Chapter 9: The maidens

The room was heavy with the scent of rosewater and jasmine, a heady blend that clung to the women's skin as they prepared their offerings.

The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting soft golden light on the marble floors and the luxurious silks draped across bodies.

Every breath felt warmer, heavier, as if the very air was charged with unspoken desire.

Ethel stood at the center, her presence magnetic. Her skin gleamed, kissed by the oils the maid had applied with reverent hands.

The faint shimmer caught the light, emphasizing the supple curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, and the fullness of her breasts.

Her dark nipples, adorned with strawberries that hung like forbidden fruit, swayed gently as she moved.

The delicate silver chains around her ankles and wrists chimed softly with each step, a siren's call that echoed in the chamber.

She tilted her head, her lips curling in a smile as she threaded a necklace of glistening grapes, placing it around her neck with slow, deliberate care.

The grapes kissed her collarbone and rested just above the valley of her breasts.

Another string, this one draped low around her hips, accentuated the dip of her waist and the tantalizing rise of her thighs.

She didn't simply walk; she flowed, her steps a melody of seduction that left the air charged in her wake.

The other women watched her with a mix of envy and yearning, their gazes tracing the lines of her body as though trying to memorize the secret of her allure.

Among them sat another maiden, a stark contrast to Ethel's boldness.

Her skin, pale and luminous, seemed to glow faintly in the warm light.

The delicate pink of her cheeks mirrored the soft hibiscus hues of her lips, and her sky-blue eyes carried a quiet sadness.

She moved with grace, her slender fingers carefully stirring a simple soup.

Her golden hair, loose and unadorned, cascaded down her back in a curtain of innocence.

Yet there was something subtly sensual in her simplicity, the way her small, perfect breasts shifted beneath her beaded attire, the way her movements seemed to speak of an inner longing.

She placed her dish on the tray with care, glancing toward Ethel as she passed.

Their gazes locked briefly, a silent understanding and competition between them. Both turned their attention toward Rae.

Rae, the one who had captured the prince's favor with no effort at all.

She lay sprawled on the kitchen counter, her dark hair tumbling in waves around her face, her body draped in an oversized robe that slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth, golden curve beneath.

She slept deeply, her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling with a natural rhythm that seemed to echo the room's simmering tension.

Ethel's gaze darkened with amusement as the madam's sharp steps broke the spell.

The older woman's fan came down with a quick snap, landing on Rae's thigh. "Get up! The prince waits, and you sleep like a lazy cat. Get your tray now!"

Rae startled awake, her violet eyes widening before narrowing with irritation.

She stretched, her robe slipping further to reveal the curve of her collarbone and the edge of her breast.

The room stilled briefly, the other women's gazes flickering between Rae and the madam.

There was something about her, even in her disheveled state, a raw, untamed beauty that seemed to demand attention without trying.

Rae rose, her movements languid as she tied her robe loosely around her waist. "Fine, fine," she muttered, her voice husky from sleep.

She moved toward the trays, her bare feet padding softly on the marble.

The hem of her robe swayed, teasing the air with glimpses of her toned legs.

The tension in the room was palpable as the women prepared to present themselves.

Each one carried a silent hope of winning the prince's favor, their efforts layered in silks, oils, and carefully chosen dishes.

But it was Rae, effortless, unpolished, and entirely herself, who held their attention, leaving them wondering if allure came from more than just preparation.