My new one, Trained at the Castle, is rather different from anything I've written, or read. In it, I imagine a world where the power of submission is material, and even dangerous.
Kesin gestured to the knights, and they sheathed their swords. Bomen opened the chest and took out the leather strap, two feet long and two inches wide, with which he would test the girls as they rode. Prentos went to stand by the pedestal next to the horse, upon which a basin full of soapy water, and several towels, had been placed.
“You will ride until I declare that your trial has ended,” Kesin said. “That may be only a minute or two, or it may be longer, depending on what I observe. I may command Sir Bomen to whip you with the strap.”
The smith’s daughter gave a little cry of fright at that, and Kesin looked at her with as gentle a smile as he could muster. “He will not strike very hard, child. If you need the strap, you will understand why, when I command him to use it. But probably I will not command the strap at all.”
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