Page 4 of Crown of the Courtesan

“You are so beautiful,” he moans.

“If only that were true.”

A beautiful shell.

A rotten core.

“You are more than what eyes can see.”

He focuses on my breasts, pulling them out of the top of my bodice, pinching my aching, peaked nipples, and kissing them in many fluttering movements.

I could get lost with him for hours, days, weeks…

But I don’t have that time.

I squandered precious hours earlier, debating whether I would show up at all. And honestly, I know it isn’t fair to use him this way. This is turning into lovemaking—much to my dismay—and with that comes a yearning that makes people unbearably stupid.

What Lir and I have—what I need it to be—is selfish, raw, and fleeting. I’m well aware love is a luxury Lady Courtesans can’t afford.

“I have to,” I breathe, “go soon…”

He pauses before barking out a laugh. “You got a husband to run home to?” His honeyed eyes spark with mischief.

“Something like that.” I grimace, not wanting to think of my Keeper.

“I’ll always be at your service, love.” His hand trails up my thigh. “If you should ever call upon me, I will come, whatever the reason.”

I roll out from under him but stay on the bed. Nervousness steals my breath, but I manage, “Thank you, Lir.” His expression changes slightly when his name crosses my lips.

The fury of the storm-laced wind makes the cottage walls seem as if they will cave in at any moment. My eyes are dry as I stare at the rain lashing the window.

“I know you hesitate for good reasons…” He pauses, sitting up as he tips my chin back. “But you can trust me with your name.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Because of the Bidding?”

I push my palms against his chest, and he backs up the slightest amount, but it’s enough. We face each other on his creaking bed frame, and I realize I can’t do this anymore. He can’t fall in love. His desire for more than my flesh would be disastrous.

A tense silence, broken only by our breathing, settles between us. Tucking my breasts back into my bodice, I flick a lock of hair off my forehead. “I have to go.” As I rise from the bed, my satin skirts cascade to my ankles in a rush.

“Stay just five minutes longer,” he pleads, his voice soft and patient.

Grabbing my discarded shoes, I shift to face him, gazing at his muscular frame as he sits on the rumpled quilts. I wish for nothing more than to hide away with him and count the freckles across his shoulder blades. But—I’m already lacing a damp boot as I reply, “I’ll get in trouble if I fail to return in time.”

Lir yanks his trousers on and kneels before me while I try to cram the other foot into the remaining boot. “Pick a new name then. There’s no need for the old one,” he insists.

“Don’t—”

“Quit hiding behind the people in your books and start living your own life.”

“I cannot⁠—”

“You can.”

“You do not know the consequences…”

Nor is there enough incentive for such a high risk.