Day seven in the harem and—okay—fine. I admit it. Joining was the best decision I've ever made.
I mean, gods. The luxury. The rugs. The grapes peeled by hand. And that bathhouse? It's bigger than some temples I've been whipped in.
Absolute. Peak. Career move.
Only… maybe I overdid it a tiny bit.
Because technically I'm not here in any official capacity. I'm not wife number nine. I'm not concubine number anything. I'm not even on the damn roster.
I'm just… here. Like a wine stain that nobody dares scrub out because the Archduke seems to like it.
Which, apparently, is a problem.
The other wives—seven of them, plus poor Loma trying desperately to pretend she's still special—they're all glaring at me like I farted in the incense bowl.
And honestly? It's not my fault I'm amazing.
So yes. I've been in His Pale Nibs' bed six nights straight. And yes, maybe he did say I had the "skills of the sluttiest whore in the Inner Sea." Which, let's be real, is high praise coming from a man who once commissioned an ivory pillow in the shape of a woman's ass.
But do I deserve all this side-eye? This sniping? This perfume-in-my-soup nonsense?
Come on, girls. Keep up.
It's not my fault I know how to rotate my hips and whisper dirty nothings in three dialects. It's called professionalism.
Loma tried to pull me aside earlier, voice tight, eyes screaming what the fuck are you doing without actually saying it. I just smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and said:
"Don't worry, darling. I'll make sure you get some leftovers."
Then I winked.
She hasn't spoken to me since.
But hey. At least she's not throwing things.
Yet.
***
The bathhouse was a masterpiece of obscene indulgence. Marble floors slick with rosewater. Steam thick enough to hide a dagger. Eunuchs in matching silk belts kneeling by every pool, massaging and oiling like it was a sacred rite.
I was sprawled half-submerged in the warmest pool, breasts just above the surface, wine cup balanced on my belly. Feeling divine.
Until Wife Number Three slid in like a shark in pearls and muttered just loud enough, "Some of us earn our place. Others just spread fast enough."
I sipped my wine. "Careful, darling. Your jealousy's showing."
Loma, on the other side, sighed loudly. "Can we not do this today?"
Wife Five chimed in from the massage bench. "Not everyone needs to act like they're still working the alleys of Seebulba."
I sat up slowly. "Sweetheart, if I were still working Seebulba, you couldn't afford to watch."
Gasps. One eunuch dropped his sponge.
Wife Seven snapped, "Some of us have titles."
I grinned. "And some of us have talent. But sure, let's compare how long it takes each of us to make the Archduke scream."
Loma hissed, "Saya!"
"Oh don't Saya me," I shot back, flipping my braid over my shoulder, splashing her on purpose. "I didn't crawl up the tower wall to play second fiddle to a bunch of perfumed houseplants."
"You're ruining everything," Loma snapped. "You're not even part of this harem!"
"She isn't!" yelled Wife Two, standing up with oil dripping off her thighs. "She's an intruder! A stray bitch who's rutting her way through the Archduke's—"
I launched my wine cup.
It hit her in the tit.
And then it was chaos.
Wives shrieking. Water sloshing. Curses flying in four languages. I think someone threw a sandal. One of the eunuchs scurried behind a pillar like a terrified shrimp.
Loma lunged at me across the bath, hissing, "You absolute plague-ridden hellcat!"
"Your highness," I corrected, grabbing her by the soaked braid and pulling us both under.
The last thing I heard before we went under was a eunuch whisper, horrified, "Should… should we get the Archduke?"
Another one replied, "Gods no. He might join in."
***
The punishment boxes were wooden. Cramped. Hot. Barely big enough to sit in, let alone sulk with dignity. Each had a tiny slit for air and the faint sound of eunuchs arguing about whose turn it was to supervise the "rabid bitches in Box Row."
I was sweating through my thighs, half-naked, bruised, and still giddy from dunking Wife Two in a fountain of her own spite.
"This is your fault!" Loma's voice hissed from the box next to mine. Muffled, but loud enough to echo.
"My fault? You went for my braid, princess! You think I wanted to flash a eunuch my left tit while dodging your claws?"
"You threw a wine cup at someone's nipple!"
"She asked for it! She insulted my professional integrity!"
Wife Two's voice cut in from Box Three. "You don't have integrity! You have positions! And I counted three of them last night!"
"Oh, jealousy's not a good look on you, darling," I purred through the slit. "Must be hard knowing the Archduke actually finishes with me."
"You vulgar little sewer—!"
"Ladies," Loma barked, tone full noble now, even while sitting in her own sweat. "Can we please stop screaming obscenities through ventilation holes like madwomen?"
Silence.
Then I muttered, "I wasn't screaming. I was enunciating."
Wife Two huffed. "You're not even a wife."
I grinned into the darkness. "Funny. I was in his box last night. Now I'm in this one. Guess I just collect them."
Loma groaned audibly. "If I die in here, I want it known in my official epitaph that I was dragged into this hell by Saya, sewer rat of Seebulba."
I laughed. "Sewer rat with better hips than all seven wives combined."
From the end of the row, one of the eunuchs sighed, "They've been in there for two hours. Do we open the boxes now?"
The head eunuch just shook his head. "Not until they stop hissing."