Gwin stood before him with her head submissively bowed, eyes lowered demurely. Her hair had been twisted into two ropes that were coiled in place. As she stood before him she couldn’t help but let her eyes fall on the royal member which, even now, seemed to stir into semi-hard expectation, swelling as the King’s greedy eyes took in the clean supple lines of the girl’s youthful beauty.
Again, there was just the slightest gesture from the throne, and the well-trained slave girl leapt forward to quickly undo the young captive’s hair. Unlike her mother’s, which had a deeper golden hue, the daughter’s hair was of spun silvery gold, pale, like fine cornsilk. Now it hung down split over her fragile shoulders, so that a long silky strands fell down the front at either side, while behind a curtain
