The five concubines stood huddled at the edge of the steaming pool. Like five startled birds flushed from a bush, they looked confused, uncertain, their eyes wide in the misty air.
Lila and Nyla, the twins, barely twenty, clutched each other, their bodies soft and plump as summer peaches.
Anya, the dancer, older but with a body like a drawn bowstring, held herself with a tense grace.
Juliana, the quiet one, just watched, her eyes dark pools reflecting the steam, her impressive chest rising and falling rapidly.
And Elaine, Eleanor's mother, a painting left too long in the sun, simply looked down, resigned, her shoulders slumped.
Alaric, wearing King Reginald's face like a borrowed, ill-fitting mask, frowned. The illusion held, but his impatience was real.
His voice, still mimicking the King's reedy, slightly nasal tone, sharpened with annoyance. "Well? Did you not hear me?"
