The air in the chamber thrummed with the boisterous energy of female camaraderie, music mingling with unrestrained laughter. The sun had long since surrendered to the encroaching darkness, its last rays swallowed by the earth.
Grace, her touch surprisingly firm, guided Nexarina into the room. It was a lively tavern, a band of women musicians holding court upon a makeshift stage. Though the hour was late, nearly every table was occupied by women, their voices creating a vibrant tapestry of sound.
Grace's eyes scanned the lively scene until they lit upon a table where three other women sat. A wave beckoned her over, and with a cheerful grin, she steered Nexarina towards them.
The women were of a similar age, resplendent in fitted gowns of rich hues and elegant hand gloves. Grace claimed the empty seat, pulling Nexarina down into the other.
"A new friend, Grace?" the woman in a wine-red kirtle inquired, her voice barely audible above the playful melody.
"She has just been wed," Grace announced, signaling a passing waiter.
"Arranged, I presume?" the second woman, clad in white velvet and matching gloves, questioned, her gaze sharp with curiosity as she assessed Nexarina.
Nexarina offered a curt nod.
"My dear, you are breathtakingly lovely and so young. One hopes the groom is at least blessed with comparable looks. So many men are quite… unfortunate in their appearance, undeserving of such a prize."
The waiter arrived, taking their order for wine.
"Sweetheart," Grace interjected, a hint of mischief in her eyes, "our Nexarina here is now the notable bride of General Grant."
The woman in white velvet choked on her ale, sputtering and wiping her chin with a gloved hand. The one in wine-red gaped in undisguised shock, while the third murmured a disbelieving, "Impossible."
"Good heavens," the brown velvet lady exclaimed, her eyes wide. "So I am in the presence of General Grant's new wife?"
Nexarina managed a weak, awkward smile.
"Do cease your dramatics, Eleanor," the wine-red lady chided gently.
"Nay, wait," Eleanor insisted. "I am… surprised. There is nothing more advantageous than a marriage to such wealth. It serves as a welcome distraction from the unfortunate reality of wedding a man one does not love."
Grace cleared her throat delicately. "She… rather detests him, actually."
A hush fell over the small group.
"She is one of the humans," Eleanor stated, her tone flat with realisation.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
"She is?" the white kirtle lady finally echoed, her brow furrowed. "How did this come to pass?"
"Have you not heard of the severing of the fragile peace between our kind and theirs?" Grace asked pointedly.
"Wait…" Eleanor drawled, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "My husband did mention something… but I never imagined they would resort to marriage."
The woman in wine-red lady slumped against the back of her chair. "There they go again. Using women as mere pawns in their wretched games."
"It is always the women who bear the brunt of their conflicts," Eleanor sighed.
"Tell me about it," the wine-red lady agreed with a weary shake of her head. "But you do find him attractive, surely? My own husband was… less than pleasing to the eye, and the first three moons of our marriage were a torment."
Nexarina cleared her throat, seeking to steer the conversation away from her grim reality. "What happened after that?"
"One endures," the wine-red lady said with a stoic shrug. "One learns to live with the fact. It was terrifying, but I survived."
Eleanor offered a strained smile as the waiter placed their drinks before them. "I am still in disbelief. I was meant to wed his brother, you know. I loved him dearly, but my father believed a union with my current husband would better serve our family's interests."
Nexarina took a tentative sip of her wine. "Do you… still love his brother?"
"Good heavens, no!" Eleanor chuckled, a brittle sound. "But I certainly do not love my husband. Affection may fade, but hatred? Hatred is a far more resilient emotion. I loathe him."
Nexarina placed a comforting hand over Eleanor's. "I am so very sorry."
"You know," Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "this may sound terribly vulgar, but when the time for… consummation arrives, instruct your husband to turn you onto your stomach and take you from behind. Then, simply close your eyes and imagine it is the absolute love of your life doing the deed. It helps… at least for the first time."
Nexarina swallowed hard, the wine suddenly tasting like ash in her mouth.
General Grant, looming over her, taking her from behind… and in her mind's eye, it was Fothergill's face, his touch. A forbidden fantasy that sent a treacherous warmth pooling low in her belly.
"My husband," the wine-red kirtle lady drawled, swirling the dregs of her drink, "sprang from middling nobility, son of some tedious secretary at the Hall of Binding. He never lets one forget it, especially when I am too weary for his… attentions. Men are such tiresome braggarts."
"Indeed," Grace added with a long pull of her wine. "They boast only of their coffers and their… endowments. Utterly tedious."
Eleanor leaned forward, her eyes glinting with a mischievous curiosity. "I daresay General Grant has already regaled you with tales of how he intends to 'fuck you good,' as they so eloquently put it."
Nexarina choked, a sputtering cough erupting as wine went down the wrong way. She paused, a battle waging within her – truth or carefully constructed silence? The former won. "Actually," all four women turned their attention to her, their expressions expectant, "he… he wishes to couple with me whilst I am bound in chains."
A stunned silence descended upon their little corner.
"That is… novel," Eleanor finally drawled, her eyebrows arching.
"And rather peculiar," Grace added, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow.
The white-kirtle lady, whom Nexarina now knew as Esther, leaned forward conspiratorially. "Listen, my dear, you could hide in the cellars beneath my house tonight. I could then smuggle you onto the back of a dragon by the morrow, fly you far from this cursed city. You need not endure such… torture."
"But that is monstrous!" Eleanor exclaimed. "Why would he wish to bind you so?"
A strange impulse, a flicker of something dark and unfamiliar, stirred within Nexarina. "I… I actually find the notion… intriguing."
Another beat of silence.
"You do?" Esther asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
"Uhm… not precisely. It merely… crossed my mind. Perhaps it would not be entirely unpleasant. Should… should I try it?"
"Sweetheart," Grace said gently, her gaze searching, "do you hold any affection for this man?"
"Good heavens, no! Never! I loathe him with every fibre of my being!"
"Then why," Eleanor interjected, her tone sharp, "would you even entertain such a degrading act?"
"Now, Eleanor, do not make the poor girl feel foolish," Grace chided.
"Perhaps," Eleanor mused, "she merely entertains the notion with another… not him…"
"Actually," Nexarina cut in, a strange defiance rising within her, "with him."
Esther took a dramatic swallow of her ale as Nexarina continued. "He made it sound…?"
"Interesting," Grace supplied, her eyes narrowed with curiosity.
"My dear," Esther said with a knowing look, "they will always paint such things in alluring colours. It makes no sense that such an act should be inflicted upon any human. He despises you; he does not see your humanity. I implore you, take my offer. Hide in my cellar."
"No," Nexarina insisted, a stubborn set to her jaw. "You do not understand. I know it sounds perverse, but… something deep within me whispers that it might… feel… good."
"How about you merely taste it, then?" Eleanor suggested, a wicked glint in her eyes.
The wine-red lady shot Eleanor a disapproving glare. "Listen, it sounds utterly dehumanising to desire such treatment, but perhaps she is right. If some instinct tells her she might find a certain… satisfaction, why not explore that… sensation?"
"You are depraved, Eleanor," Esther declared.
"I am being pragmatic!" Eleanor protested. "She might expire! If he intends to bind her with chains, he is quite capable of choking her in the process!"
Nexarina pouted, a deep, insistent throbbing between her legs causing her to press her thighs together. "That… that might actually… suffice," she murmured, the words barely audible, yet they were heard.
"Sweetheart, what manner of creature are you? Are all humans like this?" Eleanor joked, a hint of genuine bewilderment in her tone.
"Tell him to proceed," the wine-red lady advised, "and see how it truly feels. He may not be the one to elicit such… responses. It seems impossible to harbour such hatred alongside such… desires."
"Perhaps," Esther concluded, her gaze shrewd, "what you feel is merely lust, and you despise him for arousing it."
Perhaps, what you feel is merely lust, and you despise him for arousing it." Nexarina clung to Esther's words, a strange sort of vindication blooming within her.