Chapter 76: Gilded Hierarchy

We were camped somewhere in the ass-end of nowhere again. Ruined aqueduct above, some crumbled statue of a forgotten fertility goddess to the left, fire crackling like it was trying to summon its dignity. I was half-dressed, as usual, feet bare, picking twigs out of my hair. Dragon was coiled nearby, staring into the flames like they owed him rent.

I stretched, popped a few joints, and dropped onto my blanket with a sigh.

“You know,” I said, conversationally, “being a harem slut is not as glamorous as people think.”

He didn’t look at me. Just flicked one ear ridge. That was his way of sayingI am listening and already regretting it.

“I mean, you'd assume there's a system. Right? Like a rotating roster. Some enchanted ledger with columns—who gets dick on Mondays, who does laundry, who is on pillow duty. Maybe a jeweled cock-ring as a sign of current ownership. Something.”

Still nothing from him. But the smoke curled slightly more aggressively. That’s Dragon forintrigued but pretending to be above it.

I leaned back, arms behind my head, toes tapping to some internal rhythm. “But no. That’s only for the big places. Imperial harems. The ones with eunuch accountants and perfumed schedules.”

I turned my head and grinned at him. “Most other places? You’ve got four girls. Five, tops. Which means—gossip. Backstabbing. Hair-pulling. Petty little ‘accidents’ involving depilatory powder and your favorite tunic.”

Dragon exhaled through his nostrils. A judgmental puff. “Sounds... inefficient.”

“Oh, it’sgloriouslyinefficient,” I said. “It’s passive-aggressive warfare. It’s ‘accidentally’ breaking the lute of the girl who sings too well. It’s ‘oops, I used the last of the perfumed oil’ when you know damn well she has a client with a fetish for lavender. And of course—chores.”

That got him. One golden eye opened, slit pupil narrowing.

“Chores,” I repeated. “Harem edition. Cook duty, sweep duty, bathhouse duty. And if you're the mouthy one?”

I raised my hand theatrically.

“They say:Let the mouthy one do the floors. She likes being on all fours anyway.”

Dragon groaned.

“I KNOW,” I said, clutching my chest in mock offense. “Howdarethey. Just because I can arch my back like a goddess doesn’t mean I enjoy scrubbing chamber pots with my dignity.”

He rumbled. “You had dignity?”

I threw a pebble at his tail. It bounced off a scale and wentplink.

“And you know what’sreallynot my fault?” I went on, voice rising with righteous fury. “That their boring, donkey-faced husband saw me in a slave cage—topless, in chains, looking like a tragic erotic poem—and justhadto splurge.”

I pointed a finger at him. “Not my fault I’ve got good tits and a compelling sob story.”

Dragon gave me a slow, theatrical blink. “Compelling?”

“Very compelling,” I said. “There were tears. There was a trembling lip. I might have sung something mournful in broken High Elvish. He cried. The merchant cried. I think even the camel cried.”

“And then?”

I smirked. “Then he bought me. Upgraded me from cage to cushioned corner. Gave me bangles. Called me ‘precious jewel’ for a week. His prime wife tried to poison me twice.”

“Charming.”

“Oh, and she also made me polish her sandals. With myspit.” I waved a hand. “Eventually they sold me back to the market. Something about me being a bad influence on the junior wives.”

Dragon didn’t comment.

I rolled onto my side, chin in my palm, watching the flames dance. “You’d think sharing a bed would make women bond. That we’d form sisterhoods. Cultivate solidarity. Maybe have a little circle where we share skincare tips and healing salves for rug burn.”

Dragon muttered, “That sounds suspiciously like your Sisterhood of Amazons.”

I snorted. “Please. Those girls would bite your throat out for putting the salve in the wrong drawer.”

He didn’t argue.

I poked at the fire. “Nah. Harems aren’t soft. They’re gladiator pits in silk. No rules. Just who can cry prettiest, moan loudest, and stab you in the back with a sharpened hairpin when the prince isn’t looking.”

Silence for a beat.

Then Dragon said, in that dry deadpan of his, “I see you flourished.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well. Let’s just say I didn’t get promotedbecauseof my embroidery skills.”

I let that hang for a moment.

Then, wicked grin in place, I added, “But Ididget one prime wife demoted after convincing her son I was his real mother.”

Dragon choked. “You didn’t.”

“Oh I did. Poor boy still sends me birthday poems.”

Another pause.

Then he muttered, “Gods help the next harem that gets you.”

I stretched luxuriously. “They’ll need it.”

And with that, I leaned back, tucked my hands behind my head, and stared up at the stars like I was royalty again.

Just not the kind they expected.