Who let plotbunnies out? They multiply like mad so there's a high chance I'll start some new stories in the near future.

Worry not, MLS is still in progress, but I'm struggling with the next chapter due to its specific perspective. Meanwhile, a new story.

She's been bought for thirty pieces of silver, the customary price for a royal slave.

As far as she could remember, there was nothing for her but slavery. It wasn't that she was raised as someone's possession. No; rather, one day she woke up in a coop with strangers of all colours and ages. She knew nothing about her past (how did she become a slave? was she born as one? was she kidnapped or taken as a spoils of war? was she sold by her parents? did she even have any parents? family? home?) and yet, knew everything about her social standing and possible future.

This is why, upon hearing her number called out, she stepped up with little hesitation, took off her robe, folded it neatly and placed by her feet. Then, she stood there naked, her head lowered demurely, for all bidders to see and inspect. They made her turn and bend, raise and lower her arms and legs, even squat and expose what she would much rather kept hidden. With a blush and eyes cast down, she obeyed every command given to her.

Hiding behind the veil of her fawn bangs, she tried to learn as much as possible about her potential future owner, listening closely to the voices, imagining the individuals they could belong to. Who they were, what would they buy her for, what kind of people would they turn out to be - all kinds of questions kept running through her head. Lost in thoughts, she missed one of the instructions and as a result felt a birch rod upon her bare backside. Swallowing a cry and blinking away barely-forming tears, the girl hastened to satisfy the demand made of her.

Finally, the slave handler pulled her head up and the crowd could see her entrancing red eyes. This was the signal for them to start bidding, slowly at first, all amounts given in copper. As the numbers went up, the group of potential buyers successively shrank. The last four standing brought her price to silver pieces, which was still relatively low but higher than most could afford without a second thought. A single shekel could provide basic sustenance for a family of four for a full week. The girl was obviously unfit for most manual works and a slave bought purely for entertainment or domestic purposes would take long before paying for itself.

The last of the bidders, elder man, very rich if one were to judge by his clothes and podgy figure, offered ten silver coins. Since it seemed that no one was going to outbid him, the handler started calling the deal.

The girl shivered, looking blankly ahead, trying not to think about what the man was buying her for. She tried to ignore greasy, greyish hair and a swollen hand that moved up time after time to wipe the sweat off his face. No one noticed her distress (and why would they? she was a slave, right? no more than a living object to be bought, used and wasted...) and when the handler reached for the robe to cover her head in sealing the deal, she closed her eyes shut.

"Wait!"

A shout reverberated in the hall and everyone turned around to see the a young man in the King's livery, entering the auction. The old bidder cursed under his breath: the King had the right of first refusal, his offer would come first should it be of an equal value.

"The King wants this one for himself. How much has been offered for her?"

After being told the number, he came closer to the stage, his inquisitive gaze trained on the girl in question. Though it was becoming increasingly harder, she kept her head up, awaiting the instructions that would facilitate for him to appraise the merchandise. None came; only his eyes wandered over her naked figure, back and forth, up and down, lingering at her breasts and maidenhood. Finally, the man asked her handler:

"Is she untainted, suitable for the King's demands?"

Being a body slave for a ruler - it could not be as bad as being the same for the old bidder, right? As far as she knew (another piece of knowledge that somehow survived the general amnesia), the King was young, no more than two dozens of springs have passed since his birth.

But there was something more to being the King's plaything, something important that she felt she should remember... it kept slipping her though, disappearing in the darkness of her past.

"His Majesty raises the offer threefold. Thirty shekels as it is His custom for one of her quality."

Rough fabric immediately covered her head, signaling finalised deal.

How do you like it? Yet another story with my favourite setting of abusing power :P

Anyway: short chapters (I know, it's really mini-skirt short ^.^) means more frequent updates. The next one will be next week or at the start of December - when you'll help me with one dillema about Natsuki in this story. The poll is up at the profile, according to the results I may add another warning :)