The Peasant Queen

I Boulden nowadays.In tears, facing the crowd, the girl placed her arms around her breasts to hide her half-n***d body. Next to her, on the platform, the horse trader was trying to figure out by how much more he could raise the bid. Three hundred cels was already a nice sum. But he hoped he could get fifty more. Moreover, she was crying, and this tended to make buyers even more generous. This vile scene was taking place in Boulden, a free Ocarian city, south of the Yrian Kingdom. The city was stuck between the Unicorn Mountains and the large Unster River, which flowed through the richest parts of Ectrasyc continent. However, it was separated from this river by a swamp of poisoned water, which made it a very isolated place. This isolation suited the city's traders perfectly. The transactions that took place there required some discretion. The Principality was the only State in Unster Valley where intelligent beings could be bought and sold like cattle. Unlucky persons from across the continent ended up here, and most of them lost their individual status and became objects. All races, without distinction, were found here; human beings, Edorians, Dwarves and Bawcks rubbed shoulders as companions of misfortune. Near the eastern gate, the market to which Boulden owed its wealth was crowded with people. Boulden was the major slave trade center. One of these flesh traders had set up his stall in the center of the market square. And if there was any man who exemplified happiness, it was him. It had been a profitable day. Although the morning was barely over, he had already sold three slaves, far fewer than his colleagues, but his were much more expensive. He had specialized in perversion, which turned out to be most lucrative. And the more perverse it was, the more it paid off. Pehla's stock in trade consisted of young girls in the prime of their teens. His oldest resident couldn’t have been more than nine years old1 . And this very morning, he had sold a girl that was barely six years old. The poor thing was crying her eyes out as she saw herself exposed almost n***d; she didn't understand what all these people wanted from her. And that was better for her. Had she known, she would have been petrified with horror. A movement caught the trader’s attention. The crowd at the foot of his platform was dense, proof of his success, although some of them hadn’t come to buy, but just to have a look. However, that doesn’t matter; their gossip would be his best publicity. In the midst of this crowd, a couple was trying to reach the front row, causing some protests. A slender figure wrapped in a cloak that completely covered her was moving forward, pushing people aside. She was followed by a young man towering above her, in his twenties, looking surly. More precisely, he was trying to look threatening, but the way he moved indicated that he was more at ease with books than with a sword. He apparently had no weapon; however, his expression killed the scathing remarks on the lips of those who would have wanted to quarrel with him. The way he watched the hooded figure before him, coupled with its too frail stature, seemed to indicate that it was a woman. Some promising curves on her chest and on her hip confirmed this. Her height, well below average, indicated a human or Helaria Stoltzin rather than an Edoriana. And even for this country, she was tiny, hardly bigger than a child. Since she was covered, it was impossible to estimate her age or her beauty. Nevertheless, her confident gait seemed to indicate a certain maturity. She was certainly too old to be one of his items for sale. However, it was possible that she was coming here to stock up. The fact that she was hiding suggested a noble lady from the palace who didn’t want to be recognized. His curiosity aroused, the flesh trader watched her. She stopped a few rows away from his platform and pushed back her hood. It was indeed a woman. Her face was obscured by a veil that revealed fine, delicate features; all that could be seen were eyes of an almost grayish blue, carefully made up. She looked young at first sight. However, her blonde hair that disappeared under her clothes was strewn with a few rare gray threads, and the fine wrinkles that radiated from her eyes belied this first impression. However, what immediately caught the slave trader’s attention, the particularity that would have made anyone turn around on his way, was a ruby encrusted in the middle of her forehead. It was a beautiful stone, not particularly big, but which alone would have justified the acquisition of this unknown woman. Yet her outfit didn’t seem to indicate immense wealth, which excluded her from the city’s nobility. Not to mention that what he saw of her meant nothing to him. However, given the size of the city-state, there were few well-born families, and he knew them all. A foreigner only, and not very rich. So, his hopes of a good deal with her disappeared. The slave trader lost interest in this new arrival and returned to his business. He still had two young peasant girls to sell, and he would have to bargain hard to get a good price for them. The first, a seven-year-old girl, was pretty. Nonetheless, she bore too much of the mark of her Yriani origin on her features to hope to pass off as anything other than a country girl. He only had about a hundred cels for her, which wasn't bad after all. Not to mention that the buyer paid in good and honest gold coins. For the second and last one of the day, it was a completely different matter. She was also a peasant girl who had just arrived from the Yrian Kingdom. Although she came from its northern provinces, she had the dark complexion of girls from the southern coast of the continent. Her body was shapely. She didn't have the grace of a noblewoman, or a girl raised for that purpose and educated properly from an early age. On the other hand, she had cost much less to acquire; there was no need to feed her for ten years before obtaining profits on the investment. All that was needed was to spot saleable girls early enough, and then when the time came, to raid the family farm. Nothing forced him to tell the truth about the origin of his merchandise. No one could verify. The canvas that closed the back of his display stand parted and a girl no more than nine years old entered, pushed firmly from behind. She was in tears. That was the problem with farm girls. At home, they were quite liberal in their morals - well, this one was still too young for that - but, unlike slaves by birth, when forced they didn't take it well. To disguise her origin, Sangärens patterns had been drawn with henna on her body and a chain was attached to her earring, which was connected to a wing of her nose, as was the custom among these savage people. When she saw the girl enter, the woman with the ruby was startled. A tear rolled down the corner of her eye. In fact, it wasn't just a tear, her face was downright wet. The young man also made a sudden movement. She put a hand on his arm to hold him back. He was boiling inside; his anger was so visible that the people around him moved away as far as they could, that is to say very little, given the density of the crowd. In his trade, the merchant would never have reached his age if he hadn’t a keen eye for observation. He had noticed the reaction of the two new spectators as well as the woman's calming gesture, and he had drawn some conclusions - she was in command. He had guessed so since he saw the ruby. He was sure of it now. He turned to the crowd, taking a deep breath, and announce in a loud voice: “Now, this is a nomadic Sangären princess, one of the many daughters of Warlord Relgark; she was captured with her sisters by a rival in the ill-fated raid that claimed her father's life. My representative was able to acquire her for three horses and eight goats. She was raised among a people known for their sensuality and knowledge of the pleasures of the flesh. She will give many pleasures to whoever possesses her. Her starting price is one hundred and fifty cels.” The amount was high, but he had to continue with his lie to the end if he wanted it to stick. He noticed two men leaving the crowd in front of him. Sangärens. Too bad! These nomads didn't care that their people were enslaved, they were the first to sell their own. Yet they couldn't stand their women stripped n***d in public. That Relgark never existed, and that the girl wasn’t Sangären didn’t matter so long as he presented her as such. He should have at least provided a veil, which he would have removed once he was sure that no members of that breed were present. It was too late to complain now. Fortunately, the chief of his guards had seen them too, and he had followed them with a few men. The next day, two more bodies would be lying on the banks of the river and the problem would be solved. No one would care about two murdered nomads. The only people who could have investigated this double murder weren’t allowed to practice in the city. So, everything was going well. Reassured, he could now concentrate on the sale. “Who’s the first bidder?" he asked. He didn't have long to wait. “One hundred and sixty cels,” called out a voice which he recognized as that of one of his accomplices. “One hundred and sixty, for a princess, that’s not much; she’s worth at least five times as much. I can't let her go for less than two hundred cels or I'll lose money. Who wants two hundred? Come on, two hundred cels, and you'll get a good deal.” A hand went up. To his surprise, it was his beautiful stranger. He remained silent for a few moments. “Strange,” he thought, “she’s the one leading the bidding, not her clerk.” “Two hundred cels,” he said at last, “for a young Sangären virgin; that's a bargain. No one will offer more?” “A Sangären Princess?" called out a voice. “She's just a simple peasant girl.” Again, he recognized an accomplice. It was part of his sales tactics to denigrate the merchandise so that he could then sing its praises. “A simple peasant girl? You didn't get a good look at her. Look closer. You can see the blood of the Sangärens on her face, on her complexion. Look at that soft skin that has never been exposed to the scorching sun, or those fine hands that have never worked the land. She wears patterns that symbolize her tribe and her rank. You know the Sangärens, no one would dare to wear such tattoos if they weren’t of royal lineage. I would be dishonest if I didn't tell you that her tribe doesn't exist anymore, it has been exterminated, which diminishes her value, but two hundred is ridiculous. Nobody will go up to at least two hundred and twenty?” A hand went up, too quickly for him to identify its owner. A few tösihons2 later, the woman raised the bid to two hundred and fifty cels. “Two hundred and fifty cels for the beautiful lady in front of me, who bids more, who will go up to three hundred?” “Two hundred and fifty cels.” “Two hundred and fifty cels, nobody offers more? She’s a princess all the same.” “Two hundred and sixty cels,” the woman called out. “Two hundred and sixty-five cels,” said her opponent after a moment's hesitation. There was no hesitation, however, when the unknown woman went up to three hundred. The other immediately raised the bid. The merchant's curiosity was aroused; he wanted to know the identity of this woman and he began to hope that she had the cash to win the sale. He had been quick to eliminate her from the list of potential buyers. Neither she nor her opponent seemed to be counting the expense. Perhaps she was considering selling her ruby, which was well worth ten times that amount. Soon, the five hundred cels bid was attained and passed. Everyone was holding their breath at what was obviously no longer a sale, but a duel. They were approaching one thousand cels. He was on the verge of fainting. The best sale of the day without his accomplices having to intervene to artificially raise the stakes. And all this for a simple peasant girl, a bit of henna and a piece of fake gold jewel for a quarter of a cel. He had never made such a good deal. The one thousand cels bid was attained. It was the male voice that called out the bid. The unknown woman hesitated a few vinsihons3 .The salesman hoped she would go up further, but he was convinced she had come to the end of what she could afford, she couldn’t go any higher. “One thousand one hundred cels”, she finally called out. He tried to interpret the shadow that went through her blue eyes. She was bluffing, she didn’t have the money. Her companion leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She pushed him away. “You’re taking very big risks, beautiful stranger. You know what it costs to bid more than you have.” “I’m well aware of that,” she replied in a clear voice. “That’s fine, do you maintain your bid, or do you retract?” She thought for a moment. “I don't have all of that with me, I can have the rest tomorrow,” she said finally. “You know the rule. The purchase must be paid immediately after the sale. Otherwise, the transaction isn’t valid.” “Only one day delay, the time it takes for the banks to open their doors. I have sufficient credit in Nasïlia Bank.” “Sorry," he lied. She conferred with her companion for a moment. From his stall, he didn’t hear what they were saying. However, the young man’s reaction was revealing. He didn’t like what she said. She looked up at the slave trader. “Just off the cuff, I can't have more than a thousand cels,” she said finally, “I hadn't expected the bids to go up so high.” “So, you give up?” “No, I'm just adding something else in payment.” “And what’s that? An IOU. I can't accept it.” “One night with me.” “A night? What for?” “Leave that to your imagination.” She took off the veil that hid the lower part of her face, revealing her beautiful features and her mouth painted red like Hanse women. There was something else even more remarkable. The slave trader’s eyes immediately fell on golden volute lines on her cheeks and small blue diamonds embedded in her skin. The ruby on her forehead wasn’t a jewel. It was part of her, like all the stones in her body. Then he immediately recognized her. This face was famous among slave traders. Before Boulden, the Orvbel dynasty had controlled the slave trade. And this woman had been their queen a long time ago, almost twenty years ago. He didn't know anything about her people of origin, perhaps she was from Sangär; the design on her face reminded him so much of their style. Had she come to help a fellow countrywoman? Hadn’t she not recognized a foreign peasant girl? Or was it the custom of her people, who made it a point of honor to treat anyone presented as Sangären as Sangären so as never to lose face in public? Did she really belong to that degenerate race? “I know you," he said finally, "you’re the lady known as Serlen, the former Queen of Orvbel.” “Serlen died when the Orvbel dynasty was dethroned," she replied. He had heard it, indeed. However, no one had been able to show her corpse. “By making false bids, you could end up as a slave or a whore.” “What’s life without any risk?” A very small risk, he said to himself. Before being queen, she had been a royal slave. She knew what it was like to be forced to sleep with a man you couldn't stand. What would a night with him look like after such treatment? “That’s what I like to hear from a pretty woman,” he continued. “But apart from our common taste for pleasure, what then do you have to offer me that I don't already have? I've heard about you for twenty years. I have lots of experienced and much younger slaves in my harem.” “Certainly. But I doubt if they have my experience. And is this an old woman's body?” She dropped her robe, revealing much of her body. On seeing her body, the crowd roared. No, that wasn’t an old woman’s body. She was wearing loose silk pants and a puffed bodice that left her waist and shoulders bare. A slim and slender waist that the slave trader could almost wrap in his hands. Her golden hair came down to her waist. Except for her much shorter than average height, she was the kind of woman he would have liked to put in his bed. She didn't look as old as she really was, unless her fame was more recent than he thought. No! He was going to be thirty soon, and Serlen was already famous when he was only a teenager. She was really quite a few years older than him. And yet, she bore none of the stigma associated with age. She had a smooth and flawless skin, no wrinkles, no marks indicating she had given birth, no sagging flesh. Nothing but a few gray hairs barely noticeable in her blonde hair and a few fine lines at the corner of her eyes. What was most remarkable, however, was neither her beauty nor her apparent youth, but the hallmark that had made her famous. Like her face, every visible part of her body was embroidered with gold thread and encrusted with precious stones. They were of all sizes and colors, though none was larger than an olive pit. As far as he could tell, only the inside of her hands seemed to be untouched. Her whole body didn’t seem to be arranged randomly; unfortunately, her clothes prevented him from appreciating the pattern. For a moment he was tempted to accept her offer; after all, he was only a man, with impulses. Until then, he had always considered her a legend. Knowing that she really existed aroused his curiosity. And he wondered what it would feel like to caress her, to let his hands run over that soft skin studded with sharp, hard diamonds. Had the diamonds taken on the warmth of her body, or had they remained stone cold? He quickly came back to his senses. He was a professional and he wasn't going to be coaxed by a pretty face, no matter how exotic it was. “I'm sorry,” he said at last, “you aren’t offering me anything I can't afford for a few gold coins. As for your jewelry, it's nothing more than a slightly exotic tattoo that doesn't justify the amount of money I’d lose by accepting it.” “Yet there’s a greater fortune in it than you’ve ever owned in your life.” “I also know that they can’t be taken away from you without killing you, and you aren’t easy to kill. Too many have tried and died for me to take a chance.” “As you wish.” She didn’t insist. She too knew her job. She knew he wouldn’t go back on his decision. The young man covered her with his cloak. She was putting it back on when he called out to her one last time. “I remain, of course, at your disposal if you want a man of experience to spice up the pleasures of your young lover.” As soon as he pronounced the words, he knew he had said something stupid. The resemblance between the woman and the young man immediately made him understand the bond that united them. Although her legend never mentioned it, she was old enough to have a son. Given his youth, he had scarcely taken the man for an adult; and yet he could only be that, or a younger brother. He hesitated between the two possibilities, but finally leaned towards the son, provided she had him very young. The couple didn’t seem to pick up on his stupid remark, and left the square in silence. He watched them make their way through the crowd, gently dismissing the few men who dared to approach him. For a brief moment, he almost regretted rejecting her offer. Only a brief moment. Then he remembered that her brief stint on the throne of Orvbel had meant the end of slave trade in that city. Did she want to do the same in Boulden? She suddenly seemed less amiable. What did it matter after all? It wasn't his problem, but the prince's. He looked away. It was time to get back to his business. He was in a hurry to hand over this young peasant girl. The former queen, the famous Serlen - if that was her real name - had invested too much in this sale. You don't offer your body if you don't intend to go through with it. She was leaving, with her mind apparently made up. Nevertheless, he was convinced that she wouldn’t stop there. He didn’t know what resources she had. As for him, he would rather have the buyer than himself as an adversary.