Page 24 of Nocturn

Upon reaching the platform, a hall with many doors was within view. All identical, with matching handles. The only difference; some of the handles had stockings draped across the top.

Miss Blane carefully opened the third door and peeked over her shoulder at me. As I neared, sounds of grunts and gasps reached my ears.

I entered the candle-lit bedroom, and the air left my lungs. The bread turned to sawdust in my mouth, and I struggled with the last swallow. Two nude bodies writhed upon the bedding. The red-haired wench and the man who had entered. He sprawled on his back, hips arching up while she writhed on top of him facing toward his legs. Her hands on her bare thighs, breasts bouncing. Behind me, Egan shut the door, encasing me in the chamber with Miss Blane. I whipped my head back and my gaze connected with Egan. He ripped his focus off me and turned forward, lips thinned.

“You have to watch,” Miss Blane murmured into my ear. I forced my attention forward, reaching deep for that impassivity. I had endured plenty of uncomfortable situations.

Nothing like this.

The man Venus addressed as Mr. Dod gripped the redhead’s waist. In a smooth turn, he rolled her onto her front, fitting himself against her bottom. The line of his bare back flexed with his hard thrusts. Wet sounds mingled with the slap of flesh on flesh.

I would be with the Warlord this way. Take him into my body similarly.

His pace quickened, hand banding around her nape to press her cheek into the bedsheets—and it was clear she loved it. Her body reacted to his touch, arching as her mouth parted with loud cries.

Would I be able to handle this?

I lifted my fingertips to my throat. My pulse thundered. A flush worked over my body, and I battled the urge to run away.

There is no choice. I will handle this.

Resolve settled over my shoulders.

“This is fucking,” Miss Blane said, wiggling her fingers in front of her as if performing some complex magick.

Fucking.

I struggled not to fan myself, but by the end of this, I was not sure my face wouldn’t melt off. The red-haired whore whined, her cries halting with her mouth open as her body strained. Then her body began to convulse.

It was quite clear she’d reached some sort of pinnacle with the slumping of her body. Mr. Dod’s thrusts became disjointed, frantic, and his bottom tensed.

Saints, the heat in here.

“Is there no concern for procreation?” My voice cracked.

“Sheaths, sponges, both imbued with magick. So no. If you want a permanent way to prevent conception, there are also methods certain potions can help with.” Miss Blane explained with calmness, unaffected by the events on the bed. She hooked her arm through mine. “Now to put it into practice.”

What in the Saints did that mean? The question joined the pile of things I had no framework for.

She tugged me out of the chamber.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Resistance

Miss Blane brought me to a chamber a few doors away from the orchestrated scene.

Egan and the second officer, Phillip, as I’d heard Egan address him, hovered near the door. A knock vibrated the wood.

“And here is our participant,” she crowed, flouncing over to the door before whipping it open. A man with bulging arms, a slim waist, and inky hair that hung into his eyes entered.

Egan stiffened. “What is this?” he asked.

“Training?” Miss Blane said as if Egan was daft. “She has to take part in it. That innocence clinging to her will not please Lord Draven.”

“This was not⁠—”

“I was told to train her to please the king. Are you denying this command?” Miss Blane crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.