“Clever.”
He opens the door and leans in. “Bess darling, here’s the caterpillar the masters want you to transform into a butterfly.”
“Send her in.” The voice is low, rich, and feminine.
At Zadi’s nod, I venture into the room. It’s beautiful—palatial, even, with a canopy bed, pearly candelabras, luxurious sheets, and ornately-patterned wallpaper.
But the most striking thing in the room is the magnificent woman before me. Her skin glows a deep, rich bronze, and her eyes are pale yellow, a startling contrast to her thick, inky lashes. Dozens of ebony braids flow back from her hairline, cascading in regal abundance down her back. She wears a metallic golden gown that clings to every curve. I’m taller than the average woman, but she eclipses me in height as well as beauty. I feel as if I should kneel and vow my service.
My admiration must show on my face, because her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and her full lips pull into a half-repressed smile. “Welcome. I am sure this evening has been rather tumultuous for you, has it not?”
“Rather,” I reply breathlessly.
“My name is Bess, though among the clients I am called ‘Monarch.’”
“I’m Risa.”
Her pale eyes travel my face and body. “Fire-Rose. That’s what we’ll call you tonight. Heat and softness, blended. I’ll teach you a few things now, and more as we go. First, your posture.”
For the next hour Bess instructs me about poise, posture, speech, and the formalities of the house. It’s more than I’ve ever been asked to remember, but I’m determined I won’t destroy my one chance at this life. I will succeed. No—I will exceed all they believe I can do.
Despite my determination, when Bess leads me out of the room into the hallway, my stomach explodes into panicked flutters.
“The best way to learn is on the field of battle.” She gives me another of her half-smiles. “You and I will entice and entertain a pair of clients together. If they prefer to be pleasured separately, we will yield to their wishes.”
“In that case, should I take mine back to the room we just left?”
“Perhaps, if it is unoccupied. There are rooms identical to that one throughout the house, on the first and second floors. The courtesans’ private suites are located on the third and fourth floors, and we only take our most cherished patrons up there.”
I’m mesmerized by the soft press of her bare, red-tipped toes against the plush carpet as we walk. Her movements are soundless, liquid, effortless—and I begin to despair of ever matching such grace.
“Remember, the men we entertain are here for more than a good fuck,” she continues. “They want a luxurious experience. They wish to be treasured by someone nearer to their own station than the dock girls or the other eve-walkers. They like to be cherished by courtesans with wit and sophistication. And they know that in this house, we may refuse service to anyone without expressing a reason, so when we take them to bed, they feel worthy and accepted. This is the fulfillment of desire, both of the body and the heart.”
She flips open a gemstone in her bracelet, revealing a hidden compartment. From it she takes two small pills. “These enhance arousal, to make our duties easier to perform. Would you care for one?”
“I’d like to try it on my own first.”
Approval shines in Bess’s eyes. “Keep this for later then.” She hands me a pill, which I tuck into the bodice of my dress. She puts the second pill back in her bracelet and waves an elegant hand toward the archway ahead. “The parlors lie beyond. Tell me what you see, and who tempts you.”
I move forward, placing one hand on the smooth stone of the archway. The parlor glimmers with candlelight, hums with soft conversation. The rippling music of a harp fills the air, unfurling like the sweet scent from an urn of rich purple blooms in the corner.
On velvety cushions and gilded lounges recline the guests and the courtesans. Some stand together near a long marble counter, where glasses and goblets sparkle in the light. Others dance, softly swaying to the music. There is no boisterous roar, no guffaws and ass-grabbing, no shrill laughter and raunchy growls. Yet the tenuous, breathless, expectant thrill of sex quivers in the air—a lush, pulse-pounding anticipation.
My gaze halts on two men just entering the parlor from the far end. The older one’s eyes are narrowed, his expression haughty. He scans the room with disdainful judgment, the way he might examine a less-than-satisfactory dish of food he’s been served. The younger one has wispy blond hair, a recessed chin, and weak lips. Gentle eyes. Not strictly attractive, and probably inexperienced, but sweet. I like him for me.
“The blond,” I murmur to Bess.
“Good choice. He’s new to this place. You could tell?”
“Yes. He seems a little uncertain.”
“He won’t know what to expect, so he’s perfect for you. I’ll take his companion. I do enjoy making the proud ones forget their rank and title.” She gives me a warm, sidelong smile—almost friendly. “Come, little Fire-Rose, and don’t forget your lessons.”
I follow Bess’s lead that night and the next, taking my cues from her words, her gestures, and the strategic, subtle way she touches the men or women she’s seducing. Whenever I slip back into a coarse way of speech, or into the tits-out, exaggerated swagger I learned on the docks, Bess arches an eyebrow at me. Her movements are more restrained, yet somehow sexier. Remaining elegant and controlled is a struggle for me, and I can’t help feeling that my personal style as a courtesan is somewhere between my mother’s overt carnality and Bess’s queenly charm.
Each dawn, when The Royal Orchid closes for business except to a few privileged clients, I’m allowed to go into one of the rooms and sleep. I’m woken precisely seven hours later and given books to read—books about politics and economics, about horse-racing and boat-building, about sporting events and the art of war. Bess doesn’t expect me to read them all—she tells me to skim through them and pick out some interesting bits I can remember for future conversations with clients.
After my lessons with Bess, Zadi or Elbeth teach me about rare sexual kinks and unusual acts I might be expected to perform. Elbeth is a gloriously curvy woman with hair that might be considered red until it’s next to mine, in which case hers looks more auburn. She tells me about various kinds of toys, some of which sound honestly frightening—and explains that she provides a service some of the other courtesans won’t—she indulges clients who enjoy piss play. That’s a kink I’m all too familiar with. At Sylvie’s insistence, I endured that kind of play more times than I like to admit. If I have my choice, I’ll never do it again.
Besides Elbeth, Zadi, and Bess, I’m not given the chance to interact with the courtesans. We all dine together every mid-afternoon, but although the other members of the house stare at me with mildly antagonistic curiosity, they make no effort to speak to me.
The security guards are slightly more friendly. I’ve met the doormen, Roz and Salla, who take turns managing the entrance of the house and using a charmed amulet to check guests for weapons. Three other guards rotate shifts, patrolling the exterior of the Orchid.
It’s on the third night, when Bess and I share a handsome young lawyer, that I realize I’m sometimes attracted to women. I like mostly men, of various kinds, but a certain type of woman appeals to me, and Bess is of that type. There’s no creeping sense of sickening wrong, like I get when Sylvie suggests doing doubles. When Bess kisses me and strokes my skin, it’s all right. It’s allowed.