04: When the Emperor wants a wench

Ivailo pulled on the reins of the black mare as he approached the Bitterhead Inn, slowing her to a stop. He hated he had to do this task, but it had to be done. Sighing heavily, he dismounted and detached the bag Cyran had packed from the rest of the tack before leading the horse to the stables next to the Inn.

"Good afternoon!" He called to the head groom, a pale vampire, who had just finished mucking out a stall and was now approaching.

"Good afternoon, sir! Just the one horse?"

"Yes, and your finest stall and feed. She has worked hard and deserves to be pampered tonight."

"As you wish, sir." Ivailo handed over the reigns.

"I expect I will stay for a few days, so she will need to be turned out between now and when I leave. Other than that, I have no other requirements except that I will pay you when I leave."

"Yes, sir. I will make sure that this beauty has the time of her life while in my care."

"Be sure that she does," Ivailo finished rubbing the mare's neck before leaving the small wooden structure that housed the mounts of the guests of the inn and entering the cavernous front room of the Inn.

Amaris looked at the stranger, dressed in finery, and felt nothing but absolute exhaustion. Between working all day, and knowing that she would probably work all night, either as a barmaid or as a wench. That was her lot in life. To work nonstop, with no rest and pennies for a day of work. Still, she couldn't complain. She had no energy to complain. She knew she could not last muck longer in the job, but she had no means to buy her freedom. Montego had paid none of his vampire employees ever, and whatever money the patrons that bought their sex paid, the rent that he charged them ate it all up. The patron made his way up to the counter that Taria stood behind.

"Excuse me," Ivailo said, drawing the attention of a caramel skinned lady behind what seemed to be a bar counter, from where she had been flirting with what he assumed was another paying customer, but could well have been the bar owner.

"How may I help you?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyes at him after she had glimpsed at him.

"I would like to order a room, please." Ivailo was not in the slightest bit irritated she had not used his proper title. Indeed, it was nice not to have everyone know his name for a period, however short-lived such an extravagance may be. The lady batted her eyes and smiled.

"Certainly, good sir. Tonight, there is only the royal suite available. Will that be suffice?" She asked sweetly, as if apologetic that all other rooms were unavailable.

"That will be perfect," Ivailo responded.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"There is!" Ivailo's voice came out a little more excited than he had wanted. "I will want some company in my bed tonight." The lady smiled.

"Montego! The guest occupying our finest suite would like some company tonight!" She called over her shoulder at the man she had been flirting with.

"Great!" the man, Montego, shouted as he straightened himself up. "Ladies! our distinguished guest would like some company. All the prostitutes, please line up at the counter!" As soon as he had shouted those magic words, what seemed like a hundred werewolves, presumably prostitutes, lined up along the counter, positioning themselves so they showed their very best assets. Ivailo, not wanting to give his mission away, slowly studied every single girl down the line. They were all variants of the same type, dark, tree-bark coloured skin, curly hair that stuck out in as many directions as possible, curves that could make even a monk want to give in to the pleasures of the flesh. No vampires. Ivailo sighed.

"I am not interested in having a werewolf in my bed. Do you have any vampires?" He asked. Montego gave an exasperated sigh.

"All the wenches, please come to the bar. Prostitutes, I dismiss you ladies to serve other patrons." As if they had been holding in a collective sigh, all the prostitutes let out a sigh and they dispersed, while several pale figures, vampires, almost only dressed in rags, made their way to the counter. Ivailo walked down the line that had formed.

They all looked as if they were the same people. Emaciated, thin and almost frail women who looked as if they were underfed and overworked. Suddenly, he saw her. Her grey eyes, her pale blonde hair that had not been washed for at least a week. She looked as if she had woken up exhausted.

Amaris did not like that she was being looked at as if she was a piece of meat, but fought the urge to protest the unfair treatment that she seemed to get over even the most beautiful prostitute. The stranger looked at her as if he had been waiting to see her, his chocolate eyes eating up every single inch of her body.

"I want this one," the stranger announced, pointing to Amaris.

"Are you sure? There are many other beauties that are far more worth your time," Montego argued.

"I am sure. She is the most beautiful one here, so she is the one I want," the stranger replied, taking Amaris's hand and kissing it. Amaris knew it was a lie. She had never been beautiful, at least not by the standards of Acad.

"Very well, then." The stranger led Amaris away from the inn's front room before turning to her.

"I must confess, I do not know where my room is," He admitted. "Do you know where the royal suite is?"

"Up the stairs, then a left and straight down the end of the corridor." Amaris answered. The stranger nodded and left, pulling Amaris by her wrist behind him. They approached the door at the end of the hall. The stranger unlocked and opened the door, pulled Amaris inside, and locked the door again.

"Do you know why I chose you?"