[center][h1]Alvar of HIGHCOVE[/h1][/center]

Ira had left her side of the bed cold and bare as the King awoke from his sleep.

It was not an unusual occurrence, for the Queen to rise far before him. Not only was she nearly twelve years his elder, but she was also very dedicated to ensuring that their keep was in working order. She had little trust for the work of aides and their subservients. 

King Alvar Thrayne III was a long title for a man little more than a boy, but it was his own. And while the long illustrious history of great works all file under the work of the name Thrayne, Alvar had little use for it. 

Ira concerned herself far more with the business of Dyraen than Alvar even cared to. Had it not been for rights of secession, Alvar would’ve rather she handle the business of the lands he ruled than he. For this was a position he did not enjoy. 

The Thrayne Family hailed from Delta—the city-turned-military base that made it easier to brief former and future royalty on the inner workings of the Dyraenian Force that the King held under him. It was there that Alvar grew in age, and there that Alvar longed for the most. Where most saw a stronghold of power, Alvar simply saw home. 

It wasn’t very long ago at all.

But his father grew ill and passed in a fortnight, and the next day Alvar had left Delta for their nation’s capital of Highcove, and he had been present in these lands ever since. 

Here, he was no longer Alvar, but King Thrayne III, boy ruler of Dyraen and surrounding lands. A position he thought he would assume in his later years. He was married off quickly to a woman nearly as old as his mother, in order to affirm the power in the Thrayne name. The elders in his family had held royal power for over a hundred years, and did not plan to let anyone take this away them. Even if it meant marrying a child to a grown woman. 

Ira was nice to him, no doubt, but seemed happier in meetings with military leaders than at dinner with him. And he supposed he could not blame her. At these meetings she would tell him what others said, and he would either agree or disagree with their will. Mainly, agreeing seemed easier for him.

Lately, a new topic of discussion has come up—Ira wants to see to the end of prostitution on a national scale. She claims the immorality is damaging the reputation of Dyraen and causing the food shortages. Alvar feels like it’s unimportant, but only wants to appease her. His aides tell him such a ruling would be damaging to Pare and other cities reliant on the industry, but Ira claims otherwise. 

Today would be the day he needed to decide. 

So Alvar climbed out of bed, and prepared for another day of sitting and listening. Best to let the others decide Dyraen’s fate. He hadn’t lived in it for very long anyways.

[center][h1]Emara of PARE[/h1][/center]

Emara leaned her small frame up against a post near the back of the theater. 

In front of her, rows upon rows of travelers and locals alike would soon fill the space, all gathered and ready to see what sort of tricks and magic would be performed on the stage. 

Currently, each entertainer had been running through their typical routines. Men with their rowdy and sexual stories. Dwarves would come and make men livid as they performed party tricks with their women. A traveling Tigan would soon follow, with light forms of magic—something hard to find in Dyraen, but not so much in Pare. 

Pare was the town each person in the Known World would visit at some point or another, but few would dwell longer than a weekend. It was the kind of town known for it’s crude nature and simple pleasures. All walks of life traveled here, either human from the east and west, or supernatural from the south. The only safe path for the nonhuman to travel to Pare was through another magic-friendly city to the south and east by the name of Lyrran, and even then, it was a dangerous path.

Once here, however, things grew much happier. There was no need to fear magic when it was celebrated all around you for cheap tricks and more gold. So the other races would come and go as they could, all venturing out the Yulerd Wood at some point or another, where all magic in Dyraen lie. 

Satisfied with the practice performance, Emara slipped out from the theater and traveled quickly to her work. 

It was dreary out this particular day—the sun was blotted out by grey, and the dirt floors became caked onto Emara’s boots and dress as mud. By the time she found her way to the staircase to work, she looked dreadful.

“I wouldn’t want that ‘one” Emara heard a voice to her left call out. She turned her head to see a burly, massive man pointing to her. His friend, another brute, laughed as they locked eyes.

“You said they’d be a cleaner lot,” the friend said. Emara paid their perversion no mind, ascending the steps and opening the door inside.

“If only they knew who they’d spoken to,” Emara muttered to herself. 

In here, many of her employees milled about, cleaning the last of their bodies and dressing themselves accordingly. One of them, a wench that had grown rather fond of Emara, made her way over to her.

“Heavens, you’re filthy,” she said, kind as she could. “Is it that bad out?” 

The wench approached Emara, but she pushed her away. “You’ve already prepared for the evening,” Emara said, “No need to make yourself filthy again. But yes, it’s miserable out.”

The patter of raindrops could be heard on the ceiling as Emara called attention to her workers. Her co-owner, Alren, was nowhere to be found, so Emara would need to start the evening of work herself. 

“Take care of yourselves tonight, girls,” Emara said. “I’ve seen more cruelty on our streets as of late. Be sure to keep a mindful eye.”

“Yes, Emara,” the girls said in unison. Over years of work, Emara and Alren had built up enough blind trust into these women to ensure both their security and their income. 

Owning a brothel in Pare was hard and dangerous work. But, in Emara’s mind, if she did not fight for the place she had built, she’d soon be forced to work within it. 

Better to be the pimp than the whore. 

At that moment, Alren finally showed his face, and Emara took her leave.

“I leave you with Alren,” she said to the girls, “I’ll be back once I’ve cleaned up.”

“Yes, Emara,” came the unified response, and Emara made her way into her private room, taking the time to bathe the filth away.

Sometimes she wondered how she had become the co-owner of one of Pare’s finest brothels. Perhaps it had been her resilience to prove her worth, or possibly a matter of luck.

Either way, the past did not matter now. All that mattered was the gold she could bring in to finally retire from this dreadful place.

“Emara,” a voice came, gently. She turned to see Alren at her door. Her co-worker, as well as her lover, he was truly a partner in crime. That is, if Dyraen even got around to banning prostitution. “A customer has a complaint. I wanted to ask what you thought I should do.”

“What is it?” Emara asked, sitting up in the bathtub. 

“He’s upset that the girl he is with has slept with a Lleylian. He claims he wants his money back to go to a brothel with honor.”

Emara thought for a moment, frustrated. [i]This is Pare,[/i] she thought. [i]Not Irianson. Did he expect me to turn down customers due to their race?[/i] 

“Tell him he is free to choose another girl,” Emara said, “but there will not be a refund.”

Alren nodded, dropping his ceremonious conversation, and talking to Emara as she was—his wife.

“I wanted to give the bastard a refund,” he admitted. “Just to get him to leave.”

“We can’t afford to be rash anymore, Alren,” Emara said. “Not when business has been slowing so much. Not when Thrayne III weighs our livelihoods in his mind. If he bans prostitution, we need to be ready. And that means saving all that we can.”

Alren nodded, and left Emara in peace. She feared the power a young boy hundreds of miles away from her had. And it was not only fear, but anger.

Anger that the King has yet to visit their town when it brings so much gold into their country. And anger at his new wife from Irianson—a town known for it’s strict bans on prostitution and magic. 

Only time would tell what would become of Emara and Alren’s way of life.