Written on its tan surface was a single name. My name.
Odessa,it read.
This was an order.
The prince had chosen me to serve him tonight, just as he had on the previous three hundred sixty-four nights. The other courtesans spoke of it as a great honor to be the heir’s favored.
I felt otherwise.
Even so, the heir of Hyrall hated to be kept waiting.
I moved to my dressing chamber and searched for one of my silk robes. These robes weren’t robes in the traditional sense, rather, they were courtesan robes. The material of these garments were just as luxurious as they were lascivious. Each one had been handmade for me by Hyrall’s royal seamstress.
As an honor, I’d been “gifted” twelve over the course of my year serving the prince.
He regarded these silk pieces as gifts, but truthfully, I had earned every single one.
I wore them not only as a statement to the other courtesans, but as a symbol to the court itself. Robes like these were given only to a consort or courtesan who had exceptionally pleased their patron. Among the prince’s three other courtesans, I possessed the most.
Half of me was prideful, the other half was rueful.
The prince’s overt favoritism had clearly stirred resentment among the others, but it hadn’t bothered me in the slightest.
Inside the dressing room, I walked to the armoire and opened its wooden doors. Robes in every color hung before me. Shades reminiscent of sunset skies to hues drawn from moonlit nights. I studied the twelve robes lined along the iron rod, running my fingers through the silk until I stopped on one in deep plum. Its fabric was studded with amethyst stones, arranged in an intricate design.
It was cruel, really. That the most beautiful clothes I’d ever owned came with such a price.
I undressed methodically, each practiced movement revealing a routine I had repeated three hundred sixty-four times before. First, Islipped off my slippers. Then I reached behind to unfasten the strings of my corset. With a slight shimmy, the dress fell in a ring around my feet. I stepped out of it and removed my undergarments until I stood completely bare.
The prince despised excess clothing during service.
I counted the seconds in my head as the final minutes passed. From a small drawer in my vanity, I retrieved a vial of perfume. Dabbing a touch to my neck and wrists, I set it aside and slipped into the plum-hued robe.
The fabric hugged my skin perfectly, tailored to my exact measurements. Its sheer material left little to the imagination. I ran my hands over my torso, smoothing out the creases, and glanced down at the deep plunge along the chest. It was far from subtle, but it had been commissioned by the prince after all.
From the vanity, I picked up a porcelain brush and began to comb my hair. Over the past year, I had developed a new sense of maturity. My face had become fuller, my wavy hair had grown several inches longer, and my cheekbones had become more defined. Like my mother, I inherited raven-black hair and matching obsidian eyes.
As for my expression, a young guard once said it wore a permanent look of indifference. He was executed not long after.
No other guard has dared to speak to me since.
My body had always been willowy, a quality that remained unchanged through time. My breasts were modest, neither full nor ample, and the same was true for my backside. Compared to the other courtesans here, my figure was lacking. My lithe stature could have broken my confidence, but it was I who the heir summoned each night to warm his bed.
My service to the prince was unmatched, earned by merit alone.
I made certain of it.
The other women here were highborn, groomed for this life frombirth. I was not. That difference was what set consort apart from courtesan, pauper from noble. They had sought out their roles, even desired them. I had been thrust into this world to survive. I was lowborn, a peasant from the outskirts.
And yet, I was the favored consort of the Crown Prince.
There were things the other girls were blind to: hunger, cold, fear. I, on the other hand, had endured all of that and more.
Every now and then, I caught myself wondering where I might be if I’d stayed on the outskirts of Brier Len.
Would I have ended up married to the cobbler’s son, like my father had insisted ever since my first bleed? I’d been just a girl, but even then, I could see the cruelty in him. Would I have spent my days bearing children I never wanted? Struggling to feed a house full of hungry mouths with barely enough to survive? Would his temper have left me with more misery than I live with now?
Now I sit in my private chamber, draped in jewels and the finest silks. My meals arrive on silver platters, and I sip rare wines from chilled goblets. At night, I sleep in comfort, wrapped in quilts stuffed with feathers from rare fowl.
