for all the world like a balloon with half its air let out, while Jalante was leaning forwards with a thin, horrid smile on his face. His shadowed eyes looked slowly from me to my master and back again, like a hunting raptor surveying a choice of prey.

"Yes, master?" I replied, doing my best to ignore the Prince's roving gaze. "Do you have a task for me?"

"Of sorts." He sighed, his second chin wobbling. "I seem to have made a bet which, perhaps, was inadvisable."

Looking over the table, I saw the small piles of gold coins heaped up around Jalante's end, along with slips of ownership and promise-pledges. There were no such winnings decorating Gergio's side. He's run out of petty bets, I thought, a slow feeling of dread beginning to build inside me. He's run out of things to gamble and now he's called me over to the table...

"He bet your clothes, girl." Jalante laughed, slapping the table as if he were some commoner drinking with his friends in the local inn, unsettling several piles of coins in a series of soft metallic jingles. "So get rid of them. I want to see what you're hiding under all that silk."

My mind went blank. My mouth worked silently, trying to give voice to the confused riot of emotions that had swept away rational thought. Gergio sagged even deeper into his seat, staring blankly off into the middle distance, unwilling to look either of us in the face. I reached for him, my fingers brushing his doughy shoulder, trying to stimulate some sort of response from him. This was a joke, I thought, or a lie, though a deeper part of me knew I was merely trying to delay the inevitable. Once Gergio had risen from his stupor - surely simply an act to make the deception all the more realistic - he would order Jalante out and everything would go back to normal.

"I'm sorry, Zavara." He signed, still refusing to meet my eye. "Just do it."

I didn't want to. The last thing I wanted to do was strip for the Prince's perverse satisfaction. But I had been given an order from my master. What else was I supposed to do? With shaking fingers, I reached for the shoulder clasp that held my dress on and let the garment drop to the floor and pool around my ankles with a whisper of silk. Clad in nothing but the golden collar around my neck and the gilded body jewelry Gergio had chosen for me, I had no way of concealing myself from the Prince's greedy eyes. His barely repressed desire was like a physical presence, a weight crushing down upon me; he leaned forwards in his chair, studying the rich, brown tone of my skin, the soft swell of my breasts, the wide curve of my hips. My hair, it's bright crimson so rare and exotic in this city, seemed to particularly fascinate him.

"Turn around." He said, his voice low and rasping. "Turn around and bend over, I want to see your - "

"Now, now." Gergio cut in, pulling himself upright and trying to look authoritative. "That wasn't part of the deal. You only bet for her clothes, not the right to order her around."

"Fine." Jalante shot back. "We play again."

Gergio shifted his bulk, wringing his pudgy hands in discomfort. "Ah...no, actually, I think, perhaps-"

The Prince silenced him with a look sharper than all the swords in the city. "We play again." He said, already dealing out the cards. "I will wager a six-month trade contract with Swyndel. I'm sure you can find a buyer for several extra tonnes of grain if you win. You will wager ownership of her for the rest of the day."

Jalante's tone brooked no disagreement. The Prince had dropped all pretense of affability. He was acting as royalty now, rather than the potential business partner that Gergio had welcomed into his home. Gergio was a good man - friendly and given to thinking the best of people. He must surely have heard of Jalante's ill reputation, but written it off as a product of Ellanio's vicious gossips and rumourmongers, and now we were both paying for it. We shared a look - my master's expression pained and apologetic - before he sighed heavily, turned away, and picked up the cards.

Never before had I felt so helpless as I did then. Even when I'd first presented myself to the slavemasters as a potential schavasesiso, even when I'd been priced and paraded out with the other women in front of prospective buyers, I'd had some control over my destiny, being able to turn aside less wholesome masters by adopting an uncooperative attitude. But here, now, there was nothing I could do but stand there, feeling the warm sun tickle my bare skin and the drips of nervous sweat creep down the curves of my body, and stare over Gergio's shoulder at the cards which would dictate my fate.

And, just as I expected, he was losing.

I wanted to scream. A jeweled letter-opener, one of the favours the two men had played for, lay upon the table and part of me - the wild part of myself I had ferociously repressed since becoming a schavasesiso - longed to seize it and leap at the Prince, and drive the blade into the wicked man's throat. The golden collar around my neck had never felt so heavy as Gergio fumbled his way through misplay after misplay, each shuffle of cards bringing me closer to my fate. Maybe it won't be so bad, I told myself. He'll only have me for the day, and it's not like he's unattractive. I might even enjoy being touched by someone younger and fitter than Gergio for once.

Another lie I was telling myself. I winced as Gergio played straight into a trap that even a novice like myself could see coming. Jalante wasn't even concentrating on the game; he shot the occasional bored look at the state of play and played his cards like a machine, his eyes roaming over me with wanton abandon, like a sommelier savoring the aroma of his wine before allowing himself the pleasure of tasting it. The frustration was monstrous. I was sure that Jalante was drawing the game out for as long as he could, letting me sweat, until the dread and anticipation condensed inside me like a leaden weight. He leaned back as Gergio mulled over his cards, idly unbuttoning the top three buttons of his jerkin and letting a few drops of wine spill down over the hard bands of muscle he exposed. It was only when his face twisted into a mocking smile did I realize that I had been chewing my lip at the sight.

With a small cry that went unheard by the two men, I shoved the thought out of my head. I didn't want to be attracted to him, I didn't want to want him - but some horrid, primal part of me did. The animal desire to be claimed fired madly within my body, and while the arousal from Jalante's unbidden touches had cooled, I could feel the first pricking of heat blooming between my legs. It's because I want this to be over quickly, I told myself. Maybe if Jalante finishes the game and takes me quickly, he'll leave and this can all be over with.

And yet, when Jalante finally slapped his cards down on the table and announced his victory, I couldn't pretend that just for a moment, my heart leapt in excitement.

Gergio sighed and placed his own cards down, nodding to the Prince. "Congratulations, then." He said, and the sadness in his voice smothered the momentary thrill with sudden guilt. "We have a number of guest rooms on the second floor for you to...claim your prize. I only ask that you refrain from hurting her. Or...at least, from leaving anything permanent."

"That will not be necessary, my friend." Jalante replied, a hint of a sneer in his voice. He rose from his seat and tugged off his jerkin, tossing the garment aside with a flourish that sent his long, blond hair spilling out behind him in a golden arc. Gergio made to stand, only to flop heavily back down again as the Prince nailed him with a brutal glare. "I'm going to fuck your whore here, now, on the table you lost her on, in front of you. And she's going to enjoy it."

The sheer bluntness of the Prince's language left me reeling. Such crude, ugly speech was all but unknown in Ellanio. Gergio spluttered something incomprehensible as the Prince reached for me, his hands wrapping around my upper arms and dragging me in against his body. He crushed me against him, mashing his face into mine, his tongue forcing my lips aside and pushing into my mouth as I struggled weakly in his grip. I could feel his muscles tensing and flexing against my naked body, the sensitive buds of my nipples dragging over his hard, athletic flesh. One of his hands knotted itself into my hair, dragging my head back as he loomed forwards, almost bending me double under him. The forced passion of our kiss intensified as his other hand wandered south, tracing a line a down my spine that set my body tingling, before suddenly grabbing one buttock with a tightness that was almost painful.

"Take it out." He pulled away from my lips long enough to growl into my ear, his crotch grinding insistently into me. My hands fumbled blindly, clawing over his rigid abdominals until they found the buckle of his belt, undoing it with a hateful feverishness as he pushed me towards the table, nipping and biting at my lip all the time. His trousers came away, the fabric rough against the soft, brown skin of my legs as they slid to the floor, and I pushed his undergarments aside to find -

Well.

Not what I had been expecting, but, perhaps an explanation for his behavior.

The sudden giggle that escaped my mouth at the revelation was stifled as Jalante forced himself down upon my mouth again, his tongue twining around mine and a pair of his fingers hooking into my dampening folds. He was not gentle, and the intrusion was not comfortable at first, but my training as a schavasesiso had taught me to cope with such things. I spread my legs a little to ease the tightness as he pushed me back against the table, bumping roughly against the polished oak as his hand mauled my buttock, and slipped one of my hands down to caress the folds he had so brutishly ignored, my own fingers dancing around his, stroking the soft, sensitive outer lips of my sex until the blooming of my own arousal smothered the discomfort of his penetration.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He sneered, another knuckle of his fingers vanishing inside me, drawing a wavering gasp from my mouth and a wave of pleasure from my body as he pushed deeper. "Of course you would. Why else would you sell yourself to a man? You women are all the same. Whores."

Because my family couldn't afford to feed me, I thought dizzily, and because living in the gilded cage Gergio had built was far preferable to catching lungpox and being drowned in the canal by the plague-police. But he spat the words with such venom...

"And here you are, desperate for the services of one." I hissed back, my full lips twisting into a cruel smile to match the Prince's own. The words came so suddenly they surprised even me, and dripped with mockery. "Master."

Jalante snarled and drew back, then slapped me in the face with a thunderous crack. Stinging pain erupted across one cheek, but while every instinct screamed at me to step away, I held my ground and met his expression with my own sneer.

"Turn around and get on the table." The Prince said, his eyes still burning with rage. "On all fours. Face Gergio."

"Of course, master." Every word danced with false aquiescence as I turned and hopped up onto the table, coins and Storianos cards scattering as I took position, my large breasts and delicate jewelry dangling below me. Gergio, who had remained silent throughout, was pale and his face glistened with a thin sheen of nervous sweat. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with a quick peck on the lips. A tortured groan of wood announced Jalante's own arrival on the table as he took up position behind me, his nails biting into my buttocks as he maneuvered my backside into position for him.

"Do not worry." I whispered in the fat man's ear, switching to the private mercantile-cant Gergio had taught me. "The Prince is weaker than he would like us to think. This will be an education for him."

A sharp tug upon my hair pulled me back from my master - my real master, I thought vindictively - as Jalante knotted his fingers through my crimson locks. "Speak not to him." He snapped, as I felt the head of the Prince's cock butt against my entrance. "He is nothing compared to me."

I had grown used to sucking in a breath and biting my lip when laying with Gergio - his manhood, while not over-long, was thick enough to cause a twinge of discomfort during our first penetrations. Jalante, by comparison, slid into my heat too easily. I could feel him inside me, and the hair of his legs ticking my thighs, but there was none of the tightness, the feeling of satisfying fullness that came from my prior partners - even the ones before I sold myself to Gergio.

"Is it in, master?" I cast a look back over my shoulder, or at least as best I could with the Prince holding my head. "You need not wait. I am yours, after all."

"Of course it's in!" Jalante shot back. He drew back and thrust into me proper, his thighs slapping against me with enough force to rock my whole body forwards, my breasts trembling under the power of his thrusts. And yet, for all his ferocious pace and energy, it felt so...unsatisfying. I squirmed in place, thrusting back in time with the Prince's movements, trying and failing to reach an angle where his inadequate length would bring me more than the occasional sudden spike of pleasure. "I'm the son of King Raliano, you stupid, worthless whore! I'm the best you'll ever have! You should be thanking me for this!"

I blew out an exaggerated sigh of boredom, idly shifting the scattered coins and and cards around on the table into little patterns as the Prince did his best, fucking me with a furious energy that - had he possessed even an average cock - would have left me aching for days afterwards. Perhaps if he had touched my breasts, or my clit, or any of the other sensitive spots across my body, he could have made up for his deficiency, but it was obvious that Jalante cared only for his own pleasure.

"Who was it, I wonder?" I asked allowed, choking off a small gasp as the Prince wiped a thumb through my wetness and pressed it against the tight ring of my ass, sending the first genuine thrill of pleasure since we had coupled through me. "I mean, you obviously can't help the way you were born-" there was enough scorn in the words to leave no doubt in the Prince's mind as to what I was referring to - "but something must have happened to make you hate women so."

"Shup up." Jalante muttered, his thumb pushing harder and harder against my pucker until the tight ring of muscle finally gave way, the penetration of my second orifice finally giving me some sensation of fullness. I shot a Gergio a grin and pushed back, strangling the soft groan that threatened to push past my lips as the invading digit sunk deeper into my rear passage. It was a mad plan that danced through my mind, one that for all I know would see me executed out of spite, but if it had any chance of working then the Prince could not be allowed to see me enjoy even the slightest of his ministrations.

"I mean," I continued. "We've all heard the stories. Women being ravaged and paid for their silence, lady politicians vanishing into your estate's dungeons - "

Jalante cut me off with a sudden yank of my hair, dragging my head backwards until my spine bent towards him and my hands almost left the table, leaving me drawn tight between the Prince's thumb invading my backside and my fingertips balanced precariously on the tabletop. Either by accident or design, the motion had dragged my most sensitive spot into a position where the head of Jalante's cock could batter it with every thrust. My dark skin flushed and I had to screw my eyes shut to force down the cry that threatened to burst past my lips at the sudden change, cramming the pleasurable sensations to the back of my mind and concentrating on the words that I thought would wound him the most.

"But someone hurt you, didn't they? Did they laugh and call you names when you dropped your breeches for the first time?" I groaned, gritting my teeth against the wellspring of arousal Jalante was finally tapping into, each thrust of his undersized cock still enough to push me closer and closer to a climax.

"Shut up!" Jalante snarled, suddenly shoving me face-forward into the table. Stars exploded behind my eyes as my forehead collided with the wood, hair splaying around me as I slid forwards, mashing my sensitive, unstimulated breasts into the cool metal of the coins littering the surface. My eyelids fluttered madly, and when my vision returned, I realized what the final play of Gergio and Galante's play had been.

The crowns had lost to the cups.

"A real man would woo a lady properly, or at least seduce her, rather than take her by force." I hissed as best I could with my face grinding into the tabletop. My thighs shook and my eyes rolled back in my head as I tried to delay my oncoming climax, pushing aisde everything but the words in my head. "But you're not a real man, are you? You're a weak, violent braggart-"

"Shut up!" Jalante's voice was nothing less than a scream, starting several birds into taking flight outside.

The Prince loses to the whore, I thought suddenly, a mad rush of triumph flooding through me. I was close, so close, my toes curling and body growing tense, but I just had to hold off a little longer-

"You're an arrogant, limp-dicked waste of flesh who can't get off unless you have power over someone, and no matter what you do to me or Gergio or any other poor soul who crosses your path from this day on, you will never, ever escape that!"

Jalante climaxed, his undersized manhood twitching as he ejaculated weakly, dribbling a miserable few spurts of royal seed into my convulsing passage. Flushed with the mad euphoria of victory I finally let go and allowed the climax I had held myself on the edge upon to sweep through me, my body twitching and convulsing as the wave of denied pleasure swept on, my inner walls clutching tight around the Prince's prick and milking it of the last few drops of come. It was all I could do to grit my teeth against the howl of release that threatened to cut the air, refusing, even at the very end, to give the bastard Prince any more than I had to.

In the end, though, I didn't have to fight to keep silent. As my back arched and my head pushed away from the table, something cracked me in the back of the skull with the force of a thunderbolt. Pain exploded through me as my forehead bounced against the polished wood. My vision blurred and went dark, and the last thing I saw before losing consciousness was the image of the final state of play, the victorius cups lined up before the defeated crowns, somehow undisturbed despite the chaos of bodies sliding upon them.

---

Pain.

Warmth. The smell of medicinal herbs and purified bandages. The sensation of soft cotton on my skin. But mostly pain, a pulsing, burning weal in the back of my skull.

I opened my eyes blearily, quickly closing them against the harsh light. Voices echoed around me, but in my half-conscious state they were little more than noise, like the babbling of a forest stream. Hands fell upon me, gently lifting me up and pushing cushions underneath my limp body, easing me into a sitting position.

"Zavara?" A voice, a familar voice, cut through the incoherent mess of sound. "Zavara, are you awake?"

"Mmmnyes." Even my voice sounded strange to me. I hesitantly tried my eyes again, opening first one then the other. Gergio stood before me, dressed in rich gold and violet, while a pair of physicians fluttered around. It took a moment for me to realize we were in one of the guest rooms, but it had been set up as if to care for the sick or wounded. Set up to care for me, I thought suddenly, reaching back to paw blindly at the throbbing ache in my head.

"I wouldn't, my dear, the doctors say it'll take time to heal. You've been unconscious for three days." Gergio smiled at me, his soft, fat face beaming with pride. "I'm afraid the Prince rather took offense at some of your remarks and, well, he struck you hard enough to crack your skull. Still, with the money he left behind after storming out, I was able to hire enough personnel to see to your wellbeing. They say you'll be fine in time."

Relief flooded through my tired body, only to be swept away by sudden fear. "And the Prince?" I cut in, trying to lean forwards but being gently eased back into the morass of cushions by my master's hands upon my shoulders.

"Hush, girl, calm yourself. No, we have nothing to fear from him. Any retaliation on his part would only acknowledge there being some truth in what you said." Gergio replied with a shrug. "My associates at court tell me he acts as if nothing has happened. I doubt his ways will change, but at least we need not worry ourselves further."

I sunk down into the mass of soft fabric, a lazy smile crossing my face as Gergio continued. "Jalante had been imposing himself upon my buisness for years, actually. Ever since he learned that, ah, my love of gambling did not, shall we say, match my skill, he saw fit to take a pound of flesh for himself. Sadly, the city's laws being what they are, I could not refuse him."

My master dug through one of his pockets and, after a moment, produced a small golden key. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized it as the one that matched the collar around my neck.

"It's ironic that trying to literally take flesh that belonged to me was what scared him off...which leads me to my point, I suppose." Gergio rambled. I waited patiently, eyes upon the key danging between his fingers, like a cat entranced by one of Swyndel's dancing elf-lights. "Since I have you to thank for freeing me from him, it seems only fair to offer you your freedom from me in return. You've taken well to your studies, and I have enough friends in the mercantile district to offer you a number of good jobs."

"Can I stay here?" I blurted the words suddenly, so suddenly that it took me a moment to realize I'd said them. "I mean, as a free woman, but can I work here?"

Gergio opened his mouth, flabbergasted by the request. Perhaps he thought that after my years of sexual service to him, I'd never want to see him again. If that was the case, I was very glad to prove him wrong. "Well, I, I don't see why not. I can always use another scribe or a counting assistant, and this villa certainly isn't lacking for spare rooms." He sighed. "I shall need to find a new schavasesiso, though."

A small smile twisted the corners of my lips, and I fingered the golden collar around my neck. "Perhaps not," I said.