The motion startled Leya, and Rosette let out a small cry as she lost her balance, her robe falling open completely. Seated tall, the prince’s eyes bore down on me.
My throat tightened as I shifted, eyes dropping to the floor.
“Stop.”
The single word cracked through the room. The three courtesans froze, straightening beside the bed like reprimanded statues.
“Leya. Rosette. Imogen. Leave us.”
Their expressions faltered in disbelief.
“Your Highness?” Leya asked, her voice uncertain.
“I said leave.” His voice was sharper now. “You three are dismissed.”
Still they hesitated, the silence swelling between us.
“Do not make me repeat myself.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” they echoed at last, hurriedly gathering their silks and retreating with lowered heads.
The prince of Hyrall rose from his bed and fixed his cold stare on me. He made no move to conceal himself as he circled the mattress, each step slow. I kept my eyes low, the floor steadying me more than pride. Without a word, he pulled on his discarded trousers and fastened them, then crossed the room to a nearby table.
He poured himself a goblet of deep red wine, raised it to his lips, and drained it in a single swallow.
Only then did he turn back to face me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him tilt his head, watching me closely. His silence stretched heavily, and I braced for a reprimand.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, the words clumsy as they slipped out.
His voice cut through the air. “Your Highness.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You will address me asYour Highness.”
“Oh, right.” I recovered quickly. “Your Highness.”
He gave a quiet click of his tongue, as if disappointed, then spoke with measured disdain. “Given your upbringing, I suppose refinement was too much to expect. The past has a way of clinging.”
My cheeks burned, but I didn’t flinch. His words were meant to sting, and they did.
“But don’t worry,” he added coolly. “It will be corrected.”
I gave a curt nod, jaw tight.
His tone was mild, but calculated. “I don’t want to frighten you, Odessa. That’s never been my aim. I have little patience for women who cower. Those who learn to take pleasure in this arrangement tend to make far more agreeable companions.”
I parted my lips to respond but no words came.
“When I saw you that day on the outskirts,” he continued, “I felt a pull. An urge to know you. To taste what had not yet been touched.”
My eyes lifted to his. For a moment, I studied him, not the heir, but the man. He couldn’t have been more than a year older than me, though he bore the arrogance of someone raised far from suffering. Privilege left a distinct imprint. He wore it effortlessly.
“What do you desire, Odessa?”
To be free.
