[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/YW5kpkR.png[/img] [h2]The Merchant Kings 3 - The Lesser Sex[/h2][/centre] [hr] “... And so, Cilantra bashed aside the shadowtiger, saving her brother from certain death!” The little girl on the bed clapped her hands together in excitement, so loud to the point where her mother had to grab them and clap them together a little more softly. The girl clicked in timid understanding. “Mommy?” asked the little girl as her mother caressed her gently across the face. “Hmm?” “What happened to Cilantra and the Huntresses?” The mother’s lavender face darkened further, and she was in the process of parting her lips to answer when another whisper deafened them both: “Woman! The baths - now!” The woman, none other than rachfi Nilla, drew a silenced, frustrated breath and stopped her hand on her daughter’s cheek. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?” she whispered and gave her daughter, who had seemingly shrunk at the sound of her father’s voice, a kiss on the forehead, then one on the belly. She then rose to her feet, tucked at and straightened her white dress and collected her hands in a fold under her bosom. She exited the room of their daughter, stepped swiftly through the main hall of the main hut, exiting into a vast, diversely sown garden under the moonlight, intermittently furnished with tables, sitting pillows, incense burners and beds under the open sky. Soft giggles sounded out from the baths by the edge of their walls, right by the road up to the former king’s hut, and the rachfi made her way over, taking position by the bamboo partitions separating the baths from the rest of the garden. An alluring ooze of mint and honey snaked its way to her nose, but the rachfi did not seem affected at all. “What is your bidding, my love?” she asked without an ounce of affection. The giggles continued. Taking a deep drag through the nose, she knocked softly on the partitions. The laughter stopped, and several trickles of water from behind the partitions hinted that her rach was with great company. “Is that you, woman?” The rachfi had no time to answer before the rach continued. “Good. Bring a pot of chamomile tea and five cups--” “And [abbr=A sticky cake made of dried fruit, flour, cinnamon and wild honey.]maokl[/abbr]! Lots of maokl!” came a deep voice followed by an excited splash and some laughter. “Yes, and maokl. Anything else, brothers?” “Do you have anything stronger, Nilla? Daybreak’s not too far off, after all.” “Oh, splendid point, Sweetpea. Woman, bring us a bowl, no, two -deep- bowls of that [abbr=A sweetened palm wine.][i]kwut[/i][/abbr] you bought, as well! And make it quick - these men are thirsty!” “Waaaayy!” came at least five cheering voices, followed by more splashing. The rachfi closed her eyes and stood there with her fists tensely closed. She could feel that boiling discontent fill her belly - rage at the disrespectful manner of her husband’s speech. She grit her teeth to the point where it was nearly audible and-- “Hey, woman! Are you there?” came another shout. The rachfi gasped briefly for air to purge herself of the heat of fury. “Yes, my love,” she responded cooly. “Would yourself and your brothers like anything else?” “We’ve already told you what we want. Now run along,” came a sharp response. As the rachfi walked back towards the house, she heard sarcastic remarks about whether it was her time of the quarter. She stepped inside the main hut again and sucked in a deep breath. Then she grabbed her hair with both hands and let out a silent scream inside. She keeled forward, her mouth agape in suffering, but not a single sound escaping it. She knew she would be heard and, because of her disgusting husband and his friends, would be shunned as noisy and hysterical. It would be a social death sentence for a woman of her standard. A woman of her standard… What was her standard, anyway? Like a machine, she had entered the larder and produced a pot of [i]kwut[/i], and like a slave, she had without protest prepared their damn tea and their damn fruit pudding. She poured the wine into two deep bowls and took one in each hand, bringing them outside. Her feet danced quietly, trained for years in strict manners, across the firm paves planted in the dry grass. Yes, she had always been wealthy - from the day of her birth, her mother and father had showered her in riches. She had been dressed in silk, silver and sapphires, worn rings and necklaces, and even been a courtier under King Safron - she could have even been betrothed to him had it not been for those wicked Cloves from Scenta… But what would it have mattered, anyway? She had had all that power, all that wealth, and then it had all been lost. No, lost wasn’t the correct word; she glared at the bamboo partitions ahead of her - stolen, was more like it. She stopped outside the partitions and whispered coldly, “My love, your [i]kwut[/i] has arrived. I will leave it here and--” “No, bring itinside. The water’s too nice to leave.” There came three or four other chuckles. Rachfi Nilla’s grip on the bowls could have shattered them. “My love, I do not believe it is appropriate for a Rachfi to--” “Woman, just bring the damn wine. The lads won’t mind, would they?” There came a wet sniff. “Actually, Nilly, I can go get it. Wouldn’t want her presence souring the mood, would we?” “Hawthorne, what I tell my woman to do is none of your business. If she comes in, she comes in. Now come in, woman.” While Rachfi Nilla begrudgingly stepped inside the partitions, a blindfold over her eyes, Hawthorne rolled his milky eyes and splashed his hands under water to cover himself up. “Come on, Nilla, this is a breach of my dignity.” “Hawthorne, you’re such a wimp, by the gods,” snickered Sweetpea and thanklessly took one of Rachfi Nilla’s bowls, slurping its pale content. “It’s just a woman, c’mon.” “Well, -some- of us have the virtue to save ourselves for our boyfriends, okay? Ugh, thanks the gods she at least had the basic decency to put her blindfold on. You’ve trained her well, Nilly.” Rach Nilla took his own bowl and gave it a sip before passing it on. “Would you believe me if I said she already came with those skills? Truly, she’s of proper breeding, this one.” He reached out a dripping-wet arm and hooked it around her waist, the reluctant rachfi being pulled in wordlessly. She was thankful the blindfold was on, for she could not for the life of her wipe away the hateful glare in her eyes. “Wouldn’t trade her for anything. She has bred me two wonderful sons, she has.” “And a daughter,” she added quietly. The rach stopped himself before continuing the next sentence. “What was that?” The rachfi drew a quiet breath. “Nothing, my love.” “No, say it. I don’t think the lads heard.” The four other men in the tub leaned in like snickering hyenas surrounding a carcass. The rachfi closed her eyes behind the blindfold and sighed some hot air. “You have given me two wonderful sons and a daughter, my love. I could not be more thankful.” “My, my, three children. Not bad, Nilly, for a fort year marriage - [abbr=Fragrancian goddess of earth, fertility and flowers]Chig’wach[/abbr] must’ve kissed you right on the belly, I bet.” “So it seems, so it seems,” rach Nilla replied smugly. The rachfi discreetly tried to snake herself free, but the rach's grip tightened. One of the men named Bloom snickered wryly. "She any pretty? Your daughter?" The rach clicked thoughtfully. "She's no Queen Clove, but she's decent, I suppose." The rachfi felt gall fill her throat. "Oh gods, Queen Clove… That midnight skin’s as fine as freshly spun silk, I'm telling ya," told Sweetpea. “Shame neither the prince nor the princess got it… My, had it been my seed inside her instead of the king’s, rest his soul…” “Rest his soul, rest his soul,” the other men echoed. “... Then my boys and girls would’a been black as fireglass, I tell you that!” Bloom clicked with interest and made a sideways frown. “How much do you want for her?” Rach Nilla swallowed his mouthful of kwut. “Want for who?” “Your daughter, man. How much?” The rachfi lowered her gaze to behold her husband, at least visibly, seriously considering the offer. Bloom was a [abbr=A high-level military rank comparable to general.]chihrk[/abbr], one of two in all of Fragrance and Scenta. He commanded his very own warband, having gathered as much power over the military as he could after the death of the king. Now, he was the second most powerful man in Fragrance after Rach Rose, possibly the most powerful, if it had not been Rose who paid his wages. Rach Nilla bobbed his head ponderously from side to side. “What can you offer?” “She’s eighteen!” burst the rachfi suddenly. The bathtub quieted, only the slick of water sounding as shoulders and torsos moved to regard the wife. Rach Nilla’s grip about her waist tightened threateningly. “The chihrk asked how much we are willing to give our daughter away for - it is a most valid question, woman.” He loosened his grip again and the rachfi felt her breath hasten with anxiety. The officer rolled his eyes at her and leaned in. “So?” The rach looked boorishly up at his wife and sighed. “But Bloom, my old friend, my dear old friend… You already have a wife, don’t you? The sages won’t look very kindly on someone who shirks their duty to their woman to lie with other women, after all.” Bloom shook his head. “That useless slut has granted me nothing but daughters for a hundred years. I’m thinking about divorcing her - the sages will allow if our fourth child, too, becomes a daughter.” “That’s terrible, brother,” whispered Sweetpea sympathetically and placed a palm on his shoulder, which Bloom took in his own hand softly. “I pray you’ll get yourself a beautiful son to carry on your legacy.” “Oh, Sweetpea, thank you.” The officer leaned over and kissed the man on his plump, silver-pierced lips. Their passionate kiss elicited some musing whistles from the others, until Hawthorne splashed the two with some of the mint-scented bathwater to the sound of loudening chuckles. “Oh, get a room, you two!” Meanwhile, the rachfi remained in her husband’s grip, stone-faced and scornfully forcing herself to think of other matters, like what sort of texts she and her daughter would read tomorrow, or the trip to her sister in Xiang she had been telling herself to make. She couldn’t remain. She needed to breathe - now. “My love?” she whispered as cordially as she could manage. Her husband afforded her an empty hum. “You must no doubt be getting hungry. How about I go back inside and fetch that [i]maokl[/i] and tea you requested earlier?” “Yes! The [i]maokl[/i]! I’m going to starve to the bones at this rate,” declared Sweetpea and caressed Bloom’s cheek. With this, the rach agreed and let his wife go. “Awfully thoughtful of you, my love. Go on, then - don’t take the whole night, though, you heard Sweetpea - the man’s starving, the fat bastard.” “Get off my back, Nilly - I’m building muscle, you hear?” There came an offensive splash of water followed by laughter. “Hey, don’t get water in the [i]kwut[/i], you idiot!” To the harrowing cacophony of their mocking cackle, the rachfi left the partitions and stepped back into their house. There, she found the nearest wall and collapsed against it, letting herself lower to the ground as fury and frustration choked her up to the mouth. She would escape this place. Some day. [hider=Summary!] Being the rachfi Nilla is suffering. While telling her daughter a story about the legendary warrior women of ancient Fragrance, she’s interrupted to go outside and serve her husband and his visiting pals. They’re all pretty gross, ngl, and have manly fun talking manly stuff. She is then held hostage by her husband there because she opened her mouth and has to listen to one of his friends offer to buy their daughter. After the rachfi protests, her husband points out that the buyer already has a wife, and he then complains that his wife has given him daughters alone and that he wants a new one to give him sons. Another friend sympathises and the two share a bromantic make-out. This gives the wife an opportunity to say she’ll get them some cake and then goes inside to cry. [/hider]