<strong>Crimson Dove</strong><br/><br/>When Sulir finally put the whip down, he was breathing heavily, his skin bright with sweat. He shucked his changshan, with its confining collar, leaving himself clad only in silk trousers that hung loosely from his hips, partly masking his adonis belt.<br/><br/>Sulir's hands closed on Dove's thighs, almost tenderly, almost trembling with lust, a feverish light in his eyes. His fingertips trailed down her bruised skin, tempted, tantalized -<br/><br/>With a visible effort, the sadistic artist tore himself away from Dove, his arousal outlined underneath silk, and sat at the easel again. The brush strokes were savage and furious, as though he sought to excise his lust for her by punching through the canvas.<br/><br/><br/><strong>Nellens Daga</strong><br/><br/>The courtesan's soft hand met the magistrate's, her painted lips curving slightly.<br/><br/>“I am glad to hear it, Your Radiance. It is always an honor to serve,” she said, her fingers moving kindly over his skin. Those fingers slipped under his hand, and made the coins disappear with a stunning rapidity.<br/><br/>Her chamber boasted a minimalist style – sheets of white samite, trimmed in blue, covered a low bed; a tall, shallow teak closet loomed in one corner, opposite a low table that held only a simple white porcelain shrine, little more than a shallow bowl surmounted by a slim, feminine figure whose modesty was only preserved by her long blue hair.<br/><br/>“I could not help but overhear some of what the Legionnaire said,” the courtesan said later, as the white cedar door of her bedroom closed behind them. The open windows looked out on the rushing river, whose burbling sounds hid those of lovers, and sometimes of darker pastimes. Her dark eyes watched him carefully for any signs of temper. “She should not have said it. House Nellens is the most virtuous of them all - the true children of the Empress.”