have

than the average

dancer. Such incredible grace. Lithe, fluid. And I was always struck by her feet. The prettiest feet I ever saw. Quicksilver. High-arched, slim-heeled, perfectly shaped toes.
The girl entered the howdah. The fourth and fifth girls followed. The prince went up last, drew the curtains behind him.
Kungas stood as rigid as a post. He could not help it. Neither that, nor his face. Like iron, his face, as always when he faced danger. Now, like carbon steel.
At his side, he sensed the general's alertness. Behind, he could hear the slight sound of the general's guards moving forward.
This may be the most dangerous moment in my entire life.
His had been a harsh existence, filled with hard decisions. Now, Kungas made the easiest decision he had ever made. And, he thought, perhaps the best—certainly the purest—in a generally misspent life. He took some pride, too, in the fact that his own survival played not the slightest role in making the decision.
Which doesn't solve my immediate problem. Keeping from getting my throat slit. No point in trying to pretend—oh, no, not with this general. Not with those men behind me.
Besides—
A rare grin broke out on his face. (To Kungas, a grin. No one else would have called it that. A flaw in the iron, perhaps.)
"So many women. Well, we'll certainly have to make sure that they're well protected. I shall instruct my men to keep anyone from pestering the prince's concubines. From even approaching the howdah, in fact. Or his tent, at night. He's a prince, after all, bound to be full of royal pride. I'm sure he'd be outraged if anyone caught so much as a glimpse of his women."
Kungas could sense the quick thoughts in the man next to him. A moment or so later, the general