[b]Vault of Rushing Fountains![/b]

It is very difficult to have a bathhouse on board of a barge, no matter how luxurious. It is thus all the more incredible that the Dominion has managed it. It’s simple, true: one small, if not particularly shallow, tub, which requires slaves to fill it up with buckets of heated water. And, yes, it means that there’s not particularly such a thing as personal space. But the water is warm, the scented candles are strong, the attendants are here to scrub and lather and rinse, and it’s difficult not to feel stress melting away.

This, then, is the other side of the coin to the prisoners’ first arrival; this is how the Dominion treats honored guests.

“Honored scribe,” Emli says, some bashful color in her cheeks— not just from being in this cozy stone tub along with Azazuka, Han, Jali, and Fengye, but from her admission of inadequacy. “I’m sure that [i]you[/i] could explain to our guests what was the matter back there better than I could. I’m still learning my catechisms, you see, and… and you’re smart, you know these things!”

She cuddles closer to Han, skin on skin, still blushing, and stares at Fengye with big, earnest eyes. The water ripples and steams; bells chime gently, though the barge is so steady that it must be some shift in the air, rather than the river below.

***

[b]Piripiri, with Lotus![/b]

“You’re hurt?” That’s what the little demigod says, brown eyes blinking in concern. “I didn’t even— here, please, let me help.”

She lays her hands on your glove, looking at you not with pity but with an earnest desire to help. She doesn’t care that anyone might turn the corner and see you; all of her questions about what just happened to the witch are, for a moment, forgotten.

Do you allow her to do so?

***

[b]Kalaya![/b]

“I have very little interest in giving the fairy the opportunity to weave her net of lies tighter around you,” Agata says brightly, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I want the opposite, truly, I do! It is absolutely unbecoming for a knight like you to be made a fairy pawn. No, striking at the cats works for everyone: I can show my commitment to working with the Flower Kingdoms, you have the opportunity to display some knightly heroics, and perhaps even win some trophies of your own.“

She lowers the compress, which has left her face wet, and gives you a maiden-killing smile, all smoulder and wry amusement at her own self. “Come on, princess,” she says. “Give me an excuse to set you free. Help me set aside the Principles of Domain Management for the benefit of a pretty girl, and let’s make the future brighter for both of us.”

Right here, right now, it’s not hard to tell how she’s become the heartbreaker of half of the Flower Kingdoms. What [i]ever[/i] would Ven say if she saw this?

***

[b]Giriel![/b]

The waiting was the hard part. Kneeling on the floor, knees on a rush mat, legionnaires standing on either side, alone. The small gods of this place are still, or indolent, or suspicious of you, and so you sat, bound, silenced and blind to the world, awaiting the pleasure of Cathak Agata for what seems like hours. Long enough that you might begin to doubt.

Then a door, opened; the presences beside you withdrawing; a door, shut, locked. Boots, slipped out of; feet padding almost silently across a floor. A coat crumpling to the ground. Liquid, being poured from bottle to cup, with casual lack of perfection: the glop and splash of liquid that a patient and well-trained girl would never allow.

Then the Red Wolf drapes herself over you.

“Someone’s been a naughty girl, hasn’t she?” She sounds… amused. Perhaps slightly tipsy already, or just in a whimsical mood. She cups your chin and lifts it as she… from the sound of it, sits on top of a low table, the kind you ate at during dinner. Just enough height that she’s making you blindly look [i]up[/i] at her.

“You’re going to have to be punished, you know. I’ll have to make a show of it, at least for those of us on board. Nip any rumors of excessive leniency in the bud.” Her giggle suggests a mischievous smile. Her thumb traces the lower edge of the scarf, then trails down to your jaw.

Then she tugs down the scarf, firmly, and works the sodden cloth out of your mouth— only to tuck it down the front of your fine black top, making sure it’s well and truly secured in place, wedged firm. Only then does she raise the wine to your lips and tip it just so, wetting your dry mouth. You stop when she decides you stop, lowering the cup once more.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense, my Lady Giriel? Is there anything the court should be made aware of before I pass sentence on you? Extenuating circumstances? Service already performed for the Dominion? Groveling, pathetic apologies?”

One finger hooks in the collar of your top once more, and tugs, teasingly, insistently, downwards. “Would you even commit the folly of attempting to bribe one of the Daughters of Victoria~?”

Her voice is a purr that would put a N’yari to shame.