7 Become the property of a nobleman.
Night had just fallen, when, alerted by the sound, Rhea lowered her skirt, put away her breast before jumping out of bed and pulling out her two swords. Less than twenty seconds later, several relatively tall men forced their way into her room and appeared in front of her.
All of them, were clothes identical in every way to those of soldiers stationed in small and medium-sized towns are, quickly, they walked away to make way for a smaller one wearing a significantly different uniform.
"You're the woman answering to Rhea's name, aren't you? Here is a legally document designating you as the property of Our esteemed Viscount Lassale. Follow us without resistance and no harm will come to you."
So, she legally belonged to someone? Without knowing why, Rhea immediately thought that this situation must be due to a certain young idiot monk who certainly must had been duped by anyone small-scale crook.
A little hesitant about the attitude to adopt towards these guards who in these remote lands are responsible for the respect of the laws imposed by the King, Rhea decided to take her hands off the pommels of her swords.
Poor man's soup, hard bread and a bedroom that smells musty... After all, a rich Viscount shouldn't be so bad to get to know this Kingdom better.
"Well, show me this document and if it is legally, I will follow you without protest."
No better treated than a cattle being taken to the butcher's, locked in a metal prisoner's cart, Rhea observes these things that the soldiers have placed around her wrists.
According to the little she knows, these bracelets, intended for people under arrest, would be made of a solid metal alloy and an extract of a magic plant supposed to act as a natural inhibitor on magicians.
Having no more information on the subject, the young woman straightens her head. This ox cart is definitely too dark. To remove this depressing atmosphere, Rhea extends her right hand upwards.
The little ball of white light floating in front of her eyes confirms what she suspected.
This kind of trinket, which is supposed to block the powers of magicians, loses all its effectiveness on a person who does not handle magic the way people from this world do.
Rhea has already been able to appreciate the very moderate talent of some magicians belonging to the Kingdom of Visgon.
Certainly, these men and women were not among the elite of their kind.
She even supposes that they were even very far from it. However, however modest their skills may have been, it is no less true that in order to be able to cast spells of very low power, all of them had to sing long useless words and concentrate deeply, in order to gather around them a mass of fines particles that are probably the source from which they draw their powers.
Finding the time a bit long and having lost all interest in these bracelets, Rhea gets up.
The trot of the four big draught horses resounds in the sad oxcart. This noise, already exhausting for the eardrums, is further accentuated by the sound of the guards who, on their own mounts, have fun banging the pommel of their swords against the metal of the young woman's wheeled prison.
"Hey, sweetie, how about a little stop so we can get to know each other better?"
Aware that giving too much credit to these four morons who are supposed to (escort) her, would encourage them to continue, Rhea also prefers to ignore their words without much interest.
The only opening of her metal cart isn't that big. With less than eight inches wide by eleven inches high, it's not easy for Rhea, who holds the bars firmly, to enjoy the landscape.
The last roofs in a pitiful state of multiple colors soon disappear from her sight. The great western gate of the city is soon crossed, and then quickly, it is these majestic silent mountains that Rhea likes so much, which seem crushing the heavy wagon that slowly continues its path.
In the middle of a small dirt road swallowed up by the stone giants, between the howling of the wolves, the hooting of an owl that flies peacefully over her metal prison and the few chirps of the scattered birds, Rhea, who has managed to disregard the intrusive sounds, closes her eyes and takes advantage of the restful gift that nature offers her.
The handsome blond man, comfortably seated in his purple velvet armchair with gold wrists, looks condescendingly at this unworthy worm who, if he asked, would lick his feet without even hesitating.
This Viscount is not a little proud to belong to one of the purest line of men composing the Kingdom.
Direct descendant of one of those who conquered these lands at the time when there were in these places only uncivilized savages, he curses however his ancestor for having accepted these mountains unworthy to welcome the illustrious Name of Lassale.
Why during the division of the lands, the first Duke Lassale was satisfied with this rocky place? He turned this question over in his mind day after day for more than twenty years, but the great man with powerful arms still does not manage to obtain an answer that could satisfy him.
From Duke, his family became Marquis. Then from Marquis, his name was dragged through the mud twice more. This shame on the Lassale ceased the day his own father, a worthless person as useless as a bad land administrator, was made a simple Viscount.
Lack of military contributions to the Kingdom. Until he came into the world, his predecessors spent their time to indulge in lust and silk.
Lazy predecessors, non-fertile land, limited hunting, supply difficulties, itinerant traders unattracted by its mountains...
In these lands far from everything, that the craftsmen always flee from, the money who disappearing to the coffers a little more each generation, prevented his ancestors from paying the taxes demanded by their King.
Tired of this Lassale family living on the confines of the Kingdom, one day, a Prince had a brilliant idea. To kill two birds with one stone, the young man proposed to his father, that this family without ambition be downgraded.
Interested in his son's idea, knowing full well that no Noble or official would take the defense of an embarrassing Duke living too far away to come and socialize in the Capital, the King cheerfully signed a document which the next day, safely in the inside pocket of a courier, was on its way to the city of Vinos.
Thus, following the receipt of a simple letter stamped with the Royal Seal, the Lassale family was removed from power. They, the Lassale, cousins of the King at that time, great contributors to the creation of the Kingdom, had just begun their slow and gradual descent toward the lower nobility.
"Can you assure me that woman is a beauty? I have reason to doubt your words after seeing that depressed-looking monk you gave me."
In the luxurious drawing room of this vast castle on a small mountain three miles from Vinos, kneeling before the mighty man who rules with an iron hand over part of the Velezes mountain range, the grey-haired crook can't help but worry.
While all those he asked him have assured him that this woman could make a eunuch's dick stand up, he who has travelled the country knows that these men are sorely lacking in references.
Apart from the mercenary women whose arms are thicker than his thighs and the ugly city women whose mouth deformed by their twelve crooked teeth would disgust the most valiant pervert, these brutes have only a few small wild goats for any contact with the opposite sex.
Several lines of sweat run down the slightly bald forehead of the grey-haired man whose whitish complexion reveals his growing anxiety.
What characteristics can these barbarians attribute to a woman to make her a true beauty?
It's far too late to back down. He does not ignore how cruel this Viscount, made Colonel by the current King himself, can be when he feels he is being looked down upon.
The grey-haired man is gambling his life without even having seen or tested the merchandise.
He knows that by tomorrow morning there is a strong probability that he will pass through the large multicoloured glass door with both feet in front, but after taking a deep breath, the croupier of the dubious basements opens his flattering mouth.
"So beautiful that after him put his expert eyes on her, His so honourable Lordship will not want to touch his other concubines. Upon my honor, I commit myself to it. I, the Fox, supply my esteemed customers with only the finest products of the finest quality."
The grey-haired man used to taking bets has just stake his life.
Yet no reassured but wearing a sincere smile on his old weasel face, he is convinced that if the great man is satisfied with his gift, the one who will benefit most will be none other than himself.
"Your Lordship, the merchandise has just passed through the gates of the front garden."
A slight nod to the servant, the viscount turns again to the scoundrel, who must surely be one of the least trustworthy men he's encountered to date.
"Well, as you so insist, I wish you not to unleash my wrath with deceptive words. This point clarified... Guards, arrest this creeping vermin so that I may quietly judge the truth of the promises made by that old man with the mischievous eyes."