"No, because I don't have a perverted mind like you and our dear king."
"I just can't believe they allowed it—"
"He's the king, nobody allows or disallows him anything."
"The council does! What's the point of them if they let him just trot about with twin brothers as concubines!"
The second man snorted and poured himself more wine. "I think you sound jealous, not scandalized. The nobility are an entity unto themselves, leave them to it."
"I'm just saying—"
"Shut up and drink, and save your fantasizing about twin concubines for when you are home alone in bed."
The first man rolled his eyes but conceded defeat, and they moved on to gossip about some coworker and their boss.
Twins? Was that true? So the kingdidhave concubines now; his gossip was thoroughly out of date. Did he have others, or just the pair? They must be lovely, all dressed up and attending him. Jankin had only ever seen a smattering of paintings and drawings of the royal concubines, and information about them and the inner workings of the entire system was scant. Tavamara was generous in many ways, but they rarely shared knowledge about their harems, not even with Rittu, Jankin's homeland, who had somewhat similar practices, though they operated quite differently.
Eventually, the second man left, and Jankin moved to take his seat, putting on his best smile as the first man looked at him in surprise. "I could not help but overhear your earlier conversation about the royal harem. I don't suppose you would tell a confused and curious foreigner all about them? I am hoping to perform there, and I'd like to learn all I could, and I know the etiquette regarding the concubines can be quite tricky for a foreigner."
The man laughed, immediately at ease and taking on a bit of arrogance. "No foreigner will ever get close enough to the royal concubines for that to matter. If you do manage to dance for His Majesty, at best he might be pleased enough to offer you a drink that will be delivered by one of them."
"How many concubines does he have?"
"Three, including the famous Jackal, though how he achieved that, us lowly peasants will never know."
"The Jackal? That sounds delightfully intriguing."
That was all the man needed to start talking: about a judge and a terrible scandal, their son taken as the first concubine after entirely too many years of King Shafiq having none. Then the Jackal had arrived at the palace. Some said he was invited to perform, others claimed he was arrested, some even said he'd been hired to try and kill the king but instead found himself bewitched.
And then,and then, the man continued on excitedly, hands going everywhere, the additional wine Jankin had bought them in danger of spilling, out of nowhere had turned up a young man who was the very image of the first concubine, the nobles' son, a secret twin hidden from the world for reasons unknown, and in only a matter of a few weeks, he too had joined the harem, scandalizing everyone. Such a thing had never been done, not since the dark days, when the harem could be any size, and tens and tens of men and women filled it to serve at the whim of the monarchs.
That, somehow, led into stories of the last harem master, and the fearsome king who had changed the practice to just five concubines per ruling monarch.
By the time the man wound down, it was only because wine and exhaustion were clearly winning out.
Jankin thanked him profusely, bought him a bottle of wine to take home, and paid their server extra for attending them so generously right up to close.
Back out on the streets, he opted to return to his room, far too drunk and exhausted himself to manage anything productive, especially as he was pretty certain the sun would be up in just a couple more hours.
So to bed he went, and when he woke again, it was late morning, the city alive and bustling. He dressed for exploring, and packed away dancing clothes on the chance he needed them, ever hopeful of the opportunity he was so desperately seeking.
This would all be so much easier if he had been born nobility, could throw around his family name to gain access to the royal court, even if only the fringes of it. Alas, he was the son of a cook and a brothel madame, nothing useful at all, though his mother probably still made the best pork-stuffed buns in the kingdom, and his mama had retired years ago as madame, but was still busy in the industry because sitting still was anathema to her.
A trait Jankin had inherited for certain. He couldn't even bear to stay in the same country for too long.
After securing breakfast at a cart, he headed back to the market, where it seemed like he had the greatest chance of finding a place to dance or, even better, people to dance with. People meant connections, and connections meant access. Access meant attention, and there was no better high than all eyes on him.
So he wandered, watching various performers scattered around the market, from singers and jugglers to painters and jokesters…and, finally, some dancers, taking up a small stone square near the front end of the market, at the end of a wide street that seemed to lead, in turn, to the main square at the entrance to the city. That was probably where the real attention was gained, but those spots would be highly competitive and fiercely protected, not somewhere a foreigner would be welcome, especially not one just wandering in off the street.
No, he knew how to do this. He got a spot right up front watching the current dance troupe, what seemed to be a group of three, though only one of them had any sort of stand-out skill. He caught the woman's eye, head moving in time with the music, and made teasing motions to command spins and leaps, little challenges for her.
Eventually, as he'd hoped, she dragged him forward as a new song started. "You speak Tavamaran, pretty boy?"
"I do," Jankin replied.
"Then dance, pretty boy, show us you have the right to be so bossy."
"As you command."
