Iris spun on her heel giving her flowing black skirt a flutter in the breeze she made by motion. The drinks on her dark wooden tray didn’t slosh even a drop over the rim and the smile never left her face. She bent over the table where she’d made her little pirouette and set the tray down amidst the group of her customers.

“Here you go. Four glasses of our finest.” With swiftness and grace as her hands flew out and moved each glass to the front of her respective table members. Her dark hair tumbled free, still swaying from her attention grabbing flourish a moment earlier.

Each of them were dressed as she expected, with low hanging cuffs that one would expect out of the nobility and bright peacock patterns on the lapels. Thin stylish beards bedecked with twirling gold woven into the hairs caught the glinting lights of the magic stones overhead.

But though they appreciated her little show and the way her heaving breasts were exposed somewhat teasingly when she bent forward to lay down their drinks, when the projection appeared on the white screen on the wall, everything about Iris was forgotten.

Iris looked up and knew exactly why they were no longer looking at her. Gottfried Jabara was entering a massive arena, the mystical eyeballs drew close enough to get a good look at him. He wasn’t especially tall, but at seventeen, he was still growing.

Dark hair and clean shaven, he was good looking, even chiseled. His considerable muscle mass was on display as he was also bare chested, wearing only a pair of long forest green battle cloth with a gold and purple braid around his waist, it hung loose down to his thighs, fluttering in the breeze as he stood on the sands. He raised his fist into the air, and the crowd of thousands in the stands roared with excitement.

Iris snuck a moment to watch as Gottfried’s opponent entered the ring, a towering figure carved out of muscle, thickly bearded with a shaved head save for a single long braid that bounced as he trod onto the sands. Grayish green skin and thick tusk-like teeth, a champion of the orcish kingdom to the east. He was seven and a half feet tall if he was an inch, with the sun at his back, the two fighters closed the distance between each other. “You fight in my shade today, human.” The orc behemoth said, mocking laughter, rough and rocky, reached every ear in the arena and those watching the mystic screens around the Empire.

“Aye… that may be true.” Gottfried retorted, craning his neck to look up at the figure who blocked out the sun, “But you’ll be sleeping beneath my shade when we’re done!”

The orc’s laughter was replaced by the laughter of a watching empire.

The patron caught a glimpse of Iris’ brief look at the screen. “Are you a fan?” He asked as the fighters touched fist to fist before pacing out the distance between one another and the arena went silent.

Iris knew exactly what to say, ‘Play to their interests, even if they’re not mine.’ She reminded herself, “Who wouldn’t be? He’s the strongest man in the world.”

She cracked a smile and the table of men were suddenly paying more attention to her, “Have you seen him fight before?” One of the nobles asked, he had sharp, dark eyes with the high cheekbone features highlighted by the glowing stone against his pale skin.

“Only here, sir, only here. I can’t afford tickets to something like that… kind of expensive, you know?” Iris asked rhetorically and brought the tray back up, holding it in front of her chest.

“Right… well you could always come as a… guest.” The smallest and thinnest of the four suggested with an arch little smile, “We would enjoy your company, I’m sure.”

Iris didn’t freeze, she put her sweetest and most endearing smile on and then pointed to the screen, “They’re beginning, my lords.” She said, and true to her words, the gong rang.

She made a hasty retreat from the table, rushing away before the fight could be ended. “Ohhhhhh!” The nobles at the table threw themselves back and their arms up at what must have been a devastating blow. Nor were they alone, other tables were responding similarly. Reflexively, Iris looked over her shoulder, though she didn’t slow her withdrawal from the table.

Their reaction, from what she saw, was appropriate. The orc’s tusks were snapped off in Gottfried’s hands, and the better part of his gruff pug-like face was a bloody mess, courtesy of Gottfried’s knee.

With the absurd strength of a godsheir, the young man hurled the orc champion over the sands, bouncing him along as if he were a smooth stone skipped over still waters.

She winced on the injured orc’s behalf, his limbs were floundering and flying about until the distant arena wall arrested his progress with a thunderous crash.

By then, Iris was ‘clear’ before her customers could start to get handsy. “I need five, that alright, Mistress Lyrica?”

“Sure, send them the usual?” The tall blonde woman asked, glancing down at Iris, who quickly nodded, her grey eyes rolling with annoyance.

“Yeah, give them the special, they won’t remember if they ordered it or not. I’ll bend over once to check it, say it’s right, and it’ll be fine.” She smirked and looked back at the silk wearing soft nobles who’d begun chattering about the ‘fight’ in excited tones, gesturing and pretending they’d thrown one of the flurry of punches themselves. Wide smiles and excitement. “Get the drinks ready, I’ll need to keep the liquor flowing if I don’t want any bruises on my ass tonight.”

Lyrica gave a mute nod and Iris went into the back, pushing through the swinging door.

Iris swallowed hard and went out the service door to the back, the evening was young still. She sighed and leaned her back against the thick brick wall. “I’ve been on for twenty minutes, and I already hate my shift.” She mumbled and took a deep breath. ‘Perverts have started early… I hate fight nights…’ She held her tray tight against herself and just kept breathing, squeezing her eyes shut, she looked down the length of the alley, and then in the direction of the street. Carriages drawn by tall horses went past, a steady clip clop noise over the smooth gray block pavement. Carriages glinted in the light with vibrant emerald, gold, and ruby shades emblazoned on them all, driven by young servant boys holding long black whips to drive horses forward or people away.

Iris closed her eyes for a moment, then a moment more, before venturing back inside. ‘At least Lyrica is nice…’ Iris swallowed hard and went back in, as she passed a table, she jumped a little when she felt a sharp pinch through the cloth of her dress. She turned, a smile plastered on her face, leaning forward to give a view to her own table she said, “No, no, that’s not yours.” She winked at the old man with the glassy brown eyes and wrinkled body wrapped in clothing of expensive silk.

He practically drooled over the childish reprimand, but before he could go further, Iris backed out of reach, straightened, and spun gracefully on her heels to approach her table.

It already had food, an abundance of it, tan crackers and long oysters on a wide spinning multilayered tray. Another layer had expensive chocolates rolled into small dark balls, while the highest layer had a small number of expensive rich golden cheeses in thin round slices.

‘Great. The pervert platter.’ Iris bemoaned her private nickname, if they had that, they’d already finished what she’d sent to them before her short break.

She bent forward without the tray in the way of their view of the valley of her bosom. “Did you enjoy the fight, gentlemen?” Iris asked with her ruby lips formed into a deep, rich smile.

They had mildly disappointed faces, crestfallen, downcast eyes, like children that hadn’t received the gift they wanted. “No one challenged Gottfried…”

Iris cocked her head, “I’m sorry, my lords?”

“When the fight is done early, the sands open up to challenges… but nobody offered to take him on…” One of the four, an earl if Iris could guess from the clothing.

“No, I understand, my lords, but it’s Gottfried Jabara, who would do that?” She tittered a bit, and to hear their favorite fighter praised seemed to please them all immensely as they perked up.

She felt the hand behind her, rubbing through the fabric of her dress. Iris ignored it, “At least there’s another match coming up.” She pointed out the swordsmen entering the sands.

Iris appraised them both, Jiroh of Xandi versus Amari of Shogil… Jiroh will win.’ Iris swallowed hard and closed her eyes, ‘Quick, before his hand goes ‘under’ the dress!’ She told herself, “You make a wonderful offer, so… generous, my lords… so how about a bet.”

That had made the hand on her body stop still. They looked at her with great interest. “A bet? What kind of bet?” They looked her up and down, their eyes were full of lust, their breath quickened a little at the upscale servant’s suggestion. With no money of her own, there was only one thing she could offer.

She smiled and reached back, taking the hand from off her ass and holding it in her palm she whispered in a sultry, dusky voice with a heavy lidded stare down at them all, “If Jiroh loses, I will join you the next time you go to an arena match, I assume you have booths?”

They nodded and swallowed, looking over her willowy form. “But if Jiroh wins, then you leave a fifty percent tip… each.”

Confronted by both their lust’s fulfillment and the potential pricking of their pride, when Iris released the slender and slowly wrinkling hand she held, the nobles leaned in, trading silent glances, they came to their conclusion.

“Agreed.” They promised. “Do you want it in writing?” The slender one asked.

‘House of Law.’ Iris guessed immediately, but shook her head.

“No, you’re nobles, your word is good. And if it isn’t…?” She paused, ‘Who would enforce it?’ She mentally asked, but said out loud, “Well then now you know never to trust each other. If someone would cheat in the small things, they’ll cheat in the large.”

That made them do a double take, educated men, they knew the expression she used, but she only smiled enigmatically and stepped away to curtsey, “I’ll have another round of drinks to you before the fight ends, my lords.” She said and spun beyond their reach with a dancer’s grace.

The evening went on, and Iris did what she knew to do, she made bet after bet with each of her tables, seemingly winning more and more while her customers got more and more intoxicated and ever more enthusiastic about the fights.

Hours later, the fights were finally wearing down and Iris finally managed another break outside. She reached up and touched her enchanted collar. It glowed a little, and during her short rest she began to do numbers on what she was making for the house that day. ‘If I do a few dances tonight, White Stag should get enough for my upkeep, food for the month, then enough to cover my last debt payment, some of the principal and then the magic cost for…’ Iris closed her eyes.

‘Will I actually be able to pay for her care this month?’ Iris asked herself, swallowing hard, she had a brief moment of obliviousness before a hooded and cloaked man approached.

“Spark?” He asked, holding up a little purple leaf that was wrapped extremely tightly.

Her eyes flew open, in the dark space between the two buildings in the middle of the night, she couldn’t see anything of who it was, but still she felt no sense of fear. ‘Nobody would attack anyone here.’ She reassured herself and held up a finger. [Spark] she said, and the little flame lept from her finger to light the end of the long tightly wrapped purple leaf.

“So you work here, right?” He asked.

“Yes, my lord.” Iris answered, immediately wary, ‘If he’s a noble and I don’t kneel… but then if I do my uniform… I’ll have to pay for the cleaning magic or…’

He seemed to sense her tension. “Relax,” he said with a quiet voice, “we’re not going to be bothered out here, and you’re on a break, everybody needs those sometimes.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Iris felt her body start to relax a little and she leaned back against the wall again.

He inhaled the smoke from the purple leaf, ‘Money, lots of money… nobody else can smoke the purple.’

“How’s the food?” He asked, she couldn’t sense that he really cared much, but rather that he just wanted to make conversation while he smoked.

“Good, very good, master.” Iris said truthfully, “The wine is good too. They’ll have music here when the last fight is done, and I’ll be dancing.”

Even without seeing his face, she saw the way he appraised her, looking her up and down with one motion of his head, the thin wafting smoke of the leaf obscuring his hooded visage.

“So are you good at it?” He asked, she wasn’t sure if she was being teased, but she answered with professional pride.

“I’m one of the fallen ones,” she lifted her chin to show the silver collar around her throat, then touched it with one hand, allowing it to glow like mild moonlight, “I had classical training at an academy and a private teacher, so to answer your question, My Lord… I’m not good, I’m incredible.”

“You’re confident, I like that.” He said with a low chuckle.

Iris gave him a snarp, bold nod.

“So then you’re not…?” He let the question hang, she could feel the way he shifted, like he wasn’t sure if he should ask.

“One of those, no, this isn’t a brothel, My Lord.” She said with a little huff, “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I need to go back inside.”

“I look forward to seeing you dance, I’ll be on the upper floor, so… do give me a good show.” He smiled and dropped the last quarter inch of purple leaf, it hissed on the wet ground.

“I’ll wave up there when it’s my turn, My Lord.” She promised, and opened the heavy wooden service door again.

“You do that.” He said, and turned around to go back around to the front.

“Alright, Iris. You can do this.” She encouraged herself and watched as the screen on the wall faded and the first dancer of the evening took position in the center. From the corners of the room the sound of stringed instruments began to ring out and the chattering of patrons began to fade. The dancer was a slender elven woman wearing the same black and white maid like outfit that Iris wore. Her toes clicked and tapped for a moment while she began to move, but Iris didn’t bother to watch. She glanced around the room instead. The White Stag had a large open plan with slender green marble columns interspersed throughout. Each table held no more than four, and each one separated by no less than four paces allowing for private conversation.

The lower floor was filled with nobles and the wealthiest of merchants dressed in bright silks, the bar held those who were wealthy enough to be present but not enough so to afford a table. Then there was the VIP area above. ‘Sure he’ll be on the upper tier… nobody has had that in weeks.’ She snorted. ‘I’ll either not see him at all, or I’ll see him at a table down here and he’ll have some story to spin about it being ‘cleaned for him’ or something.’ She tried not to laugh while she watched the disappointed four noblemen ogling the woman who twirled and cast her blonde hair around like a whip.

‘Not bad.’ Iris admitted when she occasionally glanced that way. The crowd loved it. ‘She’ll get good tips.’ Envy briefly flooded her, followed by overwhelming shame.

‘You’re not a burden…mother. I didn’t mean it that way…’ She cast the thought to the forefront of her mind, ‘You didn’t ask for this…’ Iris reminded herself and forced the lump in her throat to go back down into her gut.

The dancing woman stopped with a loud stomping of her feet, her bosoms heaving, her eyes out into the dark crowd from where she stood in the light of the glow stones around her ‘stage’.

“You’re up, Iris.” Lyrica said, putting a delicate hand on Iris’s shoulder.

“Alright… have them play something… fast.” Iris said to the manager.

Lyrica chuckled, “You’re a mean one, how will the others compete?”

“Badly.” Iris grinned and walked the long wall to take her place.

Her knee bent several times, her heel rising and falling as the instruments began in sync with one another.

Her hands spread out, slightly away from her thighs, then slowly rose and she began to spin, rising slowly to the balls of her feet, then higher. To her toes, to the tips of her toes, and then as the music went faster and faster, she barely bobbed and launched herself off the strength of her toe alone into the air as if she intended to kiss the very sky.

Her dress flung up around her but her flesh spun so quickly that it was impossible to truly see what she’d exposed. When she landed she barely slowed down until her legs were one straight line a perfect split, which she then, in time with the rhythm, used to bring herself back up, bouncing with each little pull of her legs so that her chest bounced with her. She blew a kiss to a figure in the dim light on the upper tier, and when she was up, she flipped backward, sending her dress down to briefly expose herself but too fast for anyone to actually be more than teased.

When the music stopped, she stopped with it, her arms up and crossed at the wrist while her legs stood shoulder width apart, striking the familiar position of her sale.

Applause was plentiful and in spite of herself, a smug smile was on her face as the most powerful men of the city for the moment, put her worth beyond gold.

She kept herself against the wall, out of reach of any of the patrons, she ignored some of the glares of the other servants, and briefly enjoyed a contented glow at being the center of attention.

Enjoyed it that is, until she saw Lyrica completely pale and looking up at a very large, imposing orc, and he was pointing not at Lyrica, but at Iris herself.

Iris’ heart began to race, her limbs began to quiver. “That one. Now.” The orc in a bright scarlet cloak worn outside of a green laced shirt with purple and golden laces running up the center to black lapels.

It was the purple that made her heart pound. ‘Purple… the royal family… I didn’t do anything…’ She looked at Lyrica with wild hope.

Lyrica looked back at her with pity in her downcast eyes. “Has she… done something, Iris was expensive.”

The orc crossed his arms. “Her. Now.” He said in the same gruff voice.

“But-” Lyrica started to object, the orc let out a low growl, and Lyrica fell silent. “T-Take her.”

“Lyrica… Mistress…? P-Please…?” Iris squeaked, and the Orc had enough. His powerful green hand latched onto Iris’ slender arm and immediately drew a whimper from the slender woman.

He began to march her along the wall, his long legs eating up ground so fast that his walk forced Iris to a scurrying kind of run. She pulled at her arm, but it might as well have been trapped beneath a mountain as within the meaty fingers of the orc, and so on she went.

She shivered in fear all the way to the stairs that would take her up to the second floor. ‘Please… please don’t let it be her.’ Iris prayed on a loop to the gods that had abandoned her, until her prayers died when the orc’s free hand touched the handle.