They were fat. They were young. They were noblemen—young masters, the kind who inherited money and spent it on wine and women and cruelty. They lounged in the bath. Their bodies were pale. Hairy. Soft. The kind of bodies that had never held a sword or swung an axe or run a mile. They drank from goblets. They laughed.
Their eyes went to Sera the moment she entered.
"Ah," one said. He was the fatter of the two. His face was round. Pimpled. His cock was visible under the water. Limp. Small. He stroked it lazily. "The massage girl. She is taller than I expected."
"Look at those arms," the other said. Thinner. Weasel-faced. His eyes crawled over her body. "She could wrestle a bull. Or ride one." He laughed. A wet, slimy sound.
Sera trembled.
She looked at Goliath. He stood beside her. He had removed his outer coat. His shirt was white. He was unbuttoning the cuffs. He looked at her with those ice-blue eyes.
"Prince," she said. Her voice was shaking. "What is this?"
