Joana sighs, shifting in her seat. "Tell me, what are your skills? Can you sew, embroider, and wash delicate garments?"
All three nod.
"Can you leave the harem?"
Another nod. Good. That would be useful.
"Very well," she says, pleased. "You will find me an easy consort to serve.
I take my meals at the hour of the dove, the hour of the lion, and the hour of the turtle. The food must be warm, but not scalding. I have no restrictions on what I eat, so request whatever is being prepared in the kitchens. The floors are to be swept daily, and my garments are aired every other day to prevent moths and mildew. I bathe in the late afternoon, and I prefer hot water scented with lavender oil, the kind they use in the bathhouse. If the Emperor chooses to visit my bedchamber, you are relieved of your duties for the night but are expected to return at first light. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Consort Joana," they answer in unison.
Joana rises, her silk skirts whispering against the polished floor as she crosses the room to one of her chests. Atop it sits a small wooden box, which she opens with ease, revealing two hundred copper stars—what remains from her personal savings. Soon, she will receive her daily allowance from the treasurer, but this should suffice for now.
Turning back to her maids, she makes her first command. "One of you must go into the city and purchase a book on the history of our empire's dynasty," she orders.
Jeyne steps forward without hesitation and takes the box. She is the boldest of the three, it seems.
"One will suffice for now," Joana continues, closing the chest. "The rest of you may prepare my bath and lay out a green dress for me to wear. I am still... unkempt from last night."
She does not need to elaborate. The maids were experienced; one of them even blushed since last night; she also served two of the guards at once.
The Emperor's mark lingers on Joana; her pussy and asshole are still filled with his seed, and the scent of it still clings to her skin. Any experienced person can identify this smell and understand what it is.
She may be a consort, but she refuses to look anything less than pristine.
Jeyne moves carefully, bowing her head as she steps away with the money, mindful not to turn her back on Joana. The other two girls move swiftly to follow their orders, drawing her a bath and selecting a dress for the rest of the day. As Joana watches them work, a thought crosses her mind—one that she quickly discards.
In another life, had things been different, had she not been chosen for the harem, she might have been like them. Perhaps she and these girls could have been friends. But that life is gone, and she has no space for such sentimental musings. They are her servants, not her companions.
Once she is bathed and dressed, Joana settles at her vanity, her reflection staring back at her as Dalla carefully works through her thick curls, brushing them out until they fall to her hips in cascading waves of deep brown. The rhythmic strokes are soothing, almost meditative, but her quiet moment is interrupted by the creak of the chamber door.
Jeyne has returned, her hands full—a leather-bound book in one and the small wooden box in the other. As she steps forward, Marra moves swiftly behind her, setting Joana's midday meal on the table.
"The book, as requested, Consort," Jeyne says, presenting both items.
Joana accepts them, her fingers running over the smooth leather cover before opening the box. She glances at the remaining coins—thirty copper stars. Enough for small indulgences but of little consequence in her current position.
Her gaze shifts to Dalla, who has begun braiding her hair with deft hands, then to Marra, arranging dishes with quiet efficiency. Finally, she looks back at Jeyne, standing dutifully at her side.
"Here," she says, holding the box out to Jeyne once more. "Divide these coins among yourselves."
Jeyne hesitates for only a moment before accepting the box with a careful nod. "Thank you, Consort." Her voice remains neutral, her expression properly subdued, but Joana catches the glint of pleasure in her dark eyes. A flicker of restrained joy also passes over Marra's face, and even Dalla's hands seem lighter in their movements.
"We must all be kind and generous to one another," Joana says, her tone neither haughty nor patronizing but firm with quiet authority. "Remember that."
They nod, returning to their tasks without further comment, and Joana finally allows herself a small smile as she turns her attention back to the book in her lap.
After her meal, she takes her place by the window, letting the natural light illuminate the pages. The tome is heavy, both in weight and content, and the dense script forces her to read carefully. It has only been a few years since she became literate, but she refuses to let the challenge deter her. Every detail is important, especially those concerning the empire's recent history.
The author, writing during the lifetime of the Melancholic Emperor, refers to both the Gracious Mother and the current Emperor by their given names, as was common before history reshaped them into figures of reverence.
She reads of the Hated Emperor, a man whose madness drove him to commit unspeakable atrocities, all to ensure that a younger prince—one more pliable to his will—would inherit the throne instead of his own son. In the empire, an imperial prince may only claim concubines or father children once he has been sent to govern a province.
The Melancholic Emperor had only been granted rule over the throne in the year 280 A.C, already well into his twenties. This restriction meant that his household was small and his children few, making them all the more vulnerable when his father's purge began.
Easier, Joana notes grimly. Fewer children meant fewer bodies to hunt down. No need to send an army to slaughter hundreds when fewer than six would do.