Chapter 13: Royal Business as Usual
The scent of crushed bougainvillea petals, sharp and sweet, hung heavy in the sun-drenched afternoon air as Ira stood frozen in the dappled shade. The rhythmic slaps, the girl’s high-pitched gasps ("Harder, Yuvaraj! Fuck this humble servant harder!"), the violent jiggle of obscenely large breasts and pale, rippling ass – it was an assault on the garden’s tranquility, yet undeniably captivating. Her son moved with the focused brutality of a warrior testing a new weapon, his sweat-slicked back muscles coiling and releasing with each punishing thrust.
Arjun’s head turned, catching her gaze over his shoulder. A slow, possessive smirk spread across his face, acknowledging her presence without breaking his relentless rhythm inside the whimpering courtesan. Pride, fierce and unexpected, surged through Ira, momentarily eclipsing any flicker of surprise. "Impressive stamina, Yuvaraj," she called out, her voice carrying clearly, calm and authoritative despite the lewd tableau. "Your dedication to… assessment… is commendable." She stepped fully into the clearing, the silk of her emerald sari whispering against the manicured grass.
The girl on the bench jerked at the queen’s voice, a startled yelp escaping her. Arjun merely grunted, delivering another deep, testing shove that made her huge breasts sway violently. "Focus, whore," he commanded, gripping her wide hips tighter. "The Queen observes." He didn’t slow. If anything, his pace became more deliberate, a display of raw, masculine power for his mother’s benefit.
Emboldened by Ira’s presence and Arjun’s command, the courtesan seemed to shed her earlier nervousness. With a fluid, practiced movement, she pushed the bunched sari completely off her shoulders. It pooled around her waist, leaving her torso utterly bare. The sun glistened on sweat-sheened skin, highlighting the impossible weight and fullness of her exposed breasts, their dark nipples peaked tight. "Better, Yuvaraj?" she gasped, arching her back further, offering herself completely. "Easier… to inspect… all of me?"
Arjun’s laugh was a low rumble. "Marginally." His eyes flicked back to Ira. "She boasts impressive assets, Mother. But enthusiasm needs tempering. Too noisy."
Ira walked closer, circling the bench like a commander reviewing troops. The scent of sex, sweat, and crushed greenery intensified. "Volume can be trained out," she observed coolly, her gaze appraising. She stopped near the girl’s head, looking down at the flushed face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. "The endowment is undeniable. Structure seems sound. But," Ira leaned down slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur aimed at Arjun, though loud enough for the girl to hear, "is the foundation stable? Can it withstand sustained… pressure?" She reached out, not touching the girl, but indicating the junction where Arjun’s hips pistoned against the enormous, jiggling buttocks.
Arjun understood immediately. He shifted his stance, widened his grip, and drove into the girl with renewed, brutal force. The impact was audible, a meaty smack echoing off the nearby pavilion’s marble. The girl shrieked, her body jolting forward, her massive breasts slapping against the cool stone bench. "Yesss!" she wailed, tears springing to her eyes. "Break me, Yuvaraj! Please!"
"See?" Arjun grunted, maintaining the punishing tempo. "Resilient. Overly dramatic, but resilient." He met Ira’s eyes, a spark of shared amusement and appraisal passing between them. "Perhaps a touch too much padding here," he added, delivering a sharp slap to one quivering buttock that left a red handprint. The girl moaned, pushing back harder.
Ira nodded thoughtfully. "Agreed. Aesthetic balance requires consideration alongside function." She straightened, scanning the edge of the clearing. Three other young women, identically dressed in simple cotton saris, stood waiting nervously near an oleander bush, their eyes wide. Ira crooked a finger. "You. Next. Approach."
A slender girl with large, dark, kohl-rimmed eyes stepped forward hesitantly. "Your Majesties," she whispered, bowing deeply.
"Disrobe," Ira commanded, her tone casual, as if asking for tea. "Assume the position on the bench."
The girl’s hands trembled as she untied her sari, letting the fabric slide to the ground. Her body was a stark contrast to the first – petite, with small, high breasts and narrow hips. She bent over the stone bench, mimicking the first courtesan’s pose, though her back arched with less confidence.
Arjun withdrew from the first girl with a wet sound, leaving her gasping and dripping onto the grass. He moved to the new one, his cock glistening and thick. He ran a hand over her small buttocks. "Skinny," he commented, almost to himself.
"Potential," Ira countered, standing beside him. She traced a light finger down the girl’s spine. "Observe the line, Arjun. Elegant. Less cushion, more… direct sensation. Test her receptiveness. Depth." She placed a hand on the small of the girl’s back, applying gentle pressure. "Arch properly, girl. Present yourself."
Arjun guided himself to her entrance, pressing in slowly. The girl whimpered, her body tightening. "Tight," Arjun noted, pushing deeper, making her gasp. "Very tight."
"Encourage her," Ira instructed, her voice calm, instructional. "Guide her rhythm. She needs to learn to yield, not just endure. Tell her how to take you."
Arjun’s hand landed firmly on the girl’s backside. "Relax, little dove," he ordered, his voice losing some of its harsh edge, becoming almost coaxing. "Push back against me. Like this." He demonstrated a slow counter-thrust with his hips. "Open yourself. Good. Now… deeper." He surged forward, burying himself fully. The girl cried out, a sound of startled pleasure this time. "Again. Meet me." He established a slower, deeper rhythm than with the first courtesan, focusing on penetration rather than force. Ira watched critically, nodding approval.
"Better," she murmured. "She learns quickly. Good flexibility." She turned to the next girl waiting – fuller figured, shy eyes. "Your turn. Show us your mouth." Ira gestured towards Arjun’s cock as he continued to move within the second girl. "Cleanliness is paramount. Demonstrate your technique."
The third girl knelt gracefully on the grass near Arjun’s hip. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and took the base of his shaft in her hand, her tongue swirling around the crown before engulfing him with surprising depth. Arjun groaned, his thrusts faltering for a moment. "Eager," he managed.
"Thorough," Ira corrected, watching the girl’s technique. "Good suction. Minimal teeth. See how she uses her tongue underneath?" She glanced at the fourth girl, still waiting. "Take note. You’ll be next." Ira turned her attention back to Arjun and the girl beneath him. "Sufficient. Release her." Arjun pulled out, leaving the second girl trembling on the bench. He stepped towards the kneeling girl servicing him. "Stand. Present your assets."
As the third girl stood, pushing out her ample chest, Ira caught Arjun’s eye. "The first one had the structure, but lacked finesse. This one," she nodded to the kneeling girl now standing proudly, "shows promise in oral service. But none yet demonstrate true… mastery." A familiar heat, sparked by the spectacle and her son’s potent presence, bloomed low in her belly. "Perhaps a demonstration is required."
Arjun’s gaze sharpened, a predatory gleam lighting his eyes. "By all means, Mother. Instruct them."
Ira didn’t hesitate. With the regal grace that commanded courtrooms, she walked to the stone bench. The second girl scrambled off. Ira untied her emerald sari with deliberate slowness, letting the exquisite fabric slither down her oiled, voluptuous body, catching on her hips before pooling at her feet. The courtesans inhaled sharply, their eyes wide at the queen’s revealed magnificence – the full, heavy curves, the hourglass perfection, skin glowing like polished amber in the sunlight. She bent over the bench, her movements fluid and confident, her magnificent backside presented with an elegance that dwarfed the others. She turned her head, her dark braid falling over one shoulder, her eyes locking onto Arjun’s. "Observe," she commanded, not just to her son, but to the awestruck courtesans. "This is how a queen receives her king."
Arjun was upon her in two strides, his hands claiming the ripe swell of her hips. "Gods, Ira," he breathed, reverence and raw hunger warring in his voice. He guided himself to her entrance, slick from watching and her own arousal. He pushed in with a single, deep, possessive stroke, filling her completely. A low, satisfied moan escaped Ira’s lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, not pain or submission. "Yes…"
He began moving, a powerful, rhythmic thrust that emphasized depth and connection rather than brutal speed. Ira met each stroke, rolling her hips back with exquisite timing, her inner muscles clenching deliberately around his invading length. "Feel it," she instructed, her voice thick but clear. "The rhythm is a conversation. He gives…" She pushed back firmly. "...you receive…" She tightened her internal grip, drawing a guttural groan from Arjun. "...and give back. Not just taking. Sharing the power." She arched her spine, presenting her entrance more fully. "Angle controls the sensation. Here…" She shifted slightly, guiding him to brush a specific spot that made her gasp, her composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "...for intensity." She adjusted again, slowing his pace. "...here for depth, for feeling every inch." Her words were punctuated by the slick sound of their joining, the rhythmic slap of flesh, her own soft cries of pleasure, and Arjun’s increasingly ragged breathing.
"Perfect," Arjun growled, his fingers digging into her flesh, mesmerized by the sight of her perfect ass yielding to his thrusts, by her utter command of the act. "Gods, Mother… you ride it like a throne."
"Control," Ira gasped, pushing back hard, forcing him deeper still. "Control your body’s responses. Control his." She clenched again, fiercely, milking him. "Let the pleasure build, don’t chase it mindlessly." She turned her head further, meeting the stunned eyes of the courtesans. "Learn!"
Arjun’s control shattered. Ira’s expert guidance, her dominance within the submission, the sheer perfection of her body accepting him, drove him over the edge. "Ira!" he roared, his thrusts becoming frantic, shallow jerks as he buried himself to the hilt and erupted. Hot pulses flooded her depths, his seed spilling out around their joining point, dripping onto the sun-warmed marble of the bench. Ira cried out, her own climax triggered by his release and the intense pressure, her body shuddering violently around him, milking every drop.
They stayed locked together, breathing raggedly, the scent of sex and jasmine overpowering. Arjun leaned heavily over her, pressing kisses to her sweat-slicked shoulder blade. "No one… no one compares," he murmured against her skin.
Ira slowly straightened, his softening cock slipping free. She turned, facing him, her body gleaming, his seed trickling down her inner thigh. She ignored it, her gaze sweeping over the awestruck, silent courtesans. "That," she stated, her voice regaining its full composure, though breathless, "is the standard. Strive for it." She looked at Arjun, a satisfied, possessive smile curving her lips. "Satisfactory assessment, Yuvaraj?"
"Exemplary, Maharani," he replied, his eyes dark with lingering desire and profound admiration. He stepped closer, his cock, though spent, still thick and heavy. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "But… my queen deserves her own mark. A final blessing for the day."
Understanding flashed in her eyes, a spark of eager anticipation. She sank gracefully to her knees on the soft grass before him, amidst the scattered bougainvillea petals. She looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with devotion and a fierce kind of love. "Anoint me, my king," she whispered, opening her mouth slightly, tilting her head back. "Let your subjects see their queen adorned by her Lion."
Arjun needed no further encouragement. His hand wrapped around the base of his cock, already stirring again with unnatural vigor at the sight of her kneeling submission. He stroked himself firmly, his gaze locked on her upturned face. The courtesans watched, transfixed, as the young king brought himself to full hardness over his kneeling mother. With a few rough pulls, he was ready. A thick, pearly bead formed at the tip.
"It suits you," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Wearing my claim." He aimed carefully.
The first hot jet struck Ira squarely on the cheekbone, thick and viscous. She didn’t flinch. The second splashed across her forehead, near her hairline. The third landed on her chin, dripping down onto her neck. More followed, painting streaks of white across her regal features, catching in her dark eyelashes, spattering the bridge of her nose. She kept her mouth open, catching several spurts directly on her tongue, swallowing deliberately, her eyes never leaving his. Ropes landed on her collarbones, mingling with the sweat on her décolletage. He milked himself slowly, thoroughly, adorning her face and neck with his essence until she was glistening, marked from brow to throat.
He sighed, a deep sound of utter contentment, as the final drops fell onto her waiting lips. She closed her mouth, tasting him, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his hip, her sticky cheek resting against his thigh for a moment. "Thank you, my Lion," she murmured against his skin.
The midday sun beat down. The fountain’s distant splash was the only sound beyond their breathing. Arjun helped her rise. She stood, proud and tall, his seed cooling on her skin, a living testament to their bond. Servants emerged silently from the palace shadows, carrying fresh towels and robes. One began to gently blot Ira’s face, but she waved them away. "Leave it," she commanded, her voice regal, echoing in the quiet garden. "Let them see." She turned to Arjun, picking up her discarded sari, not bothering to don it yet. "The grain reports won’t review themselves, Yuvaraj."
Arjun nodded, accepting a towel to wipe himself. His gaze lingered on her marked face, a possessive satisfaction settling in his chest. "Nor the garrison inspections." He pulled on his trousers and tunic. "Until tonight, Maharani."
"Until tonight, my king," Ira replied, her eyes holding his, the promise in them as potent as the scent of his seed drying on her skin. She turned, still gloriously naked except for the streaks of white, and walked with unhurried grace back towards the cool palace halls, leaving the stunned courtesans and the scent of sex and jasmine lingering in the sunlit courtyard. Arjun watched her go, the image of her anointed face seared into his mind, before he turned his attention, and his lingering energy, towards the barracks. Duty called, but the mark of their union would fuel them both.
The scent of crushed jasmine from the courtyard still clung faintly to Ira's skin, mixing with the sharper, cleaner aroma of sandalwood incense within the newly consecrated nunnery. Cool marble floors, polished to a high shine, reflected the soft light filtering through high, arched windows, illuminating the hushed gathering of women clad in simple saffron robes. Ira stood before them, her presence commanding the austere space, clad only in a scandalously tiny choli of gossamer-thin crimson silk that barely contained the heavy swell of her breasts, and a diaphanous skirt of palest gold that did little to conceal the curve of hip and thigh beneath. Dried streaks and flecks of Arjun’s seed, starkly white against her sun-kissed skin, still adorned her cheekbone, jawline, and the valley between her breasts – a visceral testament to the morning’s passionate assessment in the garden. "Our realm embraces devotion in many forms," Ira explained, her voice serene, echoing slightly in the quiet hall. "The Divine Feminine is not merely asceticism, but the potent, life-giving force embodied in flesh and spirit. You serve Her here, nurturing compassion, but remember," her gaze swept over the wide-eyed novices, some blushing, others looking fascinated, "the divine spark resides also in the sacred union, in the surrender and claiming that fuels creation itself."
A ripple of surprise passed through the saffron-clad figures, a collective intake of breath. A young novice near the front, her eyes fixed on the dried streaks on Ira’s face, whispered something to her companion, who nodded mutely, cheeks flaming. The senior nun, a woman with calm, observant eyes, merely inclined her head. "We are learning, Maharani," she said softly, her voice steady. "The ways of the Lion Throne are... distinctive. The ritual blessing by the high priests assures us of its sanctity." She gestured subtly towards Ira’s state. "Even its... manifestations."
Then, the heavy teak door at the far end of the hall swung open silently. Arjun stood framed in the doorway, sunlight haloing his broad shoulders. His gaze, sharp and hungry, instantly found his mother. He moved with the silent, predatory grace of the jungle cats that roamed the palace grounds, his boots making no sound on the cool stone. He didn’t interrupt her speech; he simply flowed towards her, the focus in the room shifting palpably. The nuns stiffened, some bowing their heads, others watching with unveiled curiosity. He stepped directly behind Ira, so close the heat of his body radiated against her bare back, the faint scent of leather and sun-warmed skin cutting through the incense.
His large hands, calloused from sword and bow, settled on her hips, possessive and familiar. Slowly, deliberately, they slid upwards, tracing the indent of her waist beneath the tiny choli, then cupped the magnificent, full weight of her breasts. His thumbs found her nipples through the thin silk, circling, teasing them into hardened peaks. Ira’s breath hitched, a soft sound lost in the hush, but her composure didn't break. She arched her back subtly, pressing her lush curves more firmly into his hands, a silent welcome. "...and so, the stewardship of the Sacred Grove falls to you, Sisters," she continued, her voice remarkably even, though a deeper warmth infused it. "Its herbs hold potent healing, like the potent energies we channel through..." she paused, her eyelids fluttering slightly as Arjun’s fingers kneaded her flesh with increasing pressure, "...through focused intention." One hand slid lower, over the swell of her hip, grasping the plump, firm curve of her left buttock, squeezing and massaging the resilient flesh through the flimsy golden skirt. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear, his breath hot. "Still wearing my blessing, I see," he murmured, low enough only for her. "Good."
Ira smiled, a secret, intimate curve of her lips. "A queen wears her consort’s devotion proudly, my Lion." She addressed the nuns again, her tone shifting to practical instruction. "Sister Chandrika, ensure the drying sheds are properly sealed against the monsoon damp. Rot is the enemy of potency." Arjun’s other hand joined the first, kneading and shaping the generous globe of her right buttock now, his fingers digging in appreciatively. The nuns tried valiantly to maintain focus on their queen’s words, but their eyes kept darting to the young king’s possessive hands moulding her figure. A novice stifled a gasp as his grip tightened visibly.
"Maharani," the senior nun ventured, her eyes flickering between Ira’s serene face and Arjun’s hands, "the... the potency of certain roots... requires specific lunar phases..." Her voice trailed off as Arjun’s hands slid around Ira’s front, dipping below the waistband of her flimsy skirt, his fingers seeking the warmth and hidden secrets beneath. He found the smooth curve of her belly, then lower, tracing the junction of her thighs. Ira inhaled sharply, leaning back fully against him for a heartbeat. "Indeed, Sister Shanti," Ira replied, regaining her rhythm, her voice gaining a breathy undertone. "The moon governs the tides of energy, both in the earth..." she pressed her hips back against the firm ridge of Arjun’s arousal straining against his trousers, "...and within us." She reached behind her, not with hesitation, but with a queen’s casual assurance, her fingers finding the laces of his trousers. The nuns watched, transfixed, as she deftly loosened them.
With a slow, deliberate movement that was both an offering and a command, Ira gathered the shimmering fabric of her flimsy golden skirt in her hands. She lifted it smoothly, bunching the material around her waist, exposing the magnificent, rounded orbs of her bare buttocks to the cool air of the nunnery. The skin there was flawless, slightly paler than the rest of her, impossibly smooth and plump. She arched her spine, presenting the tight, furled knot of her anus nestled between them, glistening faintly with a touch of oil she must have applied earlier. "For you, my king," she murmured, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder, looking up into his heated gaze. "What you came for. Claim your solace."
A collective, soft gasp escaped the nuns. Sister Shanti closed her eyes briefly, lips moving in silent prayer or invocation. The young novice who had whispered earlier stared, eyes wide as moons. "By the merciful Devi..." breathed another.
Arjun groaned, a deep, visceral sound of need. His hands dropped to grasp her hips firmly, thumbs spreading her cheeks slightly, exposing the delicate pucker more fully. He admired the offered gift, the contrast of her regal bearing and this intimate vulnerability. He spat thickly onto his fingers, then pressed the moisture against her tight entrance, swirling it, feeling her muscles flutter in response. "Gods, Ira," he rasped, his voice thick with adoration and lust. "This perfect ass... always ready for its king." He positioned the blunt, swollen head of his cock against the resistant ring of muscle. He applied steady, inexorable pressure. "Breathe for me, my heart," he whispered, his lips against her temple. "Open. Take me in."
Ira obeyed, exhaling slowly, deliberately relaxing the clenched muscles as she continued addressing the room. "The... the essence of devotion... resides in... yielding..." She gasped as the broad tip finally breached her, stretching her impossibly tight. "...to a higher purpose... a sacred... ah!... trust." Arjun pushed forward, an agonizingly slow, thick invasion, filling her channel with burning intensity. Her knuckles whitened where she gripped her skirt at her waist. "Sister... Vani... the ledgers... must be... reconciled... by dusk..." Her voice hitched with each fractional inch he sank deeper, her body adjusting, accommodating his girth. The nuns watched, a mixture of shock, fascination, and a dawning, uncomfortable arousal colouring their expressions. "Such... profound... dedication..." murmured one, her gaze fixed on the point of joining.
"All of me," Arjun breathed, shuddering as he finally seated himself fully within her snug heat, his hips flush against the glorious swell of her buttocks. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting her body pulse around him, letting them both feel the profound connection. "So deep, Ira. Clenching me like a fist." He began to move, not with the frantic energy of the courtyard, but with deep, languorous strokes, each withdrawal almost complete before the slow, deliberate thrust filled her again. The slick, rhythmic sound was obscenely loud in the quiet hall. Ira moaned, low and deep, pushing back against him to meet each inward glide. "The... the balance... of giving... and receiving..." she managed, her voice trembling with pleasure. "IsThe scent of sandalwood and crushed marigolds clung to the whitewashed walls of the newly consecrated nunnery, its arched doorways still smelling of fresh lime plaster. Ira stood barefoot on the cool stone floor, the ghost of Arjun's seed dried in streaks across her forehead, her sheer choli barely containing the sway of her breasts as she gestured toward the frescoed walls. "Sister Vasudha, note how the western arch catches the afternoon light—perfect for meditation."
A young nun's eyes flickered to the glistening trails on the queen's collarbone before darting away, her knuckles whitening around her prayer beads.
The whisper of boots on stone echoed from the corridor—too heavy for servants, too familiar to be guards. Ira didn’t turn. She knew the rhythm of those footsteps, the way they slowed at the threshold, savoring the sight before interrupting.
Warm hands slid around her waist from behind, calloused thumbs pressing into the divots above her hips. "Busy, Mother?" Arjun's breath stirred the loose hairs at her nape as he nosed along her neck, tongue flicking at a sticky patch of dried cum behind her ear.
She leaned into him, her ass pressing against the hard ridge in his dhoti. "Explaining the rainwater cisterns, beta. Sister Niyati was just admiring your… handiwork."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the gathered nuns.
Arjun chuckled, his fingers tracing the edge of her flimsy skirt where it clung to sweat-damp thighs. "I see you wore my blessing to the consecration." His palm slid up her belly to cup a heavy breast through the gossamer fabric, thumb circling her nipple with deliberate, possessive strokes.
"Should I have washed?" she murmured, tilting her head to give him better access as his teeth grazed her shoulder.
The eldest nun cleared her throat. "Perhaps Her Majesty requires—"
"Privacy?" Arjun finished, his free hand hiking up Ira's skirt to palm the full curve of her ass. "No need. They’ll learn our ways soon enough."
Ira arched into his touch, her skirt rucked to her waist now, baring her to the room. The nuns’ sharp inhales were almost as gratifying as the way Arjun's fingers dipped between her thighs, finding her already slick. "Mmm. Been thinking about the garden?"
"You know I have." She reached back to guide his wrist, urging him deeper. "Been wet since you painted me."
A choked gasp came from Sister Vasudha’s direction.
Arjun nipped Ira’s earlobe. "Shall I give them a proper demonstration of royal devotion?"
She laughed, low and throaty, then raised her voice just enough to carry. "Sisters, observe how the royal family worships."
His grip tightened. In one fluid motion, he spun her to face the fresco of the dancing Shiva, bending her over the low stone bench meant for prayer. The sheer fabric of her skirt pooled around her waist, her ass offered up like an offering.
"Slowly," she reminded him, bracing her forearms against the cool stone. "They should see how it’s done properly."
He teased her first, the broad head of his cock dragging through her folds, spreading her wetness, gliding over her asshole without entering. "Like this, Sisters?" he mocked, his free hand splaying across the small of her back. "Preparation is key."
Ira pushed back, taking just the tip, her body fluttering around him. "Deeper, Yuvaraj. Show them how a king fills his queen."
He sheathed himself in one smooth thrust, drawing twin moans from them both. The nuns’ shocked whispers faded into the background as he set a languid, rolling pace, each withdrawal making her clench, each forward stroke pressing her breasts against the bench.
"Feel how she takes me?" Arjun growled, his palm smacking her ass for emphasis, the sound ringing off the vaulted ceiling. "No resistance. Just… perfect."
Ira’s fingers scrabbled at the stone. "Tell them—ah!—tell them why."
He leaned over her, his chest to her back, lips brushing her ear. "Because she’s mine. Every inch. And she loves proving it." His thrusts grew harder, angled to make her see stars.
The bench creaked. A clay lamp shattered as Ira’s hip knocked it over.
Sister Niyati made the sign of the lotus over her heart. "Such… fervor in their faith."
Arjun’s laugh was dark. "Wait till you see how we pray at sunset."
Ira came first, her cry muffled against her own arm, her body milking him as he chased his own release. When he spilled inside her, it was with her name on his lips, his fingers tangled in her braid like an anchor.
They stayed joined for a long moment, breathing in the scent of sex and incense. Then Ira straightened, her skirt falling back into place as if nothing had happened. "Now, Sisters—about those cisterns."