The house matron called out the names of those who would attend the evening’s event for the emperor and his men, a dinner to celebrate Zarek’s latest success in battle and to honor his warriors. She’d already chosen several women. Nina dreaded the prospect of hearing her own name called.
The matron was an elderly buxom woman with a sadistic streak. In charge of the house in which the slave women lived, she saw to their basic needs. In exchange, she expected no grumbling, and no trouble. The slaves knew the price for misbehaving: death. Their fear kept them docile.
“Tamara!” she called.
A young woman of exquisite beauty stepped forward. Her smoldering black eyes maintained their blank expression. Dressed in the standard robe that was all any of the women had to wear when not working an event or called for by one of Zarek’s men, she was regal, notwithstanding her surroundings.
She made her way to the fore. The matron told the women it was a great honor when someone specifically requested them, but Nina found no glory in being a whore to the emperor and his vile henchmen. She hid her disdain.
“Mandy!” the matron shouted.
A young woman stepped forward.
“That will be all.”
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