The bath chamber pulsed with heat, the air thick with steam and the earthy tang of wet marble.
Joana reclined in the shallow tub, her skin slick with oil and water, the warmth seeping into her flesh like a lover's touch. Dalla knelt beside her, her hands steadier now as she poured another jug over Joana's shoulders, the cascade tracing paths down her spine.
Jeyne, her smirk sharp as a blade, lathered a bar of soap, her fingers gliding over Joana's arms with a boldness honed by years of bending for others. Marra, her cloth dripping, scrubbed Joana's lower back.
"Come on, Dalla, don't play coy," Jeyne pressed, her voice a teasing lilt, her cheeks flushed from more than just the heat. "Did he growl? Slap you around? I've heard His Majesty fucks like he's claiming a prize—rougher than those grunting guards in the barracks." She flicked a bubble at Dalla, who flinched, her blush deepening as the memory of last night clashed with older, dirtier ones.
"Enough, Jeyne," Dalla muttered, though her lips twitched, caught between shame and a flicker of pride. "his...his majesty was loud. Grunted like a beast. Slapped my ass raw—said it was too pretty to leave alone. Worse than that captain who pinned me in the stables last month." Her voice dropped, a whisper against the splash of water, her thighs clenching as if still feeling the Emperor's girth.
Joana chuckled, tilting her head back to let Marra rinse her hair, the water streaming over her breasts and pooling around her hips.
"That's him, alright. Loves a good smack—my thighs were red for a week once. He's got hands like a blacksmith, and a cock to match, thicker than any guard's prick." She stretched lazily,
"You're lucky he didn't bruise you too badly, Dalla. First nights with him are a league above those sweaty fucks in the shadows."
Marra's eyes flicked up, her clothes slowing as she ventured, "A league above? Even… even the steward? He's rough too." Her tone was soft, hesitant, but the admission slipped out—proof she'd spread her legs for more than just chores. Her fingers brushed Joana's spine, leaving faint trails of water.
"To see if you break," Joana said, her smirk fading into something wry. "He pushes hard—fucks you raw, sees if you'll cry or crawl back for more. I didn't cry, but I limped out sore as hell. You're tougher than you look, Dalla—tougher than when that lordling bent you over the wine casks, I bet." She shot the maid a glance, half-praise, half-tease, knowing the palace's underbelly as well as they did.
Dalla ducked her head, a faint smile breaking through. "I didn't cry then either. It Hurt like hell, though—His Majesty's worse. My cunt's still throbbing, and my ass feels like it's been split open. That guard last week was nothing compared to this." She shifted, wincing, her body a testament to the Emperor's vigor, though the coins Joana had slipped into her last night were long gone—spilled onto her floor in a clinking heap when she'd stumbled to her room.
Jeyne laughed, loud and unrestrained, splashing water at Dalla with a flick of her wrist. "Split open! Gods, I'd pay to see that—His Majesty ramming you until you're a whimpering mess. Did he cum in you? Fill you up like that fat treasurer did me behind the kitchens?" Her eyes gleamed, her hands pausing as she leaned closer, soap suds dripping onto her soaked skirt, her own history with the palace's men bubbling up.
"Jeyne, you're a slut," Joana said, but her tone was light, amused. She flicked the water back, catching Jeyne's cheek. "He did, though—pumped her full, didn't he, Dalla? I could smell it on her last night. Thick, hot, the kind that sticks—better than that guard's watery load, I'd wager."
Dalla nodded, her face flaming. "Everywhere. Inside, on me… I scrubbed it off after, but I still feel it. The coins fell out when I got back—clinked like bells on the floor." She hesitated, then added, "Better than the steward's mess, though—he's quick and sloppy."
Joana grinned, a flash of teeth. "Good. Keep those coins—earned every bit. Next time, I'll find something bigger to shove in you." She winked, and the maids erupted into giggles, even Marra letting out a soft, surprised laugh, her cloth slipping as she pictured it.
The mood turned playful, the water sloshing as Jeyne dared to splash Joana again. "Oi, you'll pay for that!" Joana yelped, lunging forward to grab Jeyne's wrist. The maid squealed, slipping on the wet marble, and tumbled halfway into the tub, her skirt soaking as she landed against Joana's legs, her hands flailing. Dalla gasped, dropping her jug with a clatter that echoed, while Marra froze, cloth dangling, her eyes wide as saucers.
"Clumsy bitch," Joana teased, hauling Jeyne up by the arm, water dripping from both of them. "Now you're wetter than me—serve you right for fucking around with guards and splashing me." Jeyne sputtered, laughing, her hair plastered to her face, and Joana shoved her back to the floor with a mock glare. "Scrub, not swim, you little whore."
The tension broke, and the bath stretched on, the air thick with steam and their secrets. Marra poured a fresh jug over Joana's head, her small hands trembling less now, while Dalla took up a comb, working it through Joana's tangled locks with careful strokes, her fingers brushing the nape of her neck.
Jeyne, still dripping, lathered Joana's chest, her fingers grazing the swell of her breasts with a cheeky grin. "Nice tits my lady—better than mine, even after that captain squeezed them raw last week," she muttered, earning a swat from Joana's wet hand.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Don't get too comfortable. If anybody found out that you are this frank with me..." Joana shot back, and Jeyne paled slightly.
It was true and an unspoken rule; according to it, maids and other lower personnel should not be closer to their masters. They have to know their place.
Actually, everybody besides Joana keeps their maids and servants in place.
The bath lingered, a lazy hour of suds and stories, until Joana finally rose, water streaming off her like a second skin. The maids dried her with towels, their hands quick and practiced, and slipped a loose dress over her head, the fabric clinging to her damp curves. The day slipped by after that—Joana ate bread and figs alone in her chamber, and the maids dismissed to their chores or their next trysts.
She wandered the harem again, trading idle words with other women.
Her mind drifted to the night ahead. Midday found her napping on a low couch, the heat lulling her into a doze, until evening crept in with a cooler breeze.
Night fell, and Joana carried Jaehaerys to the wet nurse's room one last time. "Keep him quiet tonight," she said softly, brushing a finger over his cheek before leaving him in the cradle. Back in her quarters, she found Dalla waiting, her hands twisting nervously in her skirt, her body still marked by the Emperor's last visit.
"His Majesty is coming tonight, isn't he?" Dalla asked, her voice small, her eyes shadowed with memory and anticipation.
Joana nodded, pulling a comb through her hair. "Yes. Help me." Dalla stepped forward, brushing Joana's locks until they shone, then handed her a plain but flattering dress. Joana slipped it on, her stomach fluttering—not with power, but the nervous hum of a woman who knew the Emperor's weight. She glanced at Dalla, who smoothed her own skirt, her face pale but resolute, her own history with the palace's men a quiet echo.
"Ready?" Joana asked, her tone gentle but firm.
Dalla nodded, and together they stood, waiting for the heavy thud of the Emperor's footsteps to echo down the hall.