Read To Kill A Princess :: Chapter 7 Part 2

Cordelia is in awe when they reach the sparkling sands of St. Antilla; it’s magnificent! She's intrigued by how the environment could change at an instant—it’s so much hotter here than back at home. They had snuck past the border—Cordelia didn’t understand why the thief named Radjerd didn’t put the guards to sleep—he explained that it takes a great amount of energy to conjure the spell perfectly, and it’s only in moments of peril he could pull the spell off. Interesting, he forgot to mention that in their earlier conversation. Maybe he was afraid she would see him as weak? No, that made little sense. He wouldn’t have told her if that was the case.

<They don’t call it The Sands for nothing. Now, let’s get you to Shastacan’s Delights.> With a name like that, she could only fear what kind of delights she would face. The mischievous glint in his violet eyes unsettles her. What exactly was she signing up for, allowing a man like him to take charge of her situation? Right, because he had the power to conjure at will—even if he needed a great deal of emotion to do it. If he hated her enough, he would end her life. Cordelia had to be careful.

The thief parts a beaded curtain in front of a clay-based building about three stories high, with decorative stained glass windows—likely meant to showcase the delights the place was advertising. When she steps inside—wow—the temperature drops immediately. She feels a slight chill up her legs, but that wasn’t a surprise, considering she was naked underneath her shift. God, what she would give for a proper change of clothes—and a soak in some hot water.

<Follow my lead.> He mutters as he walks up to the establishment attendant— a very attractive woman leans suggestively on the countertop; her breasts mould to the surface perfectly. Cordelia can’t draw her eyes away—they were so big! Gold sequins lined the hem, complimenting the red fabric they were stitched onto. The sequins glittered from catching the light on the lantern beside her—which didn’t help the woman hide her chest size. Cordelia fears that might be the point—which leads to the question—where the hell had he brought her?!

<How may I help you, sweetie?> The brunette woman smiles, her green eyes sparkled with delight.

<I’m here to see Alteus.>

He nods.

<And who’s this delectable number?> The woman steps from behind the counter, eying Cordelia intensely. Now she sees that the woman’s billowed pants matched the texture of her shirt perfectly—her well-toned midriff exposed for the world to see. Her thoughts go wild with speculation, resulting in one consistent point—he brought her to a whorehouse!

<My, she’s so pale—is she from Wellspring? She has to be!>

<Yes, she’s from Wellspring.> The thief confirms.

<Wherever I go, my wife comes with me.> Cordelia almost chokes—however—recognizes the brilliance of his words. No one would speculate the Princess would have married a common thief, especially dressed in nothing but her shift—which she’s surprised the woman didn’t ask about. Or, maybe it was normal around these parts to wear as little amount of clothing that one could get away with.

She winks at Cordelia. <The poor thing probably doesn’t even understand what I’m saying.>

<She does understand and can speak it too so say nothing rude. Trust me, I’ve been lashed by her tongue more times than I can count.> His grin implies that her words aren’t the only thing he’s insinuating. She wouldn't bite back—she's not about to be goaded by him again.

The woman garbed in silks saunters from the room—did all women in The Sands walk like that? Or was it the empowered ones? It bothers Cordelia that she’s no better than the thief, also charmed by her curves. Now that the two were alone, she could scold him--even if his plan is brilliant…

Cordelia hisses discreetly, <Your wife?!>

<Listen, this is the only way that the others won’t touch you. You’re only to be a stage dancer, nothing else. No private dances, no touching.>

<You're whoring me out as a stage performer?> She growls.

<It’s great money, and I’d do it myself, but I'm so uncoordinated that I’d fall off of the stage—probably break an expensive prop I'd have to pay for.> Now that’s a show she’d pay good money to see.

<I’m not wearing a skimpy outfit like her!> She's referring to the woman at the counter.

Cordelia frowns, understanding the predicament. She couldn’t be too rowdy here either—one wrong move, and he could blurt out her identity, and, he could easily split the profits with anyone who kept his secret—meaning he could kill her in this establishment—especially if his presumed friend owns the place.

<Follow me!> Cordelia hears the woman shout, the thief intertwines his fingers through hers—her skin tingles at the contact. She had to keep her blush under control. She leads them down a narrow hallway, carefully passing dancers of both genders dressed in glittery costumes. She blushes, when she pictures the scenarios. To dance in front of a group of sexually charged men? What would stop any from pouncing on her as they saw fit? There were so many uncertainties to this entire plan… She wasn’t sure what to do. They are brought to a small, dark office lined with books as far as the eye can see. They soon linger on a handsome man, with polished skin and curly brown tresses. Was he too St. Antillan? Did all the people here have to be so attractive?

<Radjerd, It’s been a while.> His eyes linger on Cordelia intently. His stare is smoldering—making Cordelia flush.

Alteus folds his hands together, gently resting his elbows on his desk. <What can I do for you, old friend?>

<Your wife? Goodness me, congratulations!> He clasps his hands together as he steps away from his desk, affectionally patting his friend on the back.

<How’d you guess?> He chuckles.

<Exactly, which is why we need your help.>

<So she wishes to be a dancer? First of all, can she dance?> He raises a brow.

<She’s been brought up by noble folks who have taught her the way of the ballroom, and whatever kind of dances nobles do in their spare time. I assume her footwork won’t need much correcting, but she will need training from your dancers to understand what the crowd will expect from her.>

<Ah, so she’s Weltish. I should have assumed by her colouring.> His laugh is heavenly.

<And she’s not to be touched by anyone—even if they wish to have a private dance.> The thief crosses his arms.

Cordelia feels better knowing she's spared from the grubby hands of the St. Antillan populace.

<She’s Weltish, so careful on the exposed skin.>

Alteus laughs. <She can’t be too traditional if she married you.> He smiles, as he leans down to her level. <And what’s your name?>

<De—el.> She pretends to cough.

<Deel?> He says, understandably confused. Deel wasn’t a real name, but if Freydis could put Deely and Cordelia together, then her last-minute Deel would have to do.

<Yes, it was my mother’s choosing. My father would have picked Calista—a much nobler name in his opinion, but you know how strong-willed mothers can be.> It was a true story—minus the noble part. Her mother deemed the name Calista unsuitable for a princess. Dammit, why didn’t she go with Calista instead of Deel? It was too late to take back her words now…

<Oh do I ever. My wife wouldn’t let me name our daughter either. Said it wasn’t my right since I didn’t give birth to her. I can understand that logic.> He chuckles that heavenly chuckle again. <Alright Deel, come this way—and you, stay here. We have a lot of catching up to do.> Alteus lures Cordelia out of the room, leading her to where she assumes the other dancers are.

<Love is blind.> She responds. It seemed like a good enough excuse, and her mother had used it when commonly when her father had embarrassed the Royal Family at ballroom gatherings. It was never offensive, just misplaced manners and the one time he had stepped on her mother’s toes while dancing… Now she was getting off topic.

<It’d have to be.> He smiles, patting Cordelia on the shoulder. <Now, our girls will outfit you in something much more appropriate.> He snaps his fingers when he enters the changing room, Cordelia sees a vast array of colours/sequins swish by her. There were a lot of dancers here, much to her surprise. The place looked much smaller outside.

Most of the dancers stand in a line, their eyes locked on their boss as he snaps his fingers a second time.

<I’d like you all to meet our new hire, Mrs. Deel Laurius. You’ll show her the ropes, what dances are popular with our guests, and most of all, treat her with her respect. She is my dear friend’s wife, and she is not to be touched by any guest, you hear me?>

Deel Laurius? She inwardly groans at the name.

A nod of agreement circled through the room.

<Excellent. Now, get Deel cleaned up and in something dazzling. We want to enhance her natural beauty.> He claps, before swiftly leaving the room.

She's immediately rounded up by a group of women. One even takes the dastardly actions of lifting her shift, gasping when she notices that she’s bare underneath.

<Please stop that.> She slaps the woman’s fingers off. She was proud that she didn’t chew the woman’s head off.

<My, your husband must be perverted to expose you like this out in the open.> A dark-haired woman speaks.

Cordelia shudders, <He’s got acquired tastes.>

The second girl says, her red lipstick matching her fiery red hair. She crosses her arms in detest.

Cordelia wishes to correct the woman. That wasn’t exactly what happened, per se, but she thinks it amusing that the thief named Radjerd was getting as much heat as he was. Serves him right for calling them married in the first place…

<At any rate, let’s get you showered up. C’mon.> The red-haired girl leads Cordelia down another slim hall, mist gracing her skin with each step. Multicoloured tiles don the walls brilliantly, like a mosaic painting. The area had windows on the ceiling to provide ample lighting, which made sense in a large bathing hall like this one.

Cordelia is shocked and appalled to see bare-breasted women walk around—and even more shocked to see men—and the bits they contained. If she hadn’t experienced what she did with the thief last night—she might have passed out from shock. She might anyway, involuntary of course.

Cordelia is red from embarrassment.

She points Cordelia to the laundry area. <Put your belongings here; for the time being, we’ll outfit you in something dazzling.> Interesting, they referred to clothes as cloths. She supposed it was the terminology she had to get used to, especially if she was to survive in The Sands.

She sighs, peeling off her dirty shift—the moisture makes the fabric cling to her body—it feels disgusting. She didn’t want to imagine how grimy she must have looked—only paying attention to that fact now she was bare. <Perfect.> She grins, giving Cordelia the once-over. <We’ll get you cleaned right up, and fix that messy hair of yours.>

She watches as the woman strips down from her flashy outfit to her bare skin—why did these women have to be so beautiful? Cordelia feels inadequate, the urge to cover herself was strong.

<Come, the bath awaits.>

No phrase she could hear could be more delicious. It was about time she had a nice soak.

She deserved it.