Satira smirks as she watches the women gather around the Prince, preening and flaunting themselves as they vied for his attention. Of course, she knew the truth, she was his favorite, a position she had worked long and hard to obtain. Let them whore themselves out to him, they would never hold the position she did. Her talents went far beyond the bedroom, she understood the court, the schemes, made it her business to know who was in bed with who, both figuratively and literally. No, Satira had little fear of losing her position, she was too good for that, but, not to let them forget that, she shifts from her position in front of the polished black marble pillars of the open air hall and saunters her way across the hall.