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The servant who had used the knife, sets it down and walks over to a cupboard in the corner of the room and pulls out a black fur. She brings it over, a great bundle in her arms, and offers it to Tobi. She speaks some words in Ambolk, which Lymok translates. “She says you should sit by the fire so you do not grow cold.”

Tobi nods to her, “Sho,” he says. Wishing he knew enough Ambolk to thank her as he allows her to wrap him in the fur. The servant takes Tobi by the arm and leads him over to the fire. He sits down. Another body servant brings over his glass of flower cup.

He thinks how sweet this life is. Being waited on.

The body servants bustle around the room, clearing away Tobi’s shed clothing and their own shaving tools, before leaving silently. Tobi watches them, bundled in fur, warm by the fire.

Lymok closes the door behind them and turns around as Tobi takes another sip of the flower cup. It's so deliciously sweet and fresh tasting. It makes his belly feel warm all over again and his head a little soft. Does it truly make him ready to be covered? He isn’t sure. He has been covered many times without such a drink.

Lymok walks over to the pile of linens the body servant set down and lifts a piece of pale fabric. “Irgo Harok has asked that you wear this for the anointing.” He shakes out the fabric. It’s a tiny lace garment. An alit. The usual garment worn by female pillow slaves in Azuria. Tobi has only seen them in books and paintings at the Rose Palace. Books and paintings he probably should not have been looking at. It’s little more than a short shift. It will leave his arms and most of his legs bare. He has never heard of a man wearing one.

He feels his face flush. Wearing such a garment seems more undignified than being shaved. His bare, oiled skin would at least be a secret between him and Harok. This would not. This tiny garment would display him before all. It will leave no doubt what he is. A plaything. A toy for Harok’s bed.

And he realises that he is naked under the fur and the clothes he shed to take his bath have been removed by the body servants. He has nothing else he can wear. But those that were taken were not his only clothes.

“I have…” Tobi begins, stopping when his voice comes out breathy. He swallows and tries again. “I have my own clothing I brought with me. It was loaded onto a cart. I have many fine things which I’m sure will delight His Majesty Irgo Harok. Please, bring me my white leather breeches and one of my jewelled waistcoats.” Tobi knows how he looks in those low-cut breeches. He has no objections to dressing like a whore, but he would prefer it to be in his own whorish outfits than in an alit.

Lymok says, “I am sorry, kushir. Irgo Harok has made it clear you are to wear this. It is tradition.” He drapes it over the second chair beside the fire.

Tobi looks at it. So, he supposes, he is to have no say in anything. Including what he wears. “I will be practically naked. Is that what Harok likes?”

“What he likes is to have his desires respected and his commands obeyed.”

“I suppose a short shift like that will make it easy for him to fuck me before all.” Tobi says petulantly. “Is that what will happen at the anointing? Will it only be him, or will he share me? Tie me down and have me taken by any who wish it?”

Lymok purses his lips. “Is that what the Azurians think of us? That we are such savages? We are far more civilised than the Azurians. And yet you think you will be offered to all when you are kushir of our king. Would an Azurian Emperor offer his Empress for all to fuck at their wedding ceremony in the Temple of Zai?”

“Civilised?” Tobi says back in low tones. He is still looking at the alit draped over the chair. “I was snatched by your warriors from my home and forced to become the plaything of your sly king, then dragged through the forest on his horse and now I am to be dressed as a whore to be presented at your revels. In Azuria none of this would be considered civilised.”

“You were not forced. It was made clear that Harok only wanted you if you were willing.”

“Was I willing? I made a choice, but it was not much of a choice. Your people were holding my friends at the points of their curved blades.”

Lymok puts his hands on his hips. “And I suppose your great Azurian Empire would never do such a thing?”

Tobi stops. But he is not the Imperial Army. He is not the Azurian Empire. He cannot be held responsible for the Dareks and their endless questing for more land and wealth and influence. Or can he? It is that same army he expects to come rescue him because of his Darek blood.

But before he can say a word, the door that joins the room to the Irgo’s chamber smacks open. Harok stands in the doorway. So large he seems to fill it, his shoulders almost as wide. He has changed too. The lines of paint on his face have been reapplied. He wears all black. Short breeches and a black leather harness under his black cape with fur across the shoulders, which makes them look even wider. On his head he wears a crown made of carved wood. He is so tall the crown’s finely turned points almost touch the door’s lintel.

He says something in Ambolk that sounds like a question, his voice so low he seems to growl.

Lymok says, “Irgo Harok asks why you are not dressed ready for the anointing?”

Tobi shivers. He’s suddenly very aware that he’s naked, freshly bathed, wrapped in a fur and before him stands the giant angry man who he belongs to.

Lymok turns to Harok, he speaks in Ambolk then adds in Artemian “I explained to Harok that you would rather wear your own clothing than the alit he requested you wear for the anointing feast.”

In response, Harok says something that sounds like a curse in his rough Ambolk, as he steps out of the doorway and walks towards Tobi.

As Harok approaches him Tobi says quickly, “I have many fine clothes and I just thought…”

But his voice dries as Harok stops before him, towering over him. He’s so close that Tobi can feel the warmth of his body. Harok smells like summer forest, like earth and trees. Tobi’s heart is beating so hard. He wants to jump from the chair and run, but he is sure he would never make it to the door. Harok snarls something at Tobi in Ambolk. It sounds like a threat.

“You will wear what I tell you to wear,” Lymok says, interpreting in his smooth voice “You will obey me. I am your Irgo and your Irgorye. That means your king and your master. An Irgorye is the master of a kushir.”

Tobi’s breath comes out roughly, “Sho,” he says, “Sho, Irgorye.”

Harok makes a short, satisfied sound. “Ga, Suskara,” he says, lifting a hand to run a thumb over Tobi’s cheek, but then his voice grows harder as he says more in Ambolk.