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There is always a price. That’s what keeps this place ticking.
The air here is heavy and thick with the scent of sweat and lust. It clings to my skin as I sit at the jinrayaha. My fingers dance over the keys with practiced precision. The sultry notes echo through the dimly lit room, adorned with sensual artwork and velvet drapes.
“Those fingers of yours can sure weave magic,” a half-drunk voice behind me says.
I turn my head a little to see a slimeball of a dark elf with his tongue almost touching the floor.
“How’d you like to weave some magic on me?” he laughs, thinking I have never heard that one before.
Then I notice his friend hurry over. I continue to play.
“Marus, don’t,” there is an urgency in his friend’s voice.
“What are you talking about? I was just getting started. I think she likes me,” Marus states.
The friend does him a favor and whispers into Marus’ ear. The blood drains from Marus’ face as his eyes flick toward me.
“I shall take my leave,” Marus tells me. I ignore him. The position I have worked hard to gain affords me that.
“Fuckin’ King…” I hear Marus mutter as he shuffles drunkenly back to his table.
It’s like this when the King isn’t here, their leering eyes picturing me as their plaything. Yet, when the King is here, those eyes tend not to notice me. That’s the fear the King brings.
Fear of his wrath keeps their desires at bay.
I love to play the jinrayaha. Through it, I tell my story, my hurt, my worth, and play a tune of my future, far away from here. I look out and watch them dance, and even though I am in this vile place, I still get a chance to play and watch how my music brings pleasure, even if it is born from pain.
But tonight, music can’t be on my mind.
The King will be expecting an update. Soon, his goodwill with me will run out with me, and that place is a place of dread. I know what he is capable of, and I need to avoid that at all costs.
I lower the tone of my playing and focus on the conversations around me.
"Did you hear about Lady Syliria?" a tipsy voice slurs nearby. "Apparently, she's pregnant, and it's not her fiancé's child."
"Ha, that poor bastard," another voice chuckles. My interest wanes; this gossip is hardly worth the King's attention. My ears remain vigilant for anything more worthwhile.
"Beautiful as ever, dear," Lord Kilthar murmurs as he passes, his eyes raking over my body like a predator sizing up its prey. I suppress a shudder and offer him a coy smile.
"Thank you, Lord Kilthar," I reply, my voice laced with false sweetness. He chuckles and moves on, leaving me to wade through the sea of lascivious stares. He is a regular and comes across as kind and somewhat inept, but behind closed doors, he likes to tie girls up and inflict them with painful horrors that have left more than a few girls scarred.
Around me, these scantily clad human slaves continue to dart between the guests, offering drinks and themselves. Their glazed expressions betray the emptiness within, their spirits broken by these dark elves. It's a stark reminder of what could have been my fate had it not been for the King.
Focus, Karina, the night won’t last forever, and you have uncovered nothing yet. The seriousness of that thought ties a knot in my stomach.
"Did you hear about Lord Valyra's new slave?" one dark elf whispers to another. "Quite a feisty one."
"Indeed, but she'll be broken soon enough," comes the reply, “I hear his cock is like a rod of justice!” and they all howl with nasty laughter.
Poor girl. Nothing but a piece of well-dressed meat on a slab. I bite back a snarl and turn it into a sultry smile, but my fingers strike the keys with a bit more force, turning my anger into musical notes.
“Hey, Karina,” I turn to see Molly, one of the girls. A pretty one with striking pale blue eyes and long blonde hair. She looks like she’s been stealing drinks again, which only ends in trouble.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“Not really. I’m booked in with him,” she says, pointing over to the corner at a dark elf sitting alone at a corner table sipping on a drink. He’s trouble; he doesn’t come in that much, but there is always trouble when he does.
“Keep your wits about you, be careful,” I tell her.
