Based on this post. But then not really. A part of it says that Bhadra might have been a surrogate. And that is the only part which led to this fic.
“Get ready!” the crimson spittle literally blocks her mouth as she speaks.
But of course, no matter how disgusting this woman might be, all of us have to be subservient to her. It isn’t a choice that we make willingly, yet it is a compulsion.
And, moreover, this is what gets us by.
The Maahishmati Palace seems a shade darker than before as I’m rushed into the King’s bedchamber.
Ah! The King certainly has an eye for my dances in his Sabha.
I feel like complimenting The Mistress for her tenacity in training me, and yet, my mind chastises me at the thought.
You are a natural beauty, Suhasini , she says sternly.
And you must thank the Natyacharya who bothered to put the effort to teach you, even if that was only for his pockets overflowing with all those Swarnamudras the Royals might have showered on him , she elaborates, making me swell with pride.
Our establishment had definitely had an increase in its patrons since the new King has taken the Throne. Though the earlier regime didn’t starve us to death. However, the now deceased Queen Mother, Sivagami Devi, bothered little with us, trying to restrict newcomers here as much as she could. Nartakis were far and few, and the Court had more ‘cultural’ pursuits than enjoying dance performances on a daily basis.
The erstwhile Crown Prince didn’t have a penchant for other pleasure either. He was a simple man, he was.
But the Elder Prince was anything but simple.
Subtlety isn’t his strong point , I notice as he all but thunders into his bedchamber.
The man eyes me with a scrutinising gaze. And somehow, I do not sense an apathy towards me as I look back straight into his dark, inscrutable eyes.
Bhallaladeva is, most definitely, a dark man, physically and otherwise, I concur.
And there was no way in which his mother might not have noticed this. I mean if I could sense this by barely looking at him for a few seconds, she most definitely would have known such a fact.
Or was she too occupied with the younger Prince to heed her Elder Son?
I decide not to let my mind dwell on it . The dynamics of the First Family of Maahishmati is the least of my concerns.
My client, though, hasn’t yet spoken a word.
“You’re a good dancer.” his baritone voice breaks the silence.
Ah, another one for small talk! , my mind sneers.
“Thank You, Your Highness.”
“And you are quite a sight for sore eyes.” he says once again. This time he draws himself nearer to me.
So are you , I stop myself from saying the words.
Truly, The King is strikingly handsome. And his darkness adds to his allure. Moreover, there’s something of a phantasm in those devilishly piercing eyes, that always seemed to be afire.
His tenebrosity is no facade, in fact it is as tangible as the breath he draws, which fans my face before he closes on me.
The act is simple. Pure animal passion, with absolutely nothing beyond the physical. The King is like most men, imposing and domineering, and yet, differs from them in an unexpected gentleness, as he strips me down. His physical glamour is, of course, several cuts above most men we come across.
It is almost like being in bed with a God , I soliloquise as his tanned, sinewy chest presses upon my breasts.
He’s the Devil , I let out a whimper of ecstasy as he enters me. I seem to have invigorated him a little more as he thrusts harder. He’s certainly no stranger to sex. In fact, he’s quite the expert.
And he knows that he must please to derive the maximum pleasure.
I thrust as hard as he does. The pain, the pleasure! Ah! This man lives up to the expectations.
Finally both of us are done. He parts with a smile characteristic of him.
“I might require your services, again.” he simply throws a considerably heavy pouch of Swarnamudras.
Sure enough, our Ratibhavana has frequent visits from The Maahishmati Palace, as I’m now promoted to being the Chief Nartaki in His soires. And of course, my appearances in The Court are far more frequent than before.
However, The King doesn’t require my sexual services as frequently as I had hoped he would. It was only after three whole months of our first encounter that I’m called upon, once again in the dead of the night.
The experience is as good as the last, but the frequency, or the lack of it, is definitely thought-provoking. Furthermore, there have been no other women who were sent to his bed from here, or anywhere else. My knowledge of this little factoid comes from the very efficient network of gossip mongers in the marketplace, who would definitely do a better job than the official spies, with proper training to elevate their innate expertise.
I’m not allowed to go anywhere else either. No other clients are sent to me. In other words, I’m reserved only for Bhallaladeva.
What is even more arresting is, His Highness doesn’t take a wife either. It was universal knowledge that Amarendra Baahubali was wedded to The Princess of Kuntala, who was now a prisoner. The details of the scandal escape my memory, but as for now, he hasn’t laid a finger -so to speak- on his late brother’s subjugated spouse either.
His anomalous sexual behaviour is intriguing. And there are plenty of answers to those innumerable questions that arise, each more absurd than the last, and yet each one conforming to some other trait that society would most definitely not be open to.
After all, few would whole-heartedly accept the fact that their King was a man who would be comfortable with both genders, and yet prefer the stronger sex for pleasure than the other.
I doubt if anyone had ever paid attention to this.
Or is it just my perception that has considered such detail, I wonder.
Moreover, Bhallaladeva was a man of force. If anyone dared show any dissent towards him, he would most definitely pay with his life. And yet, he didn't want anyone to know, it seemed.
And then, another thought hits me.
Only time would tell if my intuition was true, or merely hypothetical.
I'm called upon, once again, not surprisingly after another considerably long period. The corridors of the Palace are still dark and silent, as if someone had choked the life out of them.
"Why can't you use bigger torches?" I exasperatedly inquired of my escort.
"To remain inconspicuous." he said. "The King prefers your presence to be a secret."
I roll my eyes.
As if my exclusivity was sacred.
The drill is just the same. The King enters his chamber in a thunderous, yet secretive manner. We take our clothes off in the act, with just our fingers to feel the other person’s outline as the minimal lights are snuffed out during the intercourse in a moment of heated passion. I’m handed my due at the end, with a pouch that is heavier than the last.
This time though, He makes another demand.
“I want you here tomorrow as well. And tell no one.”
He doesn’t stop to hear my reply.
I follow the instruction. As for keeping it from The Mistress, life has schooled me enough in the art of secrecy. I’m led to The Palace as usual, then come his chambers, and-
- Here is the twist in the tale .
There’s a considerably older lady seated therein. With her is The King, fully dressed. It is quite bizarre for me to see him dressed thus in the confines of his chamber. His covered chest is, for one, a strangeness of its own. Moreover, he seems quite subdued, almost tame. His eyes bear no carnal desire, even as they si t on me briefly, while gesturing me to sit.
The lady, of course, irons out my doubts. Her sobriety is indicative of her being a Physician. Plus, she has brought her set of requisites affirming her profession.
The King gives her another nod, and she begins her job.
“Would you lie down, for a bit?” she asks politely.
I do as I am told, and she examines me through and through. These, of course, are scrutinies not unknown to me, and for another, -
- My calculations were exact to the last digit.
- I am to bear The King’s child.
She asks me about my monthly blood, and my mind keeps sneering at me all the time.
Next, she would come up with an auspicious date for him to bed you again, it tells me.
And sure enough, she does.
“Some time around the twelfth of the next maasa, My Lord,” she says, “She is most likely to bear you a child then.”
“Till then, she must take care of her physical and mental health,” The Lady continues mechanically. “Also, she must not strain herself”-
-“That shall be all.” he stops her midway, handing her the same pouch my eyes were accustomed to seeing.
She bows and takes her leave. The King follows her, and returns with two other women, and a few soldiers.
“Take her to the Vasant Mahal, right now,” he instructs, - “and you,”- he turns to me, - “shall stay there as long as you bear me a child. After the baby is born, I shall arrange for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life, in a place detached from that sordid brothel of yours.”
Sordid brothel indeed , I can barely hide my smirk.
And that sordid brothel is the very place you choose your gene pool from , something speaks from within me.
“You are gracious, My Lord.” I bow deeply at his generosity.
There were stories that this particular Vasant Mahal was a gift made to The King by his now deceased Mother, probably as recompense for handing the Throne over to his brother. It was high time it was put to good use, and Our Lordship is quite resourceful.
How her spirit would react to her gift being a temporary Ratibhavana, is something that only she would know.