You tense as you feel a soft, feminine hand on your shoulder. It belongs to Wauna, the serving wench who's been eying you all night. If you had Sapphic leanings, you might be eyeing her back. She is a very fetching young redhead, and the low scoop of her serving dress displays the curves of her firm bosom very nicely.
Truth be told, you've been training in one form or another for so long, and automatically fending off advances every time you come into town, you don't know which way you lean, if at all.
Maybe when your time with Armarieja is over, you should spend some time trying to figure out which way the wind blows you.
But tonight, you just want the drinking and storytelling to end so you can go to your bed. Alone.
The feel of Wauna's hand on your shoulder makes you think that there are some who want to share your bed with you.
But when Wauna leans close to whisper in your ear, she doesn't say what you're expecting to hear.
"There's some who are getting tired of the storytelling," she says in a quiet voice. "And they don't plan to tolerate another night of it."
Wauna walks away as the table laughs, assuming that the redhead has whispered something ribald to you.
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