Contemplate what's going no in silence

Eleanor’s body rocked with the rhythm of the cart, straw sticking to her skin as every jolt made her sore muscles throb. She hadn’t spoken since the slap, her tongue heavy, mouth dry, thoughts muddy.

It all felt unreal. The chains, the stares, the auction, the cart filled with feathers and humiliation. The weight of it pressed down on her chest like a stone.

This has to be a dream, she told herself. It has to be. Some fevered vision before ****. A punishment conjured from shame.

But the ache in her face still pulsed. The cold breeze on her bare skin was too real. The thirst clawing at her throat… unbearable.

The cart jolted again before grinding to a stop. Somewhere outside, horses huffed and guards barked orders.

Eleanor lifted her head, cracked lips parting. “Water… please. I just—please.”

A guard with a crooked grin leaned over the side. His gaze raked over her, lingering far too long. He uncorked a flask and sloshed it lazily.

“Might have a sip,” he drawled. “If that mouth of yours works as good as you beg.”

A few of the others laughed.

Eleanor stared, jaw clenched, her pride and desperation warring inside her. She was tempted — so tempted. The thirst, the ache, the shame—it was all blurring into something heavy and unbearable.

But before she could answer, another voice cut through the air.

“She’s the queen’s property.”

It was another guard, older, with a blade at his hip and no humor in his tone. His eyes locked on the first man. “You want to keep your cock, you keep it in your pants.”

The laughter died. The crooked guard muttered something and tossed her the flask.

The water inside was warm, stale. She could see the sediment swirling at the bottom—dirt, maybe worse. She lifted it carefully, tilting the flask so she could sip just the top layer. It tasted like metal and mold. But it was wet. Blessedly wet.

They didn’t speak to her again.

When they reached the castle, the guards dragged her out and up through cold marble halls. The castle smelled of incense and polished stone—so far removed from the stench of the pits it made her head spin.

They threw open a door and pushed her inside.

The room was dimly lit, warm with flickering lamplight. And on the large bed draped in crimson sheets, two women moved like shadows—entwined, undisturbed by the intrusion.

Eleanor turned her head, but the sounds—**soft gasps, the rustling of sheets, the delicate rhythm of breath and skin—**clung to the air. She sat with her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, trying to look anywhere but there.

But her eyes drifted. Again. And again.

One woman was golden-skinned, with dark hair falling like silk over her shoulders. The other had dusky, freckled skin and full lips parted in pleasure, her hands exploring every curve she could find. Their movements were slow and deliberate, built from trust, from intimacy, from something Eleanor hadn’t seen in years. Maybe ever.

Their bodies moved together like a dance. One’s leg wrapped around the other’s waist, fingers trailing down a spine, lips grazing a throat. The room was thick with heat and sound, and Eleanor couldn’t deny the way her stomach tightened at the sight.

Then, the dark-haired woman turned her head slightly, her eyes locking with Eleanor’s across the room.

“Join in,” she said smoothly, “or get out.”

Eleanor shifted, cheeks flushed. “I… I can’t. They locked the door.”

The freckled woman gave a breathy laugh and kissed her lover’s shoulder.

“Then join in,” she murmured, her voice a sultry hum.

Eleanor said nothing. She was still. Caught in the space between shame and temptation. Her heart pounded—not just with embarrassment, but with something deeper.