“I do.”
Nothing could ever make me forget it.
On the night I was dragged to Castle Hyrall, I was served a hot meal, then stripped and bathed by a terse handmaiden. My hair was combed and trimmed with little care, and any unwanted hair was removed before I was handed a sheer night shift to wear.
None of my questions were answered. My anxiety was ignored.
The handmaiden left me alone in what I assumed was now my quarters. Not long after, a knock sounded at the door. A scroll tied with a crimson tassel and a ribbon-wrapped box were delivered in silence. The scroll outlined the expectations of my new role. The box held a gold chain, meant to be worn around my waist.
Gilded shackles disguised as a golden accessory.
I read the scroll once. Then again. A third time. When I could no longer delay, I did as instructed. I fastened the chain around my waist and clipped the crimson tassel to the rung by my right hip. Composing myself, I walked to the door and knocked.
A young guard, not much older than me, unlocked it and stood waiting just outside.
My confusion faded quickly when I saw another courtesan step from the chamber across the hall. Then another. And another.
They were all breathtaking.
That was my first reaction when I saw the three other maidens. Their silk robes shimmered with gemstones that caught the light in dazzling hues. I looked down at my plain, lackluster shift and felt the blood drain from my face. The only thing we shared were the gold chains at our waists and the crimson tassels clipped at our hips.
We were led down a long corridor by our assigned guards, though the moment felt less like an escorted affair and more like a marching order. Still, despite the nerves gnawing at me, I kept my chin high as we approached a set of twin doors. One by one, we were guidedinside. The others entered with ease, their practiced smiles lighting their faces.
I remained neutral, silent.
We stood in stillness for what felt like an eternity, until a deep voice echoed through the room, calling four names.
“Leya.”
“Rosette.”
“Imogen.”
“Odessa.”
The courtesan I assumed to be Leya moved toward the chamber at the end of the hall, followed closely by Rosette, then Imogen, leaving me to trail behind. While the other three walked with purposeful grace and swaying hips, I moved like I was carved from stone.
We entered the chamber in that order, and I hesitated, momentarily stunned by the luxury before me. Gilded moldings, a blazing hearth, and silks richer than anything I’d ever seen, everything shimmered with wealth.
That pause cost me.
By the time I regained my senses, the other courtesans had already dropped into deep curtsies, their heads bowed in practiced deference. I followed their example, but too late.
I glanced up, just once, and met the prince’s eyes.
His expression gave nothing away.
Heat surged into my cheeks as I quickly dropped into my best curtsy, bowing low. The chamber was silent, save for the gentle crackle of firewood. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, loud enough to drown everything else.
It felt like a dream. Not the kind wrapped in softness or wonder, no, this was the kind where your feet wouldn’t move and your voice couldn’t rise. If someone had pinched the soft flesh beneath my arm, I was certain I would’ve woken from the nightmare.
Butreality anchored itself the moment the prince gave his command.
Without hesitation, Leya, Rosette, and Imogen moved. They slipped from their statuesque stillness like dancers freed from glass cases. Leya glided to the prince’s side, her kisses light as breath against his arm. Rosette began a slow, sinuous dance, her hands sweeping over her curves as she loosened the ties of her robe. Imogen, poised and silent, climbed onto the bed with feline precision, her fingers working at the prince’s garments with a fluency earned from repetition.
All the while, I stood motionless, my feet rooted to the floor. The prince’s hands roamed freely, indulging the courtesans’ practiced touches and brazen expressions. Imogen had nearly finished undressing him, revealing a physique that was lean, muscular, and unashamedly displayed. Rosette straddled him, fingers tangled in his tousled auburn hair, her robe slipping from her shoulders. One of his hands held her waist; the other gripped her backside with an intimacy that was far from performative. At his feet, Leya had lowered herself, her lips tracing the inside of his thigh.
As Rosette bent to kiss his throat, the prince’s attention snapped to me, his face darkening with disappointment. Then, without warning, he sat upright.
