Flora felt a thorough loathing for this imbecile hypocrite. But she realised that she was in his power, and that to set him at defiance could be productive of no good. Hard as it was to have to dissemble, it gave her the only hope of ultimate escape. And now that her first great outburst of grief had passed, there came back a desire for life.
“Your Majesty is severe,” she answered.
“It is necessary to be so when we are surrounded with enemies. It is hard to distinguish friends from foes now, and we must make our position secure. But say, are we to look upon you as an enemy or friend?”
“I am only a helpless, defenceless woman, and should make but a puny enemy, indeed, against your Majesty’s might and power.”
“That is true. You reason well. But you speak mere words. Your heart thinks otherwise. No matter. We confess our hatred for the whole Feringhee race, and yet we do not wish to war with women. You are a woman and a captive. Kings from time immemorial have turned their captive women to account; we will use you. You shall be numbered amongst our favourite slaves. You shall occasionally enliven our spare moments, and when you cease to charm me—Well, no matter; much depends upon yourself. If you are obedient, your life will be one of ease and luxury.”
“I understand your Majesty well,” Flora answered, her face reddening with indignation, and her heart almost bursting with grief, which she struggled to conceal. “I will endeavour to be obedient. Slaves have no choice. But am I to enjoy no more liberty than is afforded by these confined limits?”
“No. You have luxurious apartments, and you are free to exercise upon the terrace whenever you wish. That is all the liberty we can allow you.”
Flora sighed, but she saw that it was better to accept her fate with resignation, and wait patiently for what the future might bring.
“Your Majesty is in power,” she answered, “and I acknowledge your power—more I cannot do.”