Queen Samira And The Ritual Of Doom

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Queen Samira, pampered and worshiped since birth, sighed in boredom. In a shallow bath the length of an entire commoner’s home, she leaned back near the edge. A servant clothed in little but a sheer cotton loincloth placed a plush cushion before her head could hit the sharp edge. The water steamed around her, fragrant water soaking into her skin and making her ample bosom bounce lightly as it reached just under her armpits. Surrounded by luxury, red-painted walls decorated with vibrant blue and gold accents—she only saw tedium!  The clergy suggested a bath in the temple would cleanse her of any worries, but it did nothing but bore her further. She’d sat in the thing for less than a tenth of the time it took to prepare it before groaning. Standing, she waded to the steps leading further in where a swarm of female servants swaddled her in linens and guided her to a reclined chair to moisturize her skin with oils and perfumes.One of the servants, someone closer to her age, massaged oils into her breast first. This was perhaps the better part of getting out of a bath.  Every servant had been trained to please her every whim be it an impromptu dance or flattery. This one had especially skilled hands as a masseur. Samira would not be touched by the hands of the filthy! Thin fingers slowly rubbed in an oil that smelled of a strong summer breeze from the Euphrates. Clean and manicured nails dared not scratch as she rubbed circles with her thumbs over the Queen’s nipples, sliding down her waist.  Samira closed her eyes, gasping when another servant began massaging her feet. Her eyes fluttered open and closed at the gentle servitude until abruptly coming to an end. Confused, she lifted herself to complain but was silenced when her husband, King Neferkara, slowly strode into the baths. Behind him stood an entourage of guards, clergy, and advisors.   Immediately, her slowly lifting mood was sullied.  Despite being disrobed, there was no pleasure on his face in seeing her. The other men, leered as Queen Samira’s servants set to work on making her presentable.  “Husband,” she greeted, clipped. “Why have you come with an army for a woman merely enjoying a bath?”  Light red cloth was fastened around her; gold trappings and adornments followed. If the King felt anything for her- he did not show it even as Samira stood and allowed her hair to be brushed and imported jewels to be woven into her hair from her headdress.  “My dear wife of many, I could not find you in your chambers and had to follow you with a trail! Surely you can greet me with more warmth.” He laughed; large belly hidden under a decorative tunic of many colors. “Let us go to the gardens, I wish to speak in comfort.”  Scoffing, Samira waited for her myriad of jewels to be in place on her form before stepping into white sandals with straps that wound up her ankles. Gold jingled from her headdress and earrings, bracelets and bangles clinking when the King led first and she followed, servants making a constant pitter-patter of footsteps behind them.  The halls of the temple towered above them, alight with candles and natural sun from decorative windows. It was well past mid-day, making the light less blinding when stepping outside into dry, cool air. It was a pleasing day for a change. With the wave of his hand, the King dismissed the clergy and his personal servants. Samira halted, and whipped her head back to make contact with the young, beautiful maid that was the first comfort in her tedious little day.  With a motion akin to batting away pesky animals, she dismissed her own.  The servants scattered Malatya Escort to other tasks they knew they needed to finish. Having also been trained to be prepared for any situation, the servant was dressed completely despite being given little time to prepare. Her status was made plain by a bronze, decorative collar with hoops. Light blue fabric twisted and tied through them, making a halter design that wrapped around her back with a single fastening. Her white cotton loincloth was covered over by a bronze belt, matching blue fabric draping in pleats nearly to her ankles.  It was their garb that marked them as the Queen’s personal pets.  For every whim or frustration, all servants of the palace knew to catch one of them.  As though having an idea, Queen Samira snapped her fingers and caught the ear of one of the King’s servants. “Bring wine and mid-day delicacies to the garden!”  The boy, dressed in a cotton chemise and little adornments, bowed and scurried to find one of the departed young women as the Queen continued her stride beside her husband.  The walk to the gardens was silent save for the distant bird singing from the sky and the wind billowing around them.  Wine and elaborate fruit dishes covered in syrups awaited the Queen on a dainty table. The King huffed as one of his guards eased him into a chair, looking winded by the effort.  Lovely soft hands picked up a piece of wet fruit and held it to her Queen’s mouth. Samira met her eyes, ignoring her husband to take a bite, and another. Honey-like syrup was lapped from the woman’s fingers, making the girl blush and avert her eyes.  “Eee-ahem. My dear Queen Samira.” Neferkara allowed a metal goblet to be poured with wine before taking a short drink. “The priests tell me there are… eh- bad omens to the Northeast. As leader of our proud nation, it is my duty to see to war. Perhaps, purge this evil before it can grow and become something much- much worse.”  He took another drink and looked at the woman beside him. She seemed keener on eying the hourglass shape of the servant girl’s waist before crossing her shimmering legs and leaning her head in his direction. A sign she was listening.  “I leave the palace to you, wife. I shall have my advisors assist you in any way you wish. I regret to inform you that I shall be taking the majority of our funds into forging weapons and much-needed supplies for the journey. Have no fear-” He held up a hand to silence her though she made no motion to move her lips. “Our treasures shall not be so easily dwindled. I- ah, take it you will be able to endure without me, yes?”  Samira took her time enjoying another treat, exhaling after a long drink of wine.  “Yes. Husband. I will honor our marriage and my duties as leader to our people with the task you have given me.” Her voice was flat, and she rolled her eyes unabashedly. “Are we done?”  The King seemed satisfied enough, being assisted from his chair, and he departed.  A week passed since her husband had been carried away in a parade and she even remembered the man was gone. It was only on their wedding night that they shared the same bed, and she was given her own private home within the palace. A bedroom, leisure room, and miniature garden with a glittering fountain at its center. Between sitting upon her throne, hearing the complaints of little people, and tending to her priestess duties, tedium was more of a companion than her husband ever was.  One man had been annoyingly persistent in her hearings. Coming by every day to beg for this and that. Being gifted in rearing Malatya Escort Bayan beasts of burden, he was more of a tolerated worker that could tend to the royal stables and be allowed the privilege.  The King’s advisors seem to favor him, swaying the Queen begrudgingly to allow him to speak when she’d wanted to ban him and let the peasant work! Every week, the lesser would enter the throne room, kneel and plead for her favor. A well for the beasts to have more water, more land for grazing, an abundance of metal for tools. It was always need, need, need!  By the second month, Samira knew what time of day the man would be there to kneel before her, smelling of grass and cow.  She wrinkled her nose and sniffed into a perfumed cloth.  “Speak.” She commanded. Samira crossed her legs, the servant on her hands and knees beneath her did not move as she was being used as a footrest.  “My Queen.” The man didn’t meet her eyes, head bowed and eyes averted. He was bald, head shining in a bright, torch-lit throne room. His skin was a tawny brown, and his body was strong like a hard-working soldier.  “Despite my best efforts, the animals have been restless. I fear there is little I can do to ease their panic. If they do not breed or become at ease, then there may be a famine. I was…” He seemed to hesitate. “…I was hoping that the men of the temple could perhaps provide a sedative, or, or something that will make them less prone to outrage and resume breeding.”  “You want the animals I eat to, to be intoxicated? And to frolic with lust on aphrodisiacs?” The servant beneath her tensed as the ball of her foot dug into her spine. “Of all the foolish notions! I allowed your stink in my court for this?”  The man whose name she never cared to commit to memory opened his mouth, clacking his teeth together when her hand swiftly rose to silence him. Beside her, two advisors leaned into both sides of her ears and spoke quietly.  “I too have my suspicions of his method, My Queen. But his character has proven to be trustworthy thus far.”  “Yes, yes, My Queen. Perhaps we ought to have one of the apothecaries to have a look and report.”  Her head whipped in both directions to stare at them, brows furrowed and lips parted with a deep downturn.  “These are animals! Not men. The peasant seeks to use them for himself and his low-born women, surely!”  The man did not say anything, keeping his head down low.  “My Queen. We cannot afford to suffer from famine.”  One of the advisors lowered his voice further.  “With the King off to war, our coffers are thin as it is. The people will not work if they cannot eat. Please My Queen, might I plea to err on the side of caution?”  Samira inhaled and rolled her eyes to exert full exasperation.  “In two weeks!” She said, loud enough to be heard at the entrance many paces away from the throne. “You shall be granted use of our medicines. However, in two weeks, if you cannot make the beasts breed then the cost of the expense shall fall upon your head!”  Whatever his name was.  Three days passed and already the hearing was out of her mind.  She indulged in spending more and more time with her handmaids, finding the boredom etched away as she took to experimentation.  Massages with imported oils meant to stimulate the skin, drinking wine from the crevices of their soft cleavage, relaxing on her belly as a dozen hands gently brushed against her skin. Using three of them as furniture as she was served her meals was perhaps the best.  There was nothing quite like the cushioning of a beautiful pet bowing for her, Escort Malatya and eating straight from the naked flesh of another. No honey tasted as sweet as sucking directly on a soft, pink nipple of her most pale servant.  One day remained until the dreaded confrontation with the lowborn. She intended to spend time in her garden, listening to the bubbling of the centermost fountain before something bright in the sky caught her attention from the corner of her eye.  No more than a moment had passed before a servant knocked at her chamber door requesting her presence.  The palace was abuzz with clergy bowing slightly more abruptly before nearly running elsewhere. There was not this much chatter in the halls since her husband left for the campaign!  “It’s evil!”  “What of the King?”  “We must prepare.”  “We must urge the citizens to pray!”  “ENOUGH!”  The temple hall silenced as Queen Samira breathed heavily from her fast-paced walk. A plush, wicker chair was promptly placed down for her and she sat, eying the priests up and down.  “Speak plainly,” was all she said as a command. For the dozen men in the room, they swallowed and began speaking in even tones.  “An evil omen in the sky has just been sighted. It speaks of war, famine, and likely…” The man quieted, letting someone else finish.  “The death of your husband, the King. It seems to follow his path directly and we fear it will be the end of all our soldiers as well.”  As head priestess, this news did leave her silent and contemplating.  “What can be done then?”  “Well, under prophesied circumstances, the King and Queen would show gods and men their bond during a grand feast of worship.”  “Many sacrifices must be made, My Queen. To which we can scarcely afford.”  “And why is that?” Her eyes turned sharply to the last man to speak, and he swallowed hard. “The beasts of our stables have been in better spirits, however, if we choose to sacrifice those who have not engaged in fortification, we may have exactly what we need but we shall be low in number.”  “Eeeh, and. Well. Not only that but without the King, we are unsure if the ritual can even be done?”  A small, tiny, squeak of a voice caught their attention and a young servant boy held up a tablet.  “E-excuse me sirs a-and, My Queen.” He bowed as low as getting onto his knees before raising himself, trembling. Samira did not speak, which was not a clear indication that the boy should either, though he tried his luck anyhow.  “I found this tablet, and it says that a man and high woman of true devotion must complete the ritual.” He looked down at his bare feet, biting his lip. “I-if that helps.”  The question everyone asked themselves was who that could be, with the exception of the Queen.  The festival would commence in two weeks’ time, and she locked herself in her chambers that same day, pacing and throwing anything that was not too heavy to lift. Cushions, flowers, scrolls—random things lie upon the many furs and tapestry rugs that decorated her stone floor.  A man, touch her?  Her husband was awful enough!  His blubbering, clumsy thrusting as she lay nearly flat under him. His vile sweat smeared her makeup as he thought to hold her face to his hairy chest, grunting and panting above her. She longed to swim the Nile when he finally climbed off of her, semen coating her belly as he thought he was inside of her after slipping out.  The thought of some man-thing rutting atop her like that again made her shriek and angrily destroy a water vessel, painting the sandstone-colored walls dark with liquid.  She needed wine, and her servants to clean the place before she retired for the night.  Throwing wide her doors, she stormed out of the room.  Hours passed too fast as she was needed for approval everywhere she turned. Her feet ached, her head hurt, and the men of the cloth were wise to not bring up the subject of her ire.  

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