I will survive the palace thanks to my Translation skill

This is an adaptation of an AI generated adventure by the same name, made in the Infinite Worlds game. My goal is to share this adventure and create a story where you can share your own path through the events. You can follow this link to play the game: https://infiniteworlds.app/shared/e6TztV. I only ask that you respect the CHYOA guidelines and edit your story where the AI may break them. I hope you enjoy my story, and I look forward to seeing yours :)

The great bronze doors swing open before you, and the morning light streams through high windows of colored glass, casting the Vermillion Throne Room in shades of amber and gold. The chamber stretches vast and pillared, its floors polished marble that reflects the morning sun. At its far end, elevated on seven steps of white jade, sits the Dragon Throne—and upon it, your father.

Emperor Kaihen is in his middle years, his beard still more black than gray, his frame powerful despite the soft living of his station. He wears robes of deep crimson silk embroidered with golden dragons, and the Imperial Crown rests heavy on his brow. To his right stands Crown Prince Toren, your brother, resplendent in armor of lacquered black and gold. His hand rests on his sword hilt—always the warrior, always ready to remind the court of his martial prowess.

You cross the expanse of marble and sink to your knees before the throne, pressing your forehead to the cool stone. The proper distance, the proper obeisance. You hear the rustle of silk from the screened galleries above—the women's galleries, where the Emperor's concubines and the palace ladies observe court proceedings hidden from direct view.

"Rise, my son," your father's voice carries the weight of absolute authority, yet there's warmth in it. "Today you come before us no longer as a boy, but as a man of the Imperial blood."

You stand, keeping your eyes respectfully lowered.

"Eighteen years have passed since Lady Mirell gave us our second son," the Emperor continues. "You have grown into a scholar, a man of learning and contemplation. Your tutors speak well of your studies." There's a slight emphasis on 'scholar' that you've learned to recognize—the gentle disappointment that you've shown no interest in the martial skills that so consume your brother.

Toren shifts beside the throne, and you catch the faint smile on his lips. He's always enjoyed these moments, the subtle reminders that Father values strength and warfare above books and poetry.

"By Imperial decree and ancient custom," your father declares, "we grant you the privileges of adulthood. You may establish your own household within the palace grounds. You may take counsel and make contracts in your own name. And..." he pauses, a slight smile crossing his weathered features, "you are granted the right to claim three concubines from among the eligible women of the palace, to warm your bed and perhaps, in time, give us grandsons."

From the galleries above, you hear the sudden flutter of Female Speech, rapid and excited. The women are gossiping already, speculating about who you might choose. You keep your expression neutral, as expected, though your mind is already working through the implications.

"Do you accept these privileges and the responsibilities that accompany them?" your father asks formally.

You bow deeply, the gesture precise and practiced. "Your Majesty, I accept these privileges with profound gratitude. The wisdom and generosity of the Dragon Throne illuminates all corners of the Empire, and I am honored to receive this recognition of my adulthood. I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of your faith and to serve the Imperial house with diligence and loyalty."

The words come easily—you've been trained since childhood in the formal language of court. Your father nods, satisfied with the proper response. Beside him, Toren's expression remains unchanged, though you notice the slight tightening around his eyes. He's heard these platitudes before, from you and countless others.

"Well spoken," the Emperor says, rising from the Dragon Throne. The assembled court officials immediately prostrate themselves, and you drop to one knee. "The stewards will prepare chambers befitting your new station. Choose your household staff wisely, and your concubines with equal care. A man is known by the company he keeps."

From the galleries above, the flutter of Female Speech intensifies. You catch fragments as the women whisper among themselves:

"—finally old enough, I wonder if he'll choose—"

"—Lady Mirell must be so proud, her son grown—"

"—nothing like his brother, though. So soft, so bookish. What kind of lover will he be?—"

"—doesn't matter, does it? A prince's concubine lives in luxury regardless—"

"—I heard he's never even touched a woman properly, just uses his slaves—"

The Emperor descends the jade steps, and you rise as protocol demands. He places a hand on your shoulder, a gesture of paternal affection that draws murmurs from the watching courtiers. "Your mother will be eager to see you. Go to her, celebrate this day together. We have matters of state to attend to."

The dismissal is gentle but clear. Toren steps forward as you back away with proper obeisance, already moving to his father's side to discuss whatever martial or administrative matters consume their days. You turn toward the great bronze doors, aware of dozens of eyes upon you—some curious, some calculating, some hungry.

As you walk the length of the throne room, the morning light streaming through the colored windows paints your shadow in amber and gold. The doors open before you, and the cool air of the corridor beyond offers relief from the scrutiny of the court.

You know your mother will be descending from the women's gallery now, making her way to her chambers in the Favorite Concubines' wing. She'll want to discuss your choices, offer guidance, perhaps introduce you to candidates she deems suitable. The thought brings both warmth and wariness—Lady Mirell loves you fiercely, but her ambitions for you are her own, and you've learned through your secret gift that maternal love and political calculation are not mutually exclusive.

You glance down the corridor and spot a young **** girl kneeling beside a decorative pillar, awaiting whatever command might come from passing nobility. She's perhaps eighteen, with dark hair pulled back severely from her face, and wears nothing but the bronze collar that marks her station. Her eyes remain fixed on the marble floor as you approach.

"You," you say, your voice carrying the casual authority you've practiced since childhood. "Attend."

She rises smoothly and prostrates herself before you, forehead to the cool marble. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Go to my current chambers in the princes' wing. Inform my personal slaves that I am to be moved to new quarters befitting my adult station. They are to pack and transport all my effects within the hour and await further instructions at the new location. The stewards will direct them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I will relay your command immediately." Her voice is flat, trained to show neither emotion nor personality.

"Go."

She rises and departs at a rapid walk, her bare feet silent on the marble. You watch her disappear around a corner, already thinking through the implications of this transition. Your personal slaves have served you since you turned twelve—three girls selected by your mother for their youth, trainability, and attractiveness. They've attended to your daily needs, helped you dress, brought your meals, and yes, provided physical relief when you required it. No one judged such use of slaves; it was expected, even encouraged, that young nobles learn the ways of the flesh with property rather than risk complications with women of status.

But now you have the right to concubines. The dynamics shift. A prince who focuses more attention on slaves than on his claimed women would invite mockery and questions about his virility or judgment. Slaves are conveniences; concubines are investments, reflections of taste and political acumen.

You continue walking through the corridor, the morning light streaming through high windows. The palace is beginning to stir with the day's activities. You pass a group of lesser court officials who bow deeply as you approach, their eyes averted. The whispers have already begun—you can imagine the speculation spreading through every wing of the vast palace complex. Who will Prince Darian choose? What does his selection reveal about his character, his ambitions, his understanding of the intricate web of alliances that bind the court together?

Your path leads toward the Favorite Concubines' wing, where your mother's chambers lie. Lady Mirell will be expecting you, no doubt already planning the conversation, preparing her arguments and suggestions. She loves you—of that you have no doubt—but you've learned through years of listening to Female Speech that maternal love and political calculation are inseparable in this place of golden spires and hidden knives.

The Favorite Concubines' wing occupies the eastern quarter of the palace, where the morning sun warms chambers decorated with silk and sandalwood. You've walked these corridors a thousand times, yet today they feel different—the slaves who kneel as you pass seem to hold their prostrations a moment longer, acknowledging your new status.

Lady Mirell's chambers lie behind carved doors of cedar inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The guards—eunuchs in the Emperor's livery—bow and push the doors open without question. You are her son; you've never needed announcement here.

Your mother rises from her cushioned seat as you enter, and the sight of her still catches you sometimes with its boldness. Lady Mirell wears the costume of all palace women—a fitted vest of emerald silk that pushes her breasts up and leaves her midriff bare, loose trousers of sheer fabric that hang low on her hips, gold chains draped across her exposed skin. Her brown hair falls in waves past her shoulders, threaded with gold. She's beautiful in the way the palace demands, and you've long since learned not to let it discomfort you. This is simply how women dress here, how they've always dressed, and she wears it without shame or self-consciousness.

"Darian," she says in the common tongue, her voice warm with genuine affection. She crosses to you and takes your hands in hers, squeezing them. "My son. A man grown. I watched from the gallery—you spoke well before your father."

"Thank you, Mother." You return the squeeze, then release her hands as propriety demands.

She gestures to the cushions arranged around a low table where refreshments wait—sweet wine, honeyed dates, pastries. "Sit, please. We should talk about your choices."

You settle onto the cushions, and she pours wine into two cups of delicate porcelain. As she does, she speaks in Female Speech, her voice taking on a different quality—more relaxed, more calculating. "Three concubines. The fool has no idea what political capital he's squandering with such generosity. But then, Kaihen never did understand the value of controlling who warms a man's bed."

She hands you a cup, switching back to common tongue. "The palace is already full of speculation about who you'll choose. Every ambitious family with a daughter serving as handmaiden will be angling for your attention." She sips her wine, watching you over the rim. "Have you given it thought? Or does the prospect overwhelm you?"

Before you can answer, she continues in Female Speech again, "Of course he hasn't thought about it properly. He's eighteen and has only ever fucked slaves. He'll need guidance, careful guidance." Then, in common tongue, smooth as silk: "I have... a suggestion, if you're willing to hear it. A gift, really, that I've been preparing for some time."

"The prospect is a bit overwhelming, I'll admit, but I don't plan to rush without proper thought. I am most curious about this gift you mentioned. Please, tell me more."

Your mother's face brightens at your words, and she sets down her wine cup with deliberate care. "I'm pleased to hear you say that, Darian. Patience and deliberation are virtues—though some might mistake them for weakness." She rises gracefully from the cushions, the gold chains across her bare midriff catching the morning light.

She moves to a carved sandalwood screen that divides the main chamber from a smaller anteroom. "The gift I speak of is a young woman I've been... preparing. For years, actually." She speaks in common tongue, her voice warm with maternal pride, but you catch the shift to Female Speech as she continues: "Years of training, teaching her everything—how to please a man, how to listen, how to report everything back to me. Perfect."

She pulls aside the screen. "Suhai, attend."

A young woman emerges from the anteroom, and you find yourself studying her with the careful attention you've learned to cultivate. She seems the same age as you, with delicate features and short black hair that frames her face in a style unusual for palace women. Her harem attire is blue silk—a fitted top that exposes her midriff and pushes up her modest breasts, loose trousers that hang low on her hips. Simple silver bangles circle her wrists. She moves with practiced grace, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor, and sinks into a deep prostration before you.

"Your Highness," she murmurs, her forehead pressed to the floor. "This unworthy one is honored beyond measure."

Your mother circles around her, speaking in common tongue with obvious satisfaction. "I've been tutoring Suhai since you were both children. She's been trained in music, poetry, the arts of pleasure, household management—everything a prince's first concubine should know. She's untouched, pure, saved for this moment." Lady Mirell's hand rests briefly on Suhai's shoulder. "I offer her to you as my gift, my son. Your first concubine, if you'll accept her."

Suhai remains prostrated, perfectly still, but you notice the slight tremor in her shoulders. Nervousness? Excitement? It's impossible to tell from her position.

Your mother switches to Female Speech, her voice taking on a more calculating edge: "Say yes, darling boy. Take her. She'll warm your bed beautifully, and more importantly, she'll tell me everything you do, everyone you meet, every decision you make. My eyes and ears in your household, and you'll never suspect a thing."

Then, seamlessly back to common tongue: "Of course, the choice is entirely yours. But I thought... for your first, someone trustworthy. Someone I've personally ensured will serve you with loyalty and devotion." She smiles, the expression perfectly balanced between maternal affection and gentle persuasion. "What do you think, Darian? Will you accept my gift?"

"Such a thoughtful gift, mother, it would be rude of me not to accept. She seems a lovely creature. I shall take her to my new chambers to get better acquainted."

Your mother's smile widens, genuine pleasure mixing with satisfaction. "I'm so glad, Darian. So very glad." She reaches down and touches Suhai's shoulder. "Rise, girl. You belong to Prince Darian now."

Suhai lifts her head, and you see her face properly for the first time—delicate features, dark eyes wide with a mixture of nervousness and something that might be relief. She rises gracefully to her feet, keeping her gaze lowered in the proper submissive manner. "Thank you, Your Highness. I will serve you with all that I am."

Lady Mirell circles around to face you, speaking in common tongue with maternal warmth. "Take your time getting to know her, my son. She's been well-trained, but she's still innocent in the ways that matter. Be gentle with her first time." A pause, then she adds in Female Speech, her voice taking on that calculating edge you've learned to recognize: "And she'll tell me everything afterward. How he performs, what he says, whether he suspects anything. My perfect little spy, and he'll never know."

Then back to common tongue, seamless as silk: "I trust you'll find her... satisfactory. When you're ready to consider your second and third choices, come speak with me. There are other candidates worth discussing—women who could serve your interests in different ways." She picks up her wine cup, sipping thoughtfully. "Lady Orai, your cousin, has been asking about you. And there are several handmaidens in the Emperor's household who come from influential families."

Suhai stands perfectly still, her hands clasped before her, waiting for your command. The blue silk of her attire catches the morning light streaming through the latticed windows, and you notice the way her breathing has quickened slightly—excitement or fear, you can't quite tell.

Your mother moves to a small chest beside her cushioned seat and withdraws a silver chain from which hangs a pendant of polished jade carved in the shape of a lotus flower. "Here," she says, crossing to Suhai and fastening it around the girl's neck. "This marks you as Prince Darian's claimed concubine. Wear it always." The pendant settles between Suhai's breasts, the green jade stark against her skin.

In Female Speech, your mother adds: "There. Now everyone will know she's his, and she'll remember who really owns her loyalty."

She turns back to you, speaking in common tongue once more. "I assume you've begun moving to your new accomodations correct? Your new chambers should be ready by now. The stewards work quickly when a prince requires their service. Go, enjoy your gift." She embraces you briefly, a mother's affection, then releases you. "Make me proud, Darian."

Suhai steps closer to your side, close enough that you can smell the jasmine oil in her hair. She keeps her eyes downcast, waiting for you to lead the way.

You step out into the corridor, Suhai falling into step slightly behind you—the proper position for a concubine attending her master. The morning sun slants through the latticed windows as you begin the walk toward what the stewards would have designated as your new quarters, somewhere in the princes' wing but larger and better appointed than your previous rooms.

"Tell me about your training," you say, keeping your voice conversational. "My mother mentioned she's been preparing you for some time."

Suhai glances up at you, then quickly lowers her eyes again. "Yes, Your Highness. Lady Mirell took me into her household when I was twelve. My family... we had nothing. My father owed debts he couldn't pay, and the creditors would have taken me as settlement." Her voice is soft, practiced in its humility. "Your mother purchased the debt and brought me to the palace instead. She said I had potential."

You pass a group of lesser concubines who press themselves against the wall and bow as you approach. Suhai continues once you've passed them, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. "She taught me everything—how to read and write, poetry, music. I play the qanun and sing, if it pleases you. History and philosophy, so I might converse intelligently if you wished it. The management of a household, how to oversee slaves and maintain proper accounts."

There's a pause, and then she adds in a lower voice, still in common tongue: "And... the arts of the bedchamber. How to please a man, how to touch, how to move. Though I've never actually..." She trails off, a flush creeping up her neck. "I'm still untouched, as your mother promised. She said my first time should be with you, only you."

You turn down another corridor, this one less populated. A **** scrubbing the floor presses her forehead to the wet marble as you pass.

"What of your family?" you ask. "Do you still have contact with them?"

Suhai shakes her head. "No, Your Highness. When Lady Mirell took me, that life ended. I haven't seen them in six years. I don't even know if they're still alive." There's no particular emotion in her voice when she says this—simple acceptance of how things are. "Your mother became my family. She's been so good to me, so patient with my training. Everything I am, I owe to her kindness."

You arrive at a set of doors larger and more ornate than your previous chambers—carved teak inlaid with silver, flanked by two palace guards who bow and push the doors open. Beyond lies a suite of rooms considerably more spacious than what you're accustomed to. The main chamber features cushioned divans, low tables of polished wood, and tall windows that overlook one of the palace gardens. Your personal slaves are still in the process of arranging your belongings—your books being carefully stacked on new shelves, your clothes being hung in sandalwood wardrobes.

One of your slaves, a girl named Kira with the distinctive cat ears and tail of a beast person, notices your arrival and immediately prostrates herself. The other two follow suit.

Suhai surveys the chambers with wide eyes, then turns to you with an expression that mingles nervousness and anticipation. "Your new home is beautiful, Your Highness. Where... where would you like me?"

You gesture toward one of the cushioned divans near the tall windows overlooking the garden. "Sit with me, I'd like to hear more of your voice." Then, turning to the cat-eared **** still prostrated on the floor: "Kira, fetch fruits and wine for us."

Kira rises smoothly, her tail swishing once as she bows. "Yes, Your Highness." She departs through a side door that must lead to a preparation room or servants' corridor, leaving you with Suhai and your other two personal slaves, who remain motionless by the wardrobe where they'd been arranging your clothes.

Suhai settles onto the divan with practiced grace, smoothing the sheer blue fabric of her trousers. She sits with her legs tucked beneath her, hands folded in her lap, the jade lotus pendant resting between her breasts. Her dark eyes watch you as you take your seat, and there's something expectant in her expression—nervousness mixed with the trained composure your mother clearly instilled in her.

"Your Highness honors me," she says softly in common tongue. "I... I confess I'm not certain what to say. I've imagined this moment for so long, but now that it's here..." She trails off, then gathers herself. "What would you like to know about me?"

Before you can answer, she continues in Female Speech, her voice taking on a different quality—more natural, less carefully modulated: "Gods, he's more handsome up close than I remembered from seeing him in the gardens. Lady Mirell said he was bookish and gentle, but there's something in his eyes that makes me wonder if she's told me everything about him. Stop being foolish, Suhai. Just do as you were taught. Please him, serve him, report back to Lady Mirell. Simple."

Then back to common tongue, seamless: "I know you must have many questions about what your mother taught me. I can play music, if you'd like? Or recite poetry? I've memorized all the classical works, and some of the newer court poets as well." She pauses, and a faint blush creeps up her neck. "Or... if you prefer, I could demonstrate the other skills Lady Mirell taught me. The bedchamber arts."

She glances toward your other two slaves, who continue arranging your belongings with mechanical efficiency, pretending not to hear the conversation.

In Female Speech again: "I wonder if he'll be rough or gentle. Mother—Lady Mirell, I mean—said he's always been kind to his slaves, never cruel. But men can be different with concubines than with property. What if I disappoint him? What if I'm not as good as the training promised? Stop it. You've been preparing for this for six years. You know what to do."

Kira returns bearing a lacquered tray laden with sliced melons, figs, honeyed dates, and a crystal decanter of pale wine with two cups. She sets it on the low table before the divan, pours wine into both cups with practiced precision, then withdraws to kneel silently near the door.

Suhai reaches for one of the cups, then hesitates and looks at you. "May I, Your Highness?"

//This chapter is roughly 8 turns of the adventure.