Marry, Breed, Obey—Or Else...

"The Mother wouldn't sponsor me if she didn't want something from me,"

"What does she want me to do for her?"

The Mother smiles, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "My son has a favorite lady," she says, her voice smooth and deliberate. "Margaery. She is intelligent, beautiful, and ambitious.

There are no sons by her, but she has a daughter, Elaena, and seems determined to produce the next emperor of the Trayan dynasty. She aims to rise even higher than any other woman in this world."

"So she is a threat," Jo says, the pieces falling into place. "To you and your standing. That's why you want me to enter the harem. Because you believe I can topple her."

"Exactly," the Mother says, her voice calm and steady. She doesn't flinch at Jo's bluntness, nor does she reprimand her for the lack of respect in her words.

"I know my son, Joana. Better than anyone else. I know what type of woman he likes."

Jo's cheeks flush, her heart pounding in her chest. "And if I refuse?" she asks, her voice trembling. She had left the Street of Silk, the only home she'd ever known, to avoid becoming a whore. Now, this woman, the Emperor's Mother, wants her to become a concubine to her son. For what? To serve as a pawn in some political game?

The Mother's expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. "If you refuse," she says simply, "then I have no reason to protect you from the repercussions of your crimes. I shall send you to the Emperor's Justice.

Two fingers should be enough to teach you about the sin of stealing." She turns her face toward the door, her lips parting as if to call for one of her servants.

Jo's fingers ache with the phantom pain of maiming. "Wait!" she blurts out, her voice desperate. "Wait, I'll do it."

A smile cuts across the Mother's face, sharp and triumphant. She steps forward, taking Jo's hands in her own. "Good," she says, her voice warm now, almost comforting. "But what if…?" Jo hesitates, her voice faltering. "What if the Emperor does not like me?"

The Mother's smile softens, her grip on Jo's hands tightening slightly. "If you do not gain the Emperor's favor," she says, "then you will live out your life in a palace with food, luxury, and safety. No worries, no struggles. Sometimes, the Emperor arranges the marriage of his lesser concubines with his knights and councilors to gain alliances and friendships. If you'd like, I could suggest it after a handful of years." She pauses, her eyes locking onto Jo's. "But I know he will like you. So you shouldn't worry."

Jo takes a deep breath, her mind spinning. She feels trapped, caught between the promise of safety and the fear of losing herself. But what choice does she have? She nods slowly. "Very well," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."

"Good," the Mother says, her smile widening. "We'll have you washed and dressed as befits a concubine." Her hands move to Jo's face, her touch surprisingly gentle as she feels the bone structure beneath Jo's skin. "A thief cannot be the mother of our Emperor's children, so I will work to change your background. You will be Joana Noard, the natural daughter of a Northern merchant."

Jo blinks, startled. "Will anyone believe such a lie?" she asks, her voice tinged with doubt.

The Mother's smile turns sly. "The world will believe what I want them to believe," she says. Her face shifts as she begins to weave the story. "Your father made a small fortune selling wool, particularly to me. But he is dead now, and his wife has no desire to have you in her house. He asked me to care for you, and I accepted. I used your inheritance to pay for your entrance here." She pauses, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "We'll keep you hidden until you look less… aghast. And in that time, you will learn the ranks and politics of the harem." She smiles again, her voice firm. "Do you understand, Joana?"

Jo swallows hard, her throat dry. "Yes, my gracious mother," she says, her voice trembling. "I understand."

Joana is led through dimly lit corridors, deeper into the heart of the harem's closed quarters. The walls are thick, muffling sound, and the flickering lanterns cast long, wavering shadows. She follows the servant in silence, her bare feet barely making a sound against the cool stone floor.

At last, they stop before a wooden door reinforced with iron. The servant pushes it open, revealing a modest chamber within. At its center stands a copper tub, nearly overflowing with steaming water. The scent of herbs and oils lingers in the air, mixing with the humid warmth that clings to her skin.

Joana stares at the bath, hesitant. The luxury of it is almost too much. She has bathed before, of course, but never like this—never in a private space, with clean water drawn just for her.

She undresses carefully, her fingers trembling as she steps into the tub. The heat envelops her, and for a moment, she forgets where she is. She scrubs her skin until it is pink and washes her tangled hair until the water swirls dark with dirt. She does not know when she will be allowed such a luxury again, so she savors it.

Once clean, she steps out, wrapping herself in the cloth left for her. Her fingers trace the fabric of the simple blue dress laid upon the bed—a bed that is hers alone, if only for now...

The room itself is plain, but to Joana, it is more than enough. She has never had a space of her own. When her mother was alive, they shared a bed when she was not entertaining clients.

After her mother's passing, Joana slept in the septs, crammed beside other women seeking shelter for the night.

Here, there is only her. A single bed. A wooden table. A chair by the small window.