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VeiledLonging
Bloodrose
ASDAValueMilk
“This has to be the last time, Cerenna.”
“I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve heard that one before, mi’lord.” the whore laughed nervously, fluttering her painted eyelids as she lay all woven up in the bed sheets.
“I mean it, this time,” Harldur Salthowl sat propped up against the wooden headrest, running one hand over his stubble-covered chin “I can’t afford to run the risk of someone finding out about you.”
“About us, you mean?”
It sounded almost like she cared about him in a way that went beyond how many dragons were in his coin purse, but the Lord of Deeepport was quick to push those thoughts from his head. She is a whore. Nothing more.
Harldur turned away from her, casting off the covers and climbing out of bed. He was naked, and the cold stone floor chilled his bare feet as they pressed against it.
“If you could be discreet and not make a scene, I’d very much appreciate it.” He fought hard to keep emotion from ebbing into his voice, and the dry, uncaring tone that he achieved seemed to do the job well, given the way the whore’s sculpted features began to droop all of a sudden.
Cerenna regained her composure, draping herself across the bed, with one hand poised seductively on her generous hip.
“But without your kitty cat, who will keep your bed warm at night? Who will love-”
Harldur shot forwards, seizing her by her delicate wrist.
“Enough, Cerenna!” he barked with fierce authority “I won’t have you making a mockery of me any longer. I have the girl’s to think about.” He calmed ever-so-slightly, his voice softening “Show yourself out.”
Her face screwed up in anger, Cerenna shook herself free of his hold, before bounding out of bed and scooping her small clothes up off of the floor.
“You’re a cold man, Harldur Salthowl.” She hissed, spitting at him like a viper, before storming out of the room.
He watched her leave, her hips swaying back and forth, her long legs brushing against each other, her dark brown hair tumbling over her shoulders like water. The warm glow of a nearby torch caught her skin, casting it in a bronze light as she slammed the door shut behind her.
Harldur sat down, deflated on the bed as he gazed numbly at the floor. He allowed a single, bitter tear to run down his cheek, before he swatted it away and set about preparing himself for the coronation.
She never loved you, you miserable fool He scolded himself internally No more than you loved her.
The families current residence was a lavishly furnished house on one of the nicer streets, with sandy yellow pillars and a brightly tiled stone roof. It had been intended as a temporary abode, but after Lord Stark had commanded the host stay behind to keep watch in the Capital, the house had very quickly become a permanent dwelling. A few men-at-arms patrolled up and down hallways and stood sentinel by doors, whilst the bulk of the Salthowl force remained garrisoned near the Red Keep itself.
He prepared himself alone, as he always did. The Lord had no love of squires. Harldur stood before a gleaming glass mirror, combing his hair and buttoning his green tunic with hard simplicity, as he stared dully at his own reflection.
Satisfied with his presentability, Harldur strode from the room, his mind set firmly on gathering his nieces and heading to the coronation.
*
“Wylla, that never happened.”
“It did!”
“No, it didn’t.”
“I swear it by the Seven! Maegelle Manderly wouldn’t even look at me, and she certainly didn’t come to greet us on our last visit to Whiteharbour. They’ve got no respect for father.”
“Uncle Harldur is NOT our father.”
The two Salthowl girls sat in the large dressing room, whilst a gaggle of handmaidens fussed over every detail of their appearance.
Wylla had been done up in an elegant green gown with cream lace, which bore puffy shoulder pads and a tight bodice in an attempt to try and play down her masculine build. Her ginger curls had been forced into a tight bun, and her eyelids had been painted in an attempt to match the emerald green of her dress.
Hayllisa sat not far from her, plopped down on a wooden stool which creaked and groaned as if it was struggle to support her. The young woman’s enormous stomach was spilling out into her lap, and her gigantic rear hung over the edges of her seat. Her face had been powdered to add an ethereal quality to her fair complexion, and she wore a open cut green dress which bore a dark cloak that had been tossed back over her broad shoulders.
“Its because we’re just bannermen!” Wylla prattled on, as a handmaiden fastened the lace bodice around her wide figure “They don’t think they have to respect us like they do the great houses.”
“The Great Houses still have to conduct themselves respectfully around their lessers, little sister.” Haylisa groaned, as her scorching red hair was vigorously combed and de-knotted by a slightly overzealous handmaiden “Lest they find themselves alone and without allies during the dark times.”
“Well, I don’t think Maegelle Manderly knows how to act respectfully.” Wylla huffed.
Her sister couldn’t help but chuckle “Is this because of the time she called you ‘abundant of form?”
“No!” the younger of the pair squawked, her puffy cheeks flushing to match her hair.
“Sister dearest, you can’t let all those pointy little words wound you with such severity, or else you’ll never get any sleep at night. If you spend your whole life tossing and turning and trying to please people then you’ll spend your whole life being mocked and ridiculed. Learn to rise above such petty scorn.”
After a few more minutes of hastened preparation, the handmaidens were done. Soon they went scurrying from the room, as Lord Harldur Salthowl appeared in the doorway in a fine green tunic
which matched the girl’s own rich attire.
“You both look positively captivating,” he said with a warm smile as he strode into the room “I’m sure your father could have found a much better way to describe your beauty, but flattery was never my strong point...nor women, for that matter.”
They both laughed politely, and Wylla rose from her chair to give her uncle a light kiss on the cheek.
Hayllisa slowly stood up, her knees letting out a sharp crack as she did so. Her joints were always making such noises, so no one paid it any mind to it.
“Shall we depart then?”
*
They all sat in the feasting hall some time later, surrounded by lords and ladies as they laughed and drank and ate. A warm murmur rippled throughout the hall, and the rich and colourful assortment of clothing worn by the guests was truly splendid to behold.
It appeared that Hayllisa’s chair was larger and sturdier than the rest of the attendants, as though it had been picked out specifically in advanced to accommodate her ample girth, but no one had had the poor taste to remark on the matter.
Wylla took a generous swig from a large goblet of sweet plum wine, whilst her uncle fiddled with the buttons on his tunic.
“Carefully does it,” the elder of the two girls cast a wink over to her younger sister as she chewed on a chunk of roast boar “We don’t want you drinking abit too much and making a farce of this like you did your last nameday celebration.”
“You’re hardly one to lecture on overdoing it, sweet sister.”
“Eat sheep shift, you filthy cu-”
“Girls! Please!”
Harldur took a gentle sip of his Arbor gold.
“There are many prospective young lords here tonight, you’ll do well to conduct yourself in a presentable manner.”
“Does knocking Wylla’s teeth out count as presentable, Uncle dearest?”
“No, Hayllisa. It does not.”
