Genre: non-historical Historical Fiction?
Baypat now walked past me. I thought she might be Bulyar’s daughter, not his wife. The same eyes and cheeks, even the dimple on their chins matched. I thought she was thin, but her sleeveless dress showed wiry muscles that tightened and relaxed in spasms. She scared me. I cowered and turned my shoulder, hiding my gesture against the evil eye under the cloak. As she walked, she stripped down, removing her foxtail cape and dropping it on the ground. She took off her skirt and her tunic to toss to one of the slaves, leaving her breastband and a short skirt. She stopped in front of me. “He loved me best because he gave me his heir,” she said, and then, at the top of her voice, repeated the claim.
Violna was now taking off her garments. The elegant dress was not thrown onto the ground as Baypat’s foxtails had been. A young woman – a relative, possibly one of Violna’s daughters – took the dress and carefully folded it over her arm and pulled a cloak over it. Violna took a leather thong and tied back her hair as she circled the courtyard again. “FARIDA!”
Where Baypat was muscle, Violna was curve and grace. Her stomach undulated as she walked around the courtyard as if she were dancing. She called again. “FARIDA!”
“You’re going to say he loved you best, aren’t you?” Violna pointed up at Farida, who shook her head.
“N-N-Nnnno,” she stuttered. “No, he didn’t.”