My escorts bowed deeply and retreated, sliding the doors closed behind me, leaving me alone with Momoko.
“Sit,” she repeated.
I crossed to the cushion opposite her and kneeled, trying to remember the proper form. I was a fisherman’s son, not a noble trained in courtly etiquette, despite Yoshi’s best effort at taming my unruly beast.
My palms were slick. I pressed them against my thighs, hoping she would not notice.
She noticed. Of course, she did. This woman missed nothing.
A smile touched her lips. “You are frightened.”
It was a declaration.
I said nothing.
“Good,” she said. “Fear means you are paying attention.” She poured tea from a delicate pot into two cups. The sound of liquid falling was thunder in the silence. “Do you know where you are?”
“A . . .” I swallowed. “A pleasure house.”
“Thepleasure house,” she corrected softly. “There are many brothels in Bara. Dirty, disgusting places where men rut like animals and disease spreads like wildfire. The House of Petals isnotthat.” She slid one cup across the table toward me. “We are an establishment of refinement, of artistry. Our courtesans are trained in music, poetry, conversation, and yes, pleasure—the kind of pleasure that makes men dream and yearn for years afterward.”
I stared at the tea. Steam rose from it in delicate spirals.
“You will be trained,” Momoko continued. Her voice remained quiet, conversational, as if she were discussing the change of seasons. “In all of these arts: music, poetry, how to move, how to speak, when to move and speak—and whennotto—how to make someone feel as if they are the only person in the world.” She paused and raised a delicate hand to her porcelain face, trailing finger down her painted mask. “How to touch, how to be touched, how to give pleasure in ways you cannot yet imagine.”
My face burned. I couldn’t look away. Her fingers, her face, her voice, they were everything. They consumed me.
“You will learn,” she said. “You will practice. You will perfect. In exchange, you will give our guests a glimpse of heaven. They will pay handsomely for it, and you will be fed, clothed, and housed in luxury.” Another pause. “You will be valued, protected, and safe.”
Safe. The word was almost amusing given what I’d survived these past months.
“Do you understand?” she asked.
“I . . .” My voice cracked. “I do not want—”
“What youwantis irrelevant.” Her tone did not change, still soft, still calm.
Somehow that made it worse.
“You are here. Youbelongto this house now, as do we all. The question is not whether you will do this. The question is whether you will do it well enough to thrive, or poorly enough to return to the market.”
She took a sip of her tea.
I watched her throat move as she swallowed.
“Now,” she said. “I need to understand the man seated awkwardly before me. What do you prefer? What does your body most respond to? What will make you most . . . effective?”
I blinked. “Momoko-sama. . . I . . . uh . . . what?”
She set down her cup, her lips curling again, one brow rising as it had in the market. “You prefer men, yes?”
“Men? To . . . I’m sorry . . . for what?”
“To lie with,” she repeated patiently, her voice taking on the tone of an irritated teacher schooling a particularly slow pupil. “Do men or women stir your passions? Do you look at a man and feel desire?”
Heat flooded my face. No one had ever asked me such a thing. No one ever would.
“I . . . I do not . . .”
