Page 10 of Crown of the Courtesan

On a typical Bidding Ceremony night, I wave at the people and toss coins, but now my arms refuse to move. In the dark cab of the carriage, my palms struggle to stay bright. I shake my hands vigorously as if I can fix the fading glow. Passing a group of screaming children, I toss the entire bag of coinage out the window, slumping back in my seat. I’m unable to think about anything except Madame Phyrne and her haunting words.

But would it be too late to make amends?

Deep down, I already know the answer. Balor will not bid on me tonight. The bruises after our last fight are still faintly visible under my gown—every tender touch a reminder. A little part of me is glad Lir couldn’t see the marks when he ran his hands over them. This isn’t something he can protect me from.

Five

We cross the drawbridge over the Hetaira River, passing under a raised portcullis. A gray beauty of pinnacle-topped turrets and spires, Alexandria Castle boasts a massive keep full of windows and crawling ivy. Waterfalls cascade down from the garden battlement walls, creating a low roar as the dark water lazily encircles the castle, separating it from the city.

I’ve attempted to glimpse the rumored merrows swimming in the moat during previous trips, but they fail to interest me tonight. My heartbeat slows, but nothing can remove the dread filling my veins.

Wheels crunch the gravel as the carriage pulls into the round drive. A footman opens the door, and I step down and gaze upward. The keep towers over everything, including most of the indigo night sky. Behind it, the constellations shine especially bright, twinkling above it all.

If the fae do exist, are they like the stars, laughing down at us?

My name, screamed, brings me back to the ground.

The nobility gathers on the emerald lawn to observe the subjects of their bids and bets. Fresh from their countryside estates, they spread out, resembling a swarm. Every year, they’re a nuisance. They give barely enough space for the Lady Courtesans to edge onto the rose-petal pathway leading into the arched stone entrance.

I advance down the path, looking straight ahead and avoiding the sides, refusing to acknowledge the audience. A plume of foul breath mixes with strong perfume.

Rude remarks pass from one nobleman to another:

“I wouldn’t count on her this year.”

“Even her glow has dimmed.”

A lady of high rank screeches incoherently as her friend whispers behind her feathered fan, but I still hear, “Yes, yes, yes, I’ve heard the same! He’s been seen out with no fewer than seven debutantes as of late. Preparing for a new bid, it seems.”

Not wanting to, but deciding to do it anyway, I break my rule of never making eye contact with the crowd. Through the faces, I search for Balor. If I could just see him, it would reassure me of what to expect. But he’s nowhere in sight.

I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes at what I see instead. The High Lords and Ladies have no scruples with their revelry as their speech and actions become sloppy. Whatever intoxication I feel from the stolen wine dissipates thanks to being surrounded by those who are drunker. Someone slurs my name, trying to get my attention, but I turn away and walk into the brightly lit castle.

The receiving hall connects to the ceremonial chamber via the ballroom, all linked like a chain beneath the ornate and mighty arches that bridge the heart of the keep. Above me, a painted ceiling of majestic and mythical creatures spreads, supported by columns with metal ivy climbing their cylindrical frames. At the far end, the king’s throne platform juts out into the ceremonial chamber, providing ample space for the audience.

A butler-guard announces in a deep voice: “High Lady Courtesan, Tabitha Rilea.” My first and middle name. Belonging only to Alexandria, courtesans possess no family titles.

Every head swivels as I glide down the center aisle to the Stage of Ceremonies in front of the raised platform where the throne sits. King Xander always positions himself at the highest vantage point.

My throat tightens. A wave of panic threatens to overcome me before I remember the most important rule of being a Lady Courtesan during the Bidding Ceremony.

I’m not a person tonight.

I am a jewel.

Jewels don’t have feelings.

Sought after for their beauty, jewels never feel the sting of passing between hands.

I repeat this to myself over and over.

Tears blur my vision, but they do not spill over. Instead, a puddle of insecurity pools in my stomach. I’m usually so good at bottling up my emotions in public, molding them so I can play my part. I save my breakdowns for the loneliness of night, so why do I crumble like this?

Keep going, a small voice in the back of my mind declares. There is no other choice.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I join the line of Lady Courtesans and take my place on the Stage of Ceremonies. Candles burn from the crystal chandeliers, illuminating us, mixing with our glow, creating a shimmering trove of beauty. We watch as the courtiers and nobility take their seats. Everyone waits for the monarch with bated breath.

Typically a rambling and fair-tempered man, King Xander is now curt and to the point as he leans heavily on the arm of his Captain of the Kingsguard. “Here we gather today to embrace a tradition as time-honored as the Kingdom of Alexandria itself,” the king says weakly, a bit of spittle flying from his mouth. “Let the Bidding Ceremony begin.”