Page 66 of The Court of Venus

“Will we go to a brothel?”

His face slackened in shock. “Would you like to go to a—”

I shook my head frantically.

We slipped out through a passageway in the back of his rooms I hadn’t known existed, through a boundary that answered to the prince, to him, alone.

Hal led the way to the tavern. To be safe, my hair and eyes were a soft brown hue. Patrons slapped cups of ale onto tables, picked at wet slabs of food that reminded me of what my father used to serve. There was no meat here; it was far too expensive.

Hal snapped a finger at me. “Drink? Supper? Both?”

“A drink.” I scanned the room for minds that frightened me, but they were looser here than at court—no calculation, no darting suspicion. The contours of their emotions were startling: the depth of their frustrations, the bone-deep sadness they nursed here. When Hal returned to my side, the barman was smiling toothily. “Young and pretty.” He smacked Hal’s back as he passed. “Congratulations, George.”

Hal scowled and handed me ale.

“George?” I whispered when the barman was gone.

The scowl turned to a crooked grin. “You, who so loathe being yourself, ought to understand. The owner thinks I’m a knight’s son hellbent on wasting his family’s coin. Naturally, I’m one of his very favorite customers.” He tugged on his lip. “I’m starting to wonder if this is a place for you. You’ve been very…” Our eyes met. “Isolated.”

We both looked away. Hal watched the dancing and nursed his drink, shooting me a glance every so often.

The drumbeat accelerated. The first time I was asked to dance, it was by a thin boy with a scattering of freckles on his nose. I said no.

The second time I was asked, it was by a man with grease on his hands and a lewd mind, so I said no again, and when he insisted, Hal shoved him to the side. The third time, Hal was the one who held out his hand. I said yes then, because he’d been tapping his boot against the floor. Because I didn’t want him grieving Roland tonight.

Though he’d been taught all the dances at court, the basse and pavane and gavotte, Hal was not very graceful, and these tavern dances were nothing like those in the great hall. We mostly spun about with our hands clasped, hopping to the right, then back to the left. He said sorry every few steps for stumbling over my feet.

Something caught his attention by the door, and he cursed under his breath. His shoulders tensed. A boy we both knew had stepped into the tavern. This must be a place the nobility frequented when they wanted to escape court for the night.

It was Fulke Roet, his cousin.

Fulke walked right over to us, prancing onto his toes to make himself seem taller. His men followed behind him. “Had enough of your father’s tongue down his whore’s throat, have you, Hal? You’ll be glad you skipped tonight’s banquet. Alice Seton sat right beside him. Your poor mother.” He clicked his tongue. “And Bianca Mortlake.” Fulke handed his feathered cap to one of his men, his pale hair flattened beneath it. “Funny, I was just speaking to Prospero about you. My family has always had a Jupiter magician, but ours has recently died. I wouldn’t mind a Moonborn. You’re a rare prize, they say. The first in five hundred years?”

“More,” corrected Hal, and I shot him a look.

“Prospero said you are still too young to make your oath, and he can’t bear to part with you just yet, but I—” Fulke’s gray eyes swept down my body. “I don’t find you too young at all. And I’d love to hear what my future sounds like in your mouth.”

Hal leapt forward and punched Fulke in the jaw. Fulke stumbled back, his lip torn open by one of Hal’s heavy jewels. Baring his teeth, he smacked Hal, sending him sprawling to the ground. The revelers still swung in a circle, unbothered by the brawl. Fulke was lunging again. Hal moaned and tried to stand, but I needed no fists for this. My mind shot forward, grasping Fulke’s.

You will be the one ashamed now, I thought. I sent him every moment of humiliation I had endured since childhood. The stolen glances. The laughter of the noblemen’s daughters as they passed me in the halls. His own words about me, the way my skin crawled. The sanctuary of my books, when all I ever wanted was friends. But who would be friends with someone with such terrible power? Someone who could make Fulke Roet—a prince—fall to his knees, eyes welling as memories spun in his mind—memories that were not his own?

Hal had hoisted himself up. He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. The other swiped across his bloody lip. “Enough, Bianca.”

I tore myself away.

Outside, snow had begun to fall. Hal pulled me into an alleyway and spat a wad of blood into the snow. “Bianca, you are my responsibility—no, not only that.” A shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“I’m fine.”

His thick brow furrowed. “Truly?”

“I will be. Besides, now you have plenty to write to Roland.”

He gathered snow, held it to his jaw until his hand could no longer bear the cold. “Oh, yes? What shall I tell him?” I brushed his cheek with my fingertips, pulling back when he winced.

I thought for a moment. “That I fight better than you.”

“He already knows that.”