Page 8 of Crown of the Courtesan

The circle of women grows quiet at my approach. Worse than torture, the awkwardness is more than I can bear. I bite my inner lip.

“Are we being too loud?” the one with golden curls and freckles asks as the crying girl gives a great wail, her chest heaving with gasping breaths. “We are so sorry,” she adds, giving a warning look to her distraught friend.

“We didn’t mean to disturb anyone. Alisse is just upset,” a different debutante offers, her chestnut waves whipping her tan face as she tries to control the situation.

The younger ones are always nervous because of my status, and that nervousness makes it harder to connect with them. Making new friends or mentoring has been an impossibility for a long time. And after Beatrix left, I began to avoid social gatherings unless it was required attendance.

“You aren’t bothering me,” I say before another girl can interject. “This is your home just as much as it’s mine.”

More silence.

Alisse breaks into sobs once again—her coiled black hair melting to her forehead and tears slicking her rose-tinted cheeks. They cling to her eyelashes as she half-heartedly wipes the tears away while I come closer.

No glow emanates from her rich brown skin because tonight will be her first participation in the Rite of Allurement. I’m struck by how young she looks despite her debutante age of eighteen. I hadn’t questioned my own maturity when I debuted, but looking at her now, I get a sour taste in my mouth. She’s barely more than a child.

Had I appeared that young?

Surely not.

“Oh, sweetie,” says the older courtesan, her glow flickering with the stress of it all.

Alisse gasps out, “This—isn’t—my home. I miss my village, Borealla, where my academie is. I miss the crisp air. I miss the people. He’s there. And he loves me. But now I’ll be forced to become the plaything of some High Lord while we gallivant in carriages and preen about at balls. This place is horrible, and I hate, hate, hate that I can’t leave. I want to go home to Robert.”

Everyone sucks in a breath, their eyes darting among one another.

A courtesan explains to another in a loud whisper, “The farmer’s son who dropped off the eggs…”

Nobody ever dares to complain in public. Behind closed doors with trusted friends, perhaps—but never in the gardens of the Bidding House. And we especially never confess to forbidden lovers.

My lips would crumble from my face before I admitted the existence of Captain Lir. His name dies on my tongue. A secret locked away, never to be uttered.

Being accused of simple harlotry, which is outlawed, is not something I would bring upon myself or any of my peers. The punishment would be at the hands of the priestesses, and they are to be avoided at all costs.

Alisse pushes her friend away and cries, “I’d rather fall on the sword of an Ashland warrior than be here in this prison.”

Their eyes snap to mine.

As High Lady Courtesan, I have a duty to inform Madame Phyrne, who would then make a report to the Spirit-Fae Cathedral. But truthfully, I see myself in Alisse and could never unleash those consequences on her.

“Ours is a unique burden to bear, but we have a life that most only dream of—free from poverty,” I say, twisting my fingers together. “Some would call us lucky not to be toiling all day and to have the luxury of education and finery. If this Robert is smart, he’ll be glad you’re well cared for.” I look around before adding the last part, “But most importantly… you shouldn’t let the wrong ears hear you. It could jeopardize everything you’ve worked for. Don’t test the priestesses.”

“You don’t know Robert,” Alisse hisses, her heavy lashes drooping over fury-laced eyes. “Don’t pretend that you do. He wanted to marry me. At least the commonfolk can go home—a home no one forces them to leave. I’d trade a life of toiling for that any day.” She leans forward. “And sic the priestess bitches on me! I don’t care!”

Arguing is pointless. “Just make sure Madame Phyrne doesn’t get wind of this.” I eye the exit beyond the terrace. “You’ll feel better after tonight. At least the uncertainty will be over.” I know it isn’t what she wants to hear. But what else is there to say?

I stride back into the Bidding House, intending to steal another bottle of wine from the kitchens.

* * *

The chiffon of my silver ceremony gown caresses my skin like rose petals, so tantalizingly soft that goosebumps rise along my arms. Unlike our everyday gowns, which often feature bodices, stays, and thick layers, these dresses require none of those. The high waistlines cinch under our busts, making undergarments unnecessary, and the shimmering fabric leaves little to the imagination as it cascades to the floor. With a swooping off-the-shoulder neckline, the thin material cups each swell of my scantily contained breasts.

I groan inwardly.

I’d be lucky if one didn’t fall out during the ritual dance.

As I tuck a strand of curly brunette hair behind my ear and catch one last glimpse of my reflection, I notice how drained and pale I look. Even as my glow shimmers across my skin, it’s no match for the sheer exhaustion that the anticipation of this night brings out in me.

Something catches my eye, and my heart freezes. I blink, and it disappears, but I could have sworn that black shadows had curled in the mirror’s corner—a trick of the light as dusk envelops the kingdom and sinks the sky into a crimson-and-lavender haze. Streetlights ignite in their globes as street workers make their rounds.