Page 56 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Just leave.” I cross my arms.

“You would be my courtesan in appearances only.” He considers me for a moment and then steps away. “Remember, there’s no dignity in suffering. You’ll only tire yourself out, so consider whether this is worth it.”

The cell door clangs and the bolt shuts, leaving me to my solitude. I try not to think of what Lir would urge me to do to survive.

Because I’m afraid.

And sitting in this darkness is easier.

Twenty-Seven

ASHLAND

Storming down the corridor, I’m barely paying attention when the hushed voices give me pause. I recognize old Agatha, the head cook, speaking with a maid in a low tone. “The poor dear refused him again; she did. Locked away in that awful cell, and still, she tells him nay.” The aroma of a savory stew seeps from the kitchens.

The maid tsks under her breath. “He won’t like that, not one bit. Nobody refuses the Witch-King.”

I become the shadows, invisible to their eyes.

“She’s stubborn,” Agatha replies. “Got fire in her spirit, it seems.”

“Fire or no, she best be careful. The king’s temper has been foul as of late, made even worse by trying to keep her presence a secret from the commanders.”

Since I imprisoned the woman, my mood swings wildly from rage to restless distraction, and the more she resists, the worse my inner turmoil grows.

You can break her, the voice inside me tempts. Make her yield to you—I force those thoughts away.

“Mark my words, she’s playing a dangerous game,” Agatha whispers.

Twenty-Eight

Protest builds in my aching body as I struggle to fall asleep on the stiff wooden cot. It’s been days of this, and I’m not sure how much more I can handle as I cry myself to sleep each night. I toss in the other direction, attempting a position that doesn’t make my spine and hips throb. Without a blanket, the cold draft seeps under my dress like an unwanted hand, groping for my spirit. Shivering, I rub my arms, wishing for anything to cover myself, even the scratchy linen towel.

Exhaustion spikes in me, but every time I drift off, a new jab in my shoulder or neck jolts me awake. I contemplate lying on the floor, but I know the frigid stone also offers no relief. Eyes squeezing shut, I desperately seek to block out the endless discomfort.

But slowly… I sink, swallowed by the dark depths of a fitful sleep.

Something shifts—a delicious, solid warmth along my stomach and legs. Still half-asleep, I press closer, a sweeping contentment washing over me. A firmness wraps around my waist, pulling my head against a broad pillow.

Clinging to slumber, I melt and dream of Lir holding me and waiting for my return every year, even when I thought I couldn’t go on. My dreams take me back to his bed for the first time, when we enjoyed each other for the sake of pleasure and not gain.

A soft tickle rouses me from slumber.

Realization crashes down.

My dreams aren’t real. Nothing’s real but this. As I blink my tender eyes open, I’m startled to find myself warm and covered in luxurious furs—a most confusing change. I sit on the edge of the creaking cot, my fingers brushing the reddish-brown pelts. Where did they come from?

There’s something else that’s new in the cell as well. A small wooden table sits, topped with a still-steaming bowl of stew and an assortment of other items. My stomach rumbles, the pit protesting emptiness. Next to the stew lies a neat stack of novels, while a beeswax candle burns brightly in a crystal holder. I’m surprised to find I recognize some of the book titles.

I rise from the cot and approach with caution. A sealed letter rests against a chipped teapot. With one swift motion, I break the wax and unfold the paper. Elegant handwriting fills the page:

Tabitha,

Finish your meal to unlock the dungeon door. If you choose to become my courtesan, by my word, you’ll have the full protection of the crown and all its benefits. Find me in my library study⁠—

I’ll be waiting, but the choice is yours.

—A