From the lowest of the lowborn women to the highest noble classes, word spread: the prince was looking for an addition to his harem.

The gossip mills immediately started churning and didn’t stop. Prince Orfeo was heir to the throne and, according to rumor, one that his iron-gripped father Tereus found decidedly lacking. The young tanuki was said to be lazy, cheerful, a bit dim, and something of a doormat—in a word, everything Tereus wasn’t.

His Majesty the king was popular with the aristocracy, but among certain lowborn segments of the population, some called him Tereus the Tyrant.

Still, being added to the royal harem was nothing to scoff at, not even for a woman of noble lineage. Past kings had been heavily influenced by their concubines—the current king’s great-grandfather had abolished the slave trade thanks largely to the advice of his favorite mistress—and even without the promise of power and influence, it was a life of indulgence and luxury, tempered only by the knowledge that you would be having sex at the royal whim. And was that so bad?

…of course, if the rumor mills were accurate, the reason why the harem was soliciting newcomers had to do with more than just sating youthful desires. Tereus wanted a lineage and was said to be dissatisfied that his son hadn’t yet produced one.

Many royals had been born of concubines, so the situation was not without precedent. The woman recruited could expect to be bred.

That turned off a fair few women who were otherwise interested, but it just made one young kobold—Serafina the sapphire-scaled—all the more ready.

Serafina had lived her whole life on the streets of Braston, the kingdom’s capital, and she knew first-hand how cold life there could be. She’d watched childhood friends disappear, lured away by false promises or succumbing to diseases that nobles received medicine for in a quick trip to the apothecary. She’d fought tooth and nail for scraps of food scarcely worth half a penny. She knew which parts of town to avoid at night lest you receive a knife between your ribs.

Many of the women applying for the audition would be highborn, or at least from comfortable backgrounds. If they didn’t make it, they’d have someplace to fall back on; a net to catch them. Serafina had nothing but the streets, and she had no intention of going back.

A life of security and luxury? Holding the ear of the future king? It sounded like the perfect escape. And even the thought of bearing future heirs didn’t dissuade her. After all, who would be more influential to a future king than the mother of his children? Plus, if she had to admit it… she didn’t find the thought of being bred unappealing.

Reclining in the shade of an alcove, the blue-scaled kobold burned firemoss, the herb making her nerves dance and her lungs burn. She watched the acrid smoke drift up to the high stars above. The auditions were open to all, an opportunity that she could not recollect in her lifetime. She wasn’t going to squander it.

The date approached and the women of Braston readied themselves—and not just them, either. From across the kingdom, noble trains began to drift in. Serafina watched them arrive with contempt. Haughty, pampered women carried in hansoms, fanned by fawning servants. They had likely never done anything close to a day’s work in their life. Would they be up for bearing royal heirs? Was that really a burden they were prepared for? Serafina doubted it.

The trains came in escorted by heavy armed guards: dragonborn and orcs and half-orcs and jotuns, all burly and done up in armor. A little under two years ago, the caravan of a very influential noble’s daughter had been set upon, and the women carried off—the young pandafolk heiress among them. None had ever been seen again. The event had shocked the kingdom, in part because of its brazenness, in part because of the high status of its victim; the pandafolk girl had been but a breath away from royalty. And though years had passed since that event, no noblewoman went anywhere on the highways without a veritable small army of guards.

Women on the streets vanish all the time, Serafina thought spitefully, reflecting on young women who disappeared, turning up days later dazed and used in alleyways—and those were the lucky ones. Yet no one breathes a word about us. The wagon train of one noble filed past her in the street, a hulking dragonborn shooting her a contemptuous gaze. She’d had kicks aimed at her by guards like that over the years. But one of their own falls prey, and years later they’re still wringing their hands.

(Serafina didn’t think the pandafolk—or any noblewoman, for that matter—had deserved the fate that likely befell her after her disappearance. She was not cruel, and the fact that such predations still occurred on the royal highways was one of several reasons why she held Tereus in low esteem. But she still found it hard to be anything but bitter when observing the disparity with which her own class was treated with theirs.)

But despite her low opinion of the highborn, as more and more of them arrived, Serafina had to admit something to herself: just in terms of presentability, she could not compare. A pampered life of perfumes and oils and silks made for a softer, more appealing specimen than her wiry frame that had grown lean and hard on the streets.

As audition day approached, Serafina gulped and decided to make a gamble.

Three silver crowns; all she had in the world. It was the amount a well-to-do shop could expect to make in a few days, but for her, it represented a lifetime of scrimping, saving, and careful planning. Serafina had never known a real family; her mother had been a brothel-worker who had succumbed to one of the illnesses which plagued her profession when the kobold was young. Afterwards, she had been turned onto the streets. She’d started from nothing, and for her, these three coins represented her life’s work.

And to raise her chances with the prince, Serafina spent them.

The first crown was spent on a set of nice clothes. Not a noble’s finery; a single crown was far from enough to buy such an outfit, and there was no point in pretending she was something she wasn’t. She had no idea how to wear a gown, and anyone looking at her in such an outfit would recognize her as a pretender. But a set of clean new leathers, flatteringly cut, dyed a tinge of maroon to complement her cerulean scales? Yes, those would look presentable and send the desired message—I may be poor, but I have pride and the knowledge to use what I have.

Half a crown got her a week in a small but reputable boardinghouse, enjoying the rare feeling of a real bed at night. The day before the audition, she’d visited a bathhouse. There, she’d put the rest of her money to use. Her scales were scrubbed clean by the attendants until not even a speck of dirt or grime remained; oils were massaged into her skin, and she was touched up with a small shine that left a breath of luster to her scales. The halfling woman who attended to her—of an age to Serafina herself—had quickly struck up a friendship with the kobold, asking what this was all for.

Serafina hadn’t felt the need to hold anything back.

“The prince’s harem…” the young woman had breathed, rubbing Serafina’s back with an oil-rich cloth. The kobold leaned into it; the slight pressure was heaven on her tight muscles. “You’re braver than I am, miss, but I think you have a shot.”

“You really think so?” Serafina had asked her.

“Better than those snooty, pompous—” the halfling began with fire, only to blush and look around sheepishly. Thankfully, they were in a side chamber, just the two of them. “I’d rather one of us catch the prince’s ear, if you get my drift,” she said.

Serafina nodded. She got her drift exactly.

“Plus,” the young woman added, color touching her cheeks that couldn’t exclusively be blamed on the bathhouse’s heat, “I think you’re very… um, what I mean to say is…”

Her words broke off with a gasp as Serafina curled her tail around the woman’s leg. The kobold reached up to her chin and pulled her close.