Chapter 5 4: The Odd One There

LADY BAEVERA

I stared at the mirror. The black dye-stain I used on my hair for centuries had been washed out. Seeing my fiery red hair again hurt so much.

But at least I would not be wearing the red mask again. Small mercies.

Instead, they chose to draw a tattoo marking on my face two nights ago, covering it with pressed parchment to let it dry. Then, revealed this morning.

It was the drawing of a coiled snake resting in a bed of ethereal, blooming flowers. It veiled half of my face in disguise.

The design was so masterfully drawn that if I walked onto that stage, no one who would ever have known Lady Baevera would suspect I was her.

I looked down at the lace garment they had given me. A soft pink that concealed next to nothing.

It was designed with strategic floral patterns, covering my breasts and dipping into a pointed V to hide my most intimate part. The rest of the gown was made of translucent lace that clung to every curve like a second skin.

I felt naked. I was naked.

The door creaked open.

Sesora Byziv, head courtesan and floor overseer of Naked Den, stepped inside. Her long blonde hair framed a beautiful face. "Come with me, Vera."

Vera.

That was the name I had given them. Not Baevera, not Eve this time... Vera.

To everyone in this cursed place, I was just the newest contract whore. Just another pretty face in the sea of beautiful bodies.

My hands trembled by my side, and I clenched them to still the shaking.

At this moment, I hated Revandrel more than I had ever hated anyone. If I had a poison-dipped arrow, I would bury it in his heart.

But not before I shot Jolan Kolls seven times in the gut. His betrayal burned me. It was crippling and agonizing.

Seven hundred years, and the male who beat the truth out of the bastard-who made him violate the only secret he had every reason to protect-was Revandrel Cel'theren?

Why of all the power-hungry magnates and perverse, pleasure-seeking fools out there, it had to be him?

Now I was at his mercy. It was the past all over again, only this time, the fate that awaited me might be even worse.

Jolan had protected my secret because it served him to do so. But Revandrel?

If he ever discovered what I truly am... what I have kept hidden... the effects I had on males...

A full-body shiver rattled through me. I swayed, catching the edge of the counter before I collapsed.

The taste of my last meal rose back to my throat, and I swallowed rapidly to keep it in.

Revandrel will exploit me to the fullest, won't he? Sell me, bid me out again and again until there is nothing left of this broken, malfunctioning doll who somehow managed to piece herself just a little bit back together over the centuries. Just a little bit.

Jolan may have ruined me, but Revandrel would bury me and nail the coffin shut.

"You are an odd one."

The voice startled me. I glanced up, through the mirror.

The head courtesan. I had forgotten about her. She was still standing by the door, arms crossed, watching me.

"You are not what I expected," she said.

My hands gripped the hem of the lace dress until the fabric nearly tore. I forced the words out through a dry throat. "What did you expect?"

"Confidence, smugness, the usual show. You should be out there working the VIPs, seducing them and teasing them. That is what the others do."

"Every whore here throws themselves at the VIPs?"

"Courtesans," she corrected without missing a beat. "And no, that is not what I meant. I am talking about the ones the big boss himself hires. Lord Cel'theren does not involve himself often, but when he does, the girls he selects are... exceptional. They are experts. Confident and entitled. And they damn well own up to it."

Her eyes roamed over me, clearly confused. "You are stunning-maybe more beautiful than all the rest. But you look scared. Hesitant. Nervous, even. He told us you were experienced. But something about you..." She shook her head slowly. "There is this innocence you carry that does not make sense."

She saw too much. I looked away, jaw clenched tight.

"So odd," Sesora muttered, more to herself than to me. Then she straightened and turned toward the door. "Well, let us go. The exhibition is about to start."

She stepped out.

I took one long breath that did not help at all... and followed.

***

LORD REVANDREL

I surveyed the room from my vantage point, at the upper level of the hall, seated in the shadows. The exhibition was running smoothly, as expected.

It was always private, intimate, and exclusive. An indulgence reserved only for the wealthy and the noble, where both seasoned courtesans and new hires were put on display to entertain, seduce, and entice.

Music floated lazily above moans and murmurs. Pleasure dripped from every corner like honey.

Courtesans lounged in the laps of powerful men, some whispering wicked things into their ears, others gliding their bodies over theirs, stroking and teasing as the males kept their eyes on the main stage.

There, maidens scattered everywhere. Some were dancing in synchronized formations. Some weaving slow, serpentine solo dances. Others staged live sex shows in the corners for the voyeurs. The rest struck seductive poses, baiting the crowd with their bodies and smiles.

And then there was Baevera Eldareth.

Leaning stiffly against the far wall, radiating defiance like heat.

She was not dancing, was not flirting, was not even trying to allure.

The pink lace she wore must have been the most modest outfit out of the selection presented to her.

Revealing, yes, or it would not have made it into the wardrobe at all, but compared to the others, it was practically a nun's robe.

She stuck out like a sore thumb. A broken blade in a pile of new, polished daggers.

Yet somehow, she was drawing attention.

A few of the VIPs had already taken notice of her. Their eyes lingered, tracking her, appreciating her shape, her body.

I snorted. Unbelievable.

Their taste in women was appalling. Idiots. What did they see that I did not?

Leaning back, I tried genuinely to look at Baevera without hate or judgment. Diplomatically, if nothing else. It was hard, but I tried.

Yes, she was beautiful. Even I could admit that much.

Thick, wild hair like burnished copper poured down her back. Just like autumn fire under the lights.

High cheekbones. Elegant jawline. A nose, pointed and shaped gracefully.

And those damned eyes...

Green like a storm-drenched forest in the middle of spring.

Even the ink design I had her marked with, meant to obscure her identity, enhanced her features.

Then, there was her body.

Lush curves obviously sculpted by a prideful god who wanted the world to stop and notice his handiwork. Legs long and toned, the kind that begged to be seen in heels.

Yes, I could obviously see why those moneybags were already salivating. But all that was surface.

Inside, Baevera Eldareth was all darkness. A spoiled, vindictive, evil bully, wrapped in deceptive charm and poise. A venomous snake in a beautiful shell.

If only they knew her as I do, they would not touch her. Not even to poke her with a pole while standing ten miles away.

If she were on fire, they would feed the flames, piling the tinder high just to watch her scream as she burned.

Baevera Eldareth was the devil's incarnate, only her wickedness made hell itself look merciful.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

Baron James approached, his lean silhouette swaying as he tipped an imaginary hat toward me. "Master of Merchants."

"Baron," I acknowledged with a nod. "Enjoying the show?" I motioned to the stage. "Your girl, Moira, seems to be setting the room on fire tonight."

Moira was once the infamous Blue Mask, one of Jolan Koll's ten. Though no one knew that but me. She was also a succubus, and Baron James was obsessed with her.

"Oh, yes, she is. But tonight, my eyes are on someone else." The baron grinned, flushed. "The new girl. I tried to book her, but Sesora told me you were handling her personally."

"I am."

He blinked, surprised.

Understandable. I rarely interfered directly. The brothel ran like all my other businesses. Independently, efficiently, with a chain of command I trusted to function without my presence.

"Well, I want her tonight." He reached into his cloak and dropped three gold coins onto the table. "There. Standard rate."

Three gold coins.

That was the fixed hourly rate for the other nine courtesans I personally hired five years ago. A high-end whore usually charged 70 silver coins for three hours. That is still 130 silver coins short of a single gold piece.

Three gold coins was an absurd price to pay for a whore for one hour of her time, and most noblemales balked at paying a single gold coin even for a night. But then again, all luxury comes at a high cost.

By that metrics, Baevera Eldareth should be priced at 20 silver coins, tops.

Yet, I said, "Five gold coins." The words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

"What the fuck?" the Baron sputtered, then barked a laugh. "That is ridiculous, Cel'theren. What is so special about this one?"

Beats me. I merely shrugged, folding my arms across my chest. "Guess you will have to find out, Baron."

"Well, color me intrigued." He pulled out two more coins and set them beside the others. "But if she ends up not being worth it, I am getting a two-coin refund."

"Deal."

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and another VIP emerged.

A Merchant Lord, though I could not for the life of me remember his trade. Something about spices? Or rare metals? I did not care enough to place it.

"I want the new girl too," he said. "Right after James."

The Baron explained the rate. The Merchant arched a brow, visibly intrigued, then calmly added his own five gold coins.

Interesting.

I tried not to judge them. Society needs its fair share of stupid, lust-blinded men to keep the wheels of commerce turning.

"Shit, both of you already booked her?" another voice grunted behind them. "I rushed here, godsdamn it. Guess I will have to wait another night."

I side-eyed the male. Definitely nobility from the cut of his coat.

Technically, the house rule was that new courtesans only took two clients on their first night, no matter how much the females protested...which was a lot. The pleasure maidens love their coins. But rules were rules.

Then again, rule-makers are allowed to break them, right?

"She is open for more than two tonight," I said evenly. "Five gold coins."

What can I say? I am highly generous that way.

Word was, during Red Mask's time, she had averaged five, sometimes even seven clients a night. Far be it from me to deprive a lady of her favorite pastime.

The nobleman did not hesitate. He threw his five coins on the table and hurried after the other two, eager as a starving dog chasing a bone.

Left alone, I stared at the fifteen gold coins. Then separated six from nine.

Knowing my luck and the ridiculousness of the price, I would likely be refunding at least some of them.

I did the same for her last two bookings.

Let the night begin.

***

LADY BAEVERA

"He did what?" I snapped, filled with anger and horror.

"He booked you five clients," the head courtesan repeated, blinking at me. Even she looked baffled. "That is unusual for a first night. None of the others could get him to do that. How did you convince him?"

My fists clenched at my sides. "That fucking bastard..."

The fury burned through me like acid. But it was brief. Just as quickly, it died.

In its place came cold, empty resignation. My shoulders dropped. My body sagged.

What was the point? I was tired. I was so so tired.

This night would happen whether I fought or begged. Whether I screamed or prayed. So, I said nothing more.

Turning away from her, I stepped into the hallway that led to the client receiving chambers.

At the end, above a door carved in gilded lettering, was my name: "Vera."

I entered the room and closed the door behind me without looking back. It was quiet, clean, and perfumed.

To the left, a tall mirror reflected my figure. To the right, folded neatly on a side table, was the change of clothes I was expected to wear for each client, and afterwards.

This was happening. This was really happening.

Coldness spread through my chest. Not fear, not anymore. Only defiance and a strange sense of calm.

I rose, stepped to the mirror, and began removing the lace garment. Piece by piece until I stood naked.

I did not flinch. I did not cry.

Then the door opened, and my first customer stepped in.