As twilight descended on the city, Leander found himself approaching a small, well-kept, building which emerged from the shadows of many larger ones. Its façade adorned with flickering lanterns, the brothel cast a seductive glow onto the cobblestone street.
The scents of lavender and opium lingered in the air around Jasmine’s well-frequented and very popular establishment, enticing passersby to indulge in forbidden pleasures.
He had chosen this one because it was reputably the nicest Saeren had to offer: not the most expensive, but the best managed by its proprietor. Leander had done his research and he was after one thing in particular, which Jasmine had the highest chance of supplying to him.
Leander entered the brothel, pushing the heavy velvet curtains to the side to reveal a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors which he couldn’t wait to get lost in as he sampled the delightful delicacies Jasmine had on offer.
This was Leander’s first night free from his aristocratic and arcane lessons and he had already started to capitalise on his night of freedom as best he could. He had first visited a pub and had succeeded in his aim to skirt the boundaries between tipsy and plastered. But he wasn’t done for the night. He craved more.
All around him, the darkness engulfed him. It wasn’t quite pitch darkness, but it was enough to make him pause, forcing him to rely more on his other senses. He could hear the gentle titter of laughter floating through the corridor from unseen whores and their clients. The scents on Leander’s nose changed to that of honey and lemon, no doubt masking the lust-fuelled sweat stench that was so commonplace in buildings such as this one.
Within the brothel’s chambers, silk-clad girls and boys moved with sultry grace, the sounds of mirthful amusement mingling with the soft melodies drifting through the halls from unseen musicians.
It wasn’t quite natural, the laughter. Even without his divine gifts, Leander could tell they didn’t genuinely find anything funny, but it was what was pleasing to their clients, so they did it anyway.
Leander watched as he made his slow progress into the brothel, admiring the lithe fingers which deftly moved across thighs and stomachs. The whores knew they were being watched and were quite happy to give him a teasing sample of what he might be given when he paid with the sovereigns sitting in his money bag.
Here, beneath the twilight veil of night, Leander’s fantasies could be bought and paid for with the lucrative pocket money he had earned from his father. Each roomwas a promise of whispered, sensual secrets and fleeting ecstasy.
All he needed was to forget himself, to lose himself in the arms of another for a night. But, to do that, he needed something very specific. A particular type of girl… and he sincerely hoped that Jasmine could supply him with what he needed.
Sinful desires pushed Leander on, through the corridors as his senses became overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and smells of the brothel.
He was no stranger to establishments such as this one, and it had not been long since he had last given one his patronage. He was looking forward to unravelling at the seams, seeking that which only a few distractions could provide. This was by far his favourite outlet.
“My lord,” a freckled ginger hailing from the neighbouring kingdom of Eamore greeted Leander.
In the dimly lit, smoky corridor, details of her face were difficult to make out, but Leander imagined she was a woman comfortably into her fourth decade of life. As she approached and light shone on her face, Leander decided she was still desperately attractive, alluring to a fault, desirable.
“I bid you welcome, my lord, I am Jasmine, mistress and proprietor of this establishment,” she said, her voice husky and her hips swaying. “What service may I provide for you tonight.”
“I require a girl,” was Leander’s rapidly given response, “youth and beauty is a given, and I prefer brunettes, but I am not overly emotionally invested in hair colour and can be persuaded otherwise. Most of all, I want a completedistraction: a girl who knows how to enjoy herself. I am not looking for a well-paid liar.”
If Leander’s request was an odd one, Jasmine did not show her surprise. Anywhere else in this city, he would have been given a slave to satisfy him, which wouldnothave satisfied him in the slightest. But Jasmine employed, rather than owned, her staff. That made all the difference to Leander. It was why he he’d come to Jasmine’s brothel—freedom and the choice to sell your own body, rather than having the choice stripped from you, were the only way to be sure of Leander being fully satiated this evening.
She did not speak immediately, examining her newest patron with a shrewd expression, before replying. “Of course, my lord. It will be an honour to serve you.”
Leander had made no specific efforts to hide who he was, and wondered if the woman, Jasmine, had put two and two together to learn his identity as the disgraced demigod, and son of the second most powerful man in Vyrica.
It was, after all, Jasmine’s business to know her patrons enough to serve them well.
She must have known, surely?
As they walked down the narrow corridors, the whores pressed against the walls to allow them to pass. In doing so, they arched their backs, pushing hips out to brush against Leander. Sultry smiles were seen all around, beckoning him, suggesting their company for the evening. Leander was dressed as a lord, with a money bag of sovereigns jingling enough to make anyone want to share the night with him.
Jasmine led him into a room covered from floor toceiling in red and purple silks. Situated in the middle of the room was a circular bed that could have easily slept five people, also covered in silks of the same hues as those which adorned the walls. By the bed stood a table, upon which a basket filled with fresh and colourful fruit rested, along with two silver plated goblets and a large pitcher filled with wine.
“I hope this suite is to your liking. Please enjoy our refreshments while I select a girl to fit with your tastes.” Jasmine dipped her head in a show of respect before disappearing through the door, closing it on her way out.
Settling himself into the room, Leander made a beeline for the wine on offer, pouring two generous glasses of the claret liquid. He took a sip from one of the goblets and reached down to feel the silks and satins covering the obscenely large bed.
The door opened and a dark-skinned young woman, maybe a few years junior to Leander, slipped in.
“My lord,” she greeted as she, like Jasmine, swayed her hips as she approached.
“Leo, please.”
“Leo. I’m Talia.”
