She shrugged and urged me forward.
Inside, warmth enveloped us, thick with perfume and candle smoke. Music swelled from somewhere deeper within the house, lively and insistent. The women were guided into a room already crowded with men who turned at our entrance with open interest. Hard to know how many were there, but certainly more than forty, I determined after a quick count.
They stood in loose clusters throughout the ballroom, coats discarded, glasses already in hand. Some had discarded their masks, most kept them. Laughter rang out loud, assured.
Conversation faltered as we crossed the threshold.
Not stopped. But shifted, subtly and unmistakably, as eyes turned toward us with open appraisal. Our later arrival had been intentional. I felt it in the way the men straightened, in the expectation that sharpened their expressions.
We were only a dozen or so women, all there by choice, all meant to amuse and entice. But we were not the true prize. We were merely the prelude. The main ‘entertainment’ would be the young women who’d been abducted. Who were not there of their own free will.
As we were ushered forward, the doors closed behind us with a sense of finality that did not go unnoticed. The warmth of the room pressed in at once, heavy with perfume, candle smoke, and wine.
I forced myself to breathe evenly.
The space had been arranged to encourage movement rather than rest. Furniture lined the walls, leaving the center of the room open. Lanterns and candles cast a flattering glow that softened edges and blurred distinctions, making it difficult to judge distance or depth. It was a room designed to dissolve certainty.
A low platform had been erected at one end of the hall.
I did not notice it at first, distracted as I was by the press of bodies and the hum of anticipation.
But then, a man stepped onto it, drawing attention without effort. He was well dressed, well fed, and utterly at ease. He wore a half mask that revealed his smile, one clearly intended to charm.
He lifted his glass. “Gentlemen,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the noise. “And ladies.”
The room quieted at once.
“Welcome to the Floralia,” he continued, smiling as though he were hosting a country supper rather than something far less wholesome. “You know why you are here, so I shall spare you unnecessary flourish.”
A ripple of amusement moved through the men. Some of the women laughed; most stayed silent.
“The evening will proceed as follows,” he said. “For the next hour, you are free to mingle. To converse. To select your companion for a time or the night, should you wish to do so. Your offer must be mutually acceptable.” His gaze swept the room, lingering just long enough to make the meaning clear.
“This portion of the evening is entirely consensual,” he went on smoothly. “If either party declines, you are to move on. No explanations required. No offense taken. The night is long, and there are many pleasures to be had.”
A murmur of approval followed.
My jaw tightened, though my expression did not change. On the surface, the rules were almost respectable. Polite, even. That, I realized, was the point. It was what followed that revealed the rot beneath.
“The main entertainment,” the man continued, his smile sharpening, “will arrive in one hour.”
The room leaned forward as one.
“The young ladies will be presented to the gentlemen in two groups. All have been…carefully prepared for your enjoyment.” The phrasing slid past the truth without quite touching it.
“The nymphs are untouched. Unspoiled. Fully aware of the honor being extended to them. They are, of course, of age,” he added, as though anticipating the question no one dared ask aloud.
Except for the untouched and unspoiled line, his words were all lies.
“The gentlemen who have expressed a preference,” he continued, “will be permitted to bid for their company. Highest bidder chooses first. We will proceed from there.”
“Those who have been initiated—the votaries—will be presented privately at the appropriate time to the gentlemen to whom they have already been assigned.”
I forced myself to breathe evenly, to believe the stillness of my body would mask the fury and revulsion coursing beneath my skin.
“Until then, I encourage you to enjoy what the house has to offer.”
He raised his glass once more. “To the Floralia.”
