A peasant girl, just setting out for the Capital

You are Jordan Farcourt, and it is the day following the celebration of your eighteenth year. You're fair-haired, your tawny skin freckled across your cheeks. Most would call you a well-built girl; you inherited your mother's abundant bust and wide hips, with none of the extra weight.

Today you wear a simple tan work blouse, buttoned to the collar, and breeches that fit into your well-worn boots. It's almost a man's dress, though your large blue eyes, full lips, and long, golden hair ensure you wouldn't fool many.

The entire family has gathered in your spacious living room, sitting around the hearth. It is spring in Avaria, and the planting has just been finished in your family's field. You can smell the familiar scent of the honeyflowers, and feel the warmth of the sun through the opened shutters. A large rucksack, filled with spare clothes, a knife, blanket, food, and a few other items and keepsakes is resting beside the door.

You father and brothers seem to be taking all of this fairly well, but your mother is a mess. She has been begging you for days to abandon your plans to leave the homestead and venture out into the city. She cradles your face in her hands, her eyes red from crying.

"You do not understand, Jordan... You were blessed to be raised in the far country. To grow to a beautiful woman, without the corruption of men." Her voice cracks, and she begins to sob once more. "Please... Do not go."

"I love you with all my heart, mother, but I must. This is not the place for me to raise a family of my own, and if I wait much longer I will not find a husband."

Your inconsolable mother turns, crying silently, and buries her face in your father's chest.

"Go, now, my daughter," says your father. "Beren will see you off on your horse."

Beren is the brother closest to you in age, only nineteen. He is golden-haired and handsome, lean almost to the point of awkwardness, and always kind. He lifts your ruck and carries it out of the house, striding off into the morning sun. The old cart horse father has given to you is waiting, with water skins hanging from his saddle. Beren helps you up onto the horse's back, and secures the ruck behind you on the saddle.

"I'll walk with you out to the merchant road," says Beren with a smile. "Father won't mind."

"Thank you, brother. That would be nice," you reply.

As you ride off slowly, your brother walking beside you, he keeps one hand on your boot. You discuss the planting, and the dangers you may face. Finally, Beren raises the point that mother has been crying about since you decided to leave for the Capital.

"My sister...You know any man can claim you..?" he asks.

You let out a giggle. "He can try."

"No, no... The law commands it, and the spell enforces. You will be unable to resist, as much as you may want to." He stops walking, and you rein the horse to a halt. "Most women are slaves or whores in the Capital, I hear. You won't have us to fight for you. You... The first man you see might command you to bed him. He could order you to do terrible things."

"Like kissing in the loft, even though he is my brother?" You tease Beren with the memory. "Or showing me that awful thing he keeps hidden in his trousers?"

A dark look comes over your brother's face. "It is my right too, as a man," says Beren. "Even though you are my sister, I could order you off that horse right now and make you serve me... In fact, I will. Get down right now. Get down, and give me a kiss on the lips."

You laugh, but your brother does not share in the laughter. He stares at you.

"I command it, Jordan," he repeats. "Get off your horse and kiss me."