"The blade cut straight through two major thigh muscles. I can sew you up, save your leg, but you will always need a cane and you will never fight again."
Never fight again.
Never fight again?
What am I supposed to do if I can never fight again? Being a soldier is the only thing paying for my family. Without working legs, I don't have any skills or any resources. My family will be homeless. Destitute. Dead within a harsh winter. That is why my parents gave me to the prince as a child.
I don't see the doctor nod to my blank stare, or feel the stitches going in. The care instructions are the same as any other wound: keep it clean, don't use your leg, see you in a week. The doctor hands me a cane. I don't remember taking it, but the doctor is long gone before I even contemplate moving.
Before I know it, I'm in my tent staring at my belongings. They aren't really mine. The prince paid for everything, even the clothes on my back. I pack the bags, looking for the only thing I brought with me: the idols of my family my father carved for me. I slip them in my pocket when I find them, and finish packing everything else. I may be useless, but I refuse to cause some slave more work than necessary.
Once everything is as neatly packed as I can make it in my condition, I leave the tent and start walking. The dawn is flirting with the horizon, leaving the sky an eerie grey. I can care for the stitches on my own. The prince—my only friend—need not see me in this condition. I refuse to be a disappointment to him now.
I walk. Pain is nothing new to me, and I'm still numb from yesterday's battle. No one on either side bothers a wounded soldier. Especially one that is clearly on his way home. I am stopped and checked for messages a few times to see if I'm worth kidnapping and ransoming. I'm not.
It is midday before exhaustion gets the better of me, so I rest by the river. Once I cross it, I will be three days walk from home. The river is shallow enough to walk across, and I can swim, but neither is a good prospect with my newest set of wounds. The water will reach my chest in the deepest area, soaking all of my wounds and scratches in water of questionable purity.
There is a shallow area a mile to the north where I might cross. The water is ankle deep, but the stones are slippery. Three miles south, there is a bridge, but going that way will take the remainder of the day to cross the river. I am not totally useless. My arms still work. Maybe I can learn to be a cook? I could find something to do.
South.
To work and somehow earn money, I need to be as healthy as I can.
I've taken maybe five steps when I hear it. Hoofbeats. Riding fast.
I duck into the underbrush as fast as I can. My leg won't bend properly to curl up and hide. I can only hope whoever it is rides quickly past and pays me no mind.
I have never been that lucky.
The horse stops, the rider dismounts. I know those shoes. I've polished them daily for years.
The prince slides down the tree next to my hiding spot. He stares out at the river, looking more troubled than I have ever seen him. "Why did you run?" he asks. He looks like he wants to say more, but sighs instead and sags back against the tree.
"I suppose I shouldn't have left without saying goodbye, but you have no use for a broken bodyguard. Your father will not allow me to remain, and may even demand my execution for failing to use my life to protect you instead of my body. A dead guard is more useful than a broken one."
He remains deceptively lax throughout my little speech, but I know him, sometimes better than myself. His neck tenses, and his hands flatten on his lap as is proper and formal for a prince. He isn't facing me, but I know his court mask is shadowing his face, hiding his true feelings.
"You are not useless," he whispers, "never useless."
Where I expected anger, his tone only holds sadness. "I cannot protect you anymore," I whisper back, afraid to break the stillness. Afraid he might explode.
He does.
He is on his feet faster than I can contemplate, his hands pulling at his previously perfect hair. "You don't understand," he is whisper yelling now. Needing to be loud, but knowing too much noise could call two armies to fall around us. "These generals do nothing but lie. You are the only one who tells me the truth! We would have lost the war without your insight three times over by now! Did the generals tell me our supply lines were cut? No! That was you! Did they tell me we were out of silk and bandages? No! That was you! Did they tell me the daily state of troop moral so I would know if they could stomach a battle or needed rest? No! They didn't know! But you did!" He turns and looks me straight in the eye, "I cannot win this war without you!"
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"The laws are clear," I say, "I cannot remain. To do so would see my life forfeit."
He stares unseeing at my injured leg. I know this look. He is planning something. Something stupid that I will not like. He starts pacing.
"My father can dictate who is in my guard." He glances over to see if I'm paying attention. I nod. "He can dictate who I take on as an advisor—"
"—I would not be allowed to be an advisor, anyway. I do not come from a respectable family."
"Right. But do you know what he cannot dictate or deny?" This time he holds eye contact.
"No! No, you cannot possibly mean—"
He gets down on his knees in front of me and extends a hand. "Will you be the first member of my harem?"
He looks sincere. How can he look so sincere when this must clearly be a joke? I have waited too long to answer. His smile fades, but he does not move his hand.
"I am serious. We would not need to have sex. We can fake that part. I want to keep you close, use you as an advisor. This way, I can keep you close and make sure your family is taken care of. We would have to play a part, yes, but we have been close friends for years. Surely, we can handle some close contact."
I can't process this. Is he really? This can't possibly work? I stare at him, bewildered. He grabs my hand and slips his ring on my finger before pulling me up, and helping me on the front of his horse. He holds me the entire ride back to camp, whispering my new expectations in my ear. Together, we come up with a back story and a plan.
It's been twenty years since I became the now king's first concubine. The harem has grown significantly since then.
An old woman whose tribe we conquered and her daughter were the next to join. She had a deeper understanding of plants and roots than any we had encountered before or since. She taught the daughter her ways before she passed. With their guidance, the city is cleaner and healthier than ever before. Our country's remedies are world renowned, and she runs the infirmary and apothecary unseen.
The next to join was a present boy who worked as a builder. The prince noticed the new wing of the palace did not exactly match the plans, but the updates made the palace more secure and comfortable than the original plans would have. He tracked the person responsible down to find a boy of no more than fifteen changing plans behind the royal architect's back. He now checks all building projects and proposes ones of his own.
A young woman of about 18 joined us next. She came to petition the king about city planning. She argued that with some minor changes to the city to make chores easier for women, our exports would increase 75% and poverty would be significantly reduced. The king dismissed her concerns, and the prince promptly added her to his herem. He started making her proposed changes the second he was made king.
As is customary, the prince was bade to wed one of his second and third cousins from his grandfather's harem. He turned each away until he found a headstrong cousin for whom math was a delight. She knew more about the treasury and the country's economics than any other, and she hid it well. They were married within a week and she now spends most of her time with us in the harem, calculating the cost and return of our proposed projects.
Then, another boy joined our ranks. The prince saw him in a lineup of prostitutes on the front lines. His eyes were hard as a soldier's, and not broken like the other slave whores. The prince asked for him, fed him, and got him talking. He knew every plan, every secret, and could predict every move of all advisors and generals on both sides of the war. He is now our spy master, who receives information from a network of whores, slaves, and servants.
It was hard in the beginning. The advisors and the king did not understand why the prince would bring members of his harem to every council meeting. He didn't care, and while the prince's sexual appetites are low, his reputation implies a constant need for queer proclivities.
Now that he is king, the people take is "appetites" in stride. He even augmented the council chamber so we can all listen in to his meetings and propose strategy and plans in real time. Even other kingdoms accept us in the room for negotiations. Which is where we are right now: in peace treaty negotiations with a neighboring king. We hope to prevent war.
I am reclined against my king's legs, from the pillow on the floor. He looks regal across from the other king while I rub his legs and his feet. It has been hours since the negotiations started, and the other king and his poor servant boy have both learned to ignore me. They always make that mistake. Every tap on his legs, every pressure point on his foot and press of my hand is a code. One I am passing to him from the way the other concubines arrange the weave of the tent fabric they sit behind unnoticed.
They say our king is smart. He is the most formidable opponent. He can out maneuver any tactic, and his people are the wealthiest and healthiest in the lands because of his genius. That isn't entirely true. We, his concubines, are the force behind his might. Every plan, every maneuvering, comes from us.
But I still think our king is a genius. Only a genius could have assembled a team of advisors from every class and station and hidden them so they would be overlooked and underestimated. Only a genius could have found such talented people, kept them close, and listened to every suggestion.
This king we are negotiating with will get the worse part of this deal. He thinks he is only treating with a king, but he is really treating with all of us: the king and his harem.