Prologue: The Chronicler - Sex Stories

Prologue: The Chronicler

... them?”

“They will be our guests in the camp for a couple of days. Then, they can choose their own path – they are free to leave or stay. There’s a lot of work they can do if they remain, and no, I don’t meanthat.”

I felt relieved. The Whore Queen – Queen Vandira, I corrected myself, I should try to be proper – was turning out to be a decent person, at least compared to my recent experiences. My captors in Amberstrat had beaten me repeatedly, though they were careful not to leave marks that would lower my already-low value, and I had never talked back to them as I did to her.

“You have this option as well,” Vandira continued. “But I think working as my chronicler will be easier and more rewarding – you don’t look like you can carry much, and I doubt you can fight. Maybe you cook?”

“I’d rather keep doing this, thanks. Thank you. Your Grace.” This time, my tone carried genuine reverence. She seemed pleased.

“And then, there are other perks to working directly for the Queen, like access to my famous harem – though I don’t like the term since I am paying them well for their work and their services are not limited to me. I dare say it is the best diplomatic corps you can find.”

I think I blushed obviously at that offer, and she noticed.

"Come," she said in a tone that I think she tried to make sound friendly. "Take a look at least."

She led me out of the tent and whispered something to one of the guards outside. It was one of the two that had carried and ...

... washed me, whom I only now realised was a woman. The Queen was right - this was the only job I could be good at. Neither manual labour nor fighting was my calling, and cooking was a hard skill to master when you rarely ate.

The guardwoman rang a bell three times and turned to me. "You can go to the large pavillion over there," she said pointing to the east border of the camp. "You'll find an assortment of options." She winked at me, and I felt my cheeks reddening again.

"You get a pick for every day you write for me," the Queen said. "We'll discuss your regular salary later. Be here tomorrow at noon." She turned her back and left. With my head bowed down as if every passerby would know where I was going and why and laugh at my gall, I reluctantly crossed the distance to the harem tent.

I expected to see a bunch of naked people sitting on pillows and eating grapes, but of course, this was still a war camp - the harem's service providers might be tasked with other jobs as well, and they would certainly not be expected to sit all day. The tent, much larger than the queen's, contained several dividing screens, and chests full of clothes and bedrolls, but was not luxurious. As I got in, people were still arriving from other entrances; apparently, the bell ringing called them to the tent or summoned messengers to gather them; they got in line, dusting off their clothes - some wore cooking aprons (but apparently weren't the main cooks, since they were here), some blacksmith ...