Polly and I received our contracts to become King Midas’s royal saddles together. We started at the same time, probably accepted because we look so similar. Very quickly, we decided to become allies to help solidify our place in Highbell Castle. We made ourselves desirable as a pair, superior over the rest of the saddles in Midas’s stock. We played to each other’s strengths, we gossiped, we had each other’s backs. Our friendship was strong while we were in Highbell.
Until we weren’t.
It seems like as soon as we left, things began to change.
Maybe it changed that night on the Red Raids’ ship. Maybe I changed that night on the Red Raids’ ship.
The thing about being a saddle is that it was a profession I chose. I chose to go into sex work because I was beautiful but had no highborn family or money to protect me. I’d already been accosted by men, so why not turn around something that made me feel powerless and use it to be powerful instead? By making it my career, I put sex under my control.
And I was good at it.
Becoming a royal saddle is what so many workers in the brothels dream of. The contracts always pay very well, the clients are rich and powerful, and many saddles in that position can simply retire when the contract ends, sent away with a pouch of coin and that’s that.
The problem is, somewhere along the way, I didn’t want to do it anymore.
The seduction, the flirting, the makeup and hair and tight dresses. I got tired of having to smile and bat my eyes, to suck cock and spread my legs when I wasn’t in the mood.
I wanted something different. So I started to save up the money I made when nobles and visitors stopped by the castle. I started to work even harder to please, to be the favorite, so I could fill my hidden purse instead of spend it on frivolities.
When we left Highbell, I thought Ranhold would be a new start.
But then, the Red Raids happened.
Captain Fane happened.
Auren happened.
Every night, while I tend to Polly’s feverish fits, my mind replays the events from the moment we left Highbell all the way to the ballroom when I grabbed Polly and started to flee. I nearly didn’t make it out. We were stopped in the entry hall by some of the guards, but a woman with smooth umber skin wearing army leathers and the shapes of daggers shaved into her scalp spotted me, told me that Auren had mentioned me and that I needed to go to Fourth’s army. Then she somehow distracted the guards, and Polly and I were able to slip away.
It feels as if I owe Auren, when my last assurance was that she owed me. But now, I’m not sure if she’ll help me again. Or if she even can. Because apparently, she stole Midas’s magic in front of everyone and killed him right there in that ballroom that I fled.
Men. Why is it that my life’s events always seem to revolve around the deaths of men? First was the death of my father, whose loss left me nothing but debts and vulnerability. Now Midas, marking the time for me to flee.
But I can say with complete certainty that the death of Captain Fane showed a distinct point in my life. Because that moment on the Red Raids’ ship, that’s when I realized I was finished with that life.
I’ve been assaulted before, hurt before. As a saddle, these things happen, though it’s no excuse. I’ve had to come up with ways to manage reactions over the years, to steer men to behave in ways I could manage. I couldn’t do that with Captain Fane.
That’s when I decided I was well and truly done.
Done being a saddle. Done managing men. Done trying to walk this fine line of powerless and powerful when it comes to sex.
Does he haunt my dreams? No. Apart from the nights I’ve tended to Polly, I don’t think of him at all, nor any of the other violent encounters I’ve had. Because I refuse to give them any more of me than they’ve already taken or that I’ve already given.
They had my body, but so what? Hundreds of others can claim the same. However, they will not have my mind. I won’t give it to them.
Including Captain Fane, whose gilded dick is probably buried beneath a hundred feet of snow somewhere in the Barrens.
I have to admit, that does make me smirk.
“I’m hot!”
Right on time, Polly shoves herself away from the coals and starts fanning her face. My eyes are burning with exhaustion as I get up from my pallet to drag myself toward the tent’s flap.
I don’t bother to go outside, not with my stockinged feet padding across the rolled-out fur laid on the ground. Instead, I simply grab the bucket and rag and scoop up some snow from just outside. There’s never a shortage of snow on the ground, though I do notice every night someone has come to shovel the space in front of the tent’s entrance.