But they’re occupied.
The laughter tearing from them is too high-pitched to be real.
Performances.
The Tainted Veil nothing more than a theater.An act.
And right now, I need to play my part.
Kael parts the final curtain with one hand, guiding me inside an empty alcove with the other, though privacy feels elusive. The space is cloaked in shadow, lit only by a single lantern dripping amber light across low cushions and a scatter of wine cups left by whoever had this room before. The air is thick—rose oil, sweat, smoke—and I fight the urge to cough as he pulls the curtain closed behind us.
The doors to the whorehouse swing open, and Amarisse’s inviting voice carries further and louder—she’s doing it for us. “Gentlemen, what a lovely surprise. I have your room available if you wish for cards and your favored courtesan, tonight. I have the one from last night, if you enjoyed her company,” she offers, voice measured and tight.
“Not tonight,” one of the guards grunts, the sound of his boots echoing down to us.
But Kael pulls me back to him, nuzzling into my neck and breathing, “Be here with me, Duskae.”
A breathy exhale escapes me at the commanding presence of my Starbound. The way he claims my attention, arrests my focus.
The black satin robe he wears, tied loose around his waist, billows across his front revealing his muscled abdomen, strongchest that appears carved from stone, and his corded forearms, honed and hardened under training.
It’s close quarters, claustrophobic.
I sit back, legs trembling with anticipation—for Kael or the guards, I’m not sure.
The cushions are still warm, carrying the imprint of bodies that pressed here not long ago. A robe lies crumpled in the corner, forgotten. The smell of incense clings to the fabric, heady and cloying.
Kael settles beside me, his body angled as though he’s already performing the role Amarisse cast him in—broad shoulders relaxed, posture loose, a man at ease under pressure. But I can feel the iron tension humming through him, tether thrumming between us like a warning drum.
My restless energy overpowers me—I spring to my feet, robe flying open, revealing my body save for the tiny scraps of fabric Kael calls undergarments.
I pace a few steps, restless, then whirl on him.
“He saw me,” I hiss, my voice breaking on the edge of panic. “The guard in the alley—he saw my eyes. He’ll know me. He’ll tell them?—”
Kael’s hand snaps out, catching mine, steadying me with a grip that brooks no argument. His gaze pins me, calm where I am chaos.
“Do you trust me?” he murmurs, already tugging the corner of my crimson silk wrap. The sound of fabric tearing is drowned under pants, moans, and squeals from the row of alcoves, and for once, I’m grateful.
But I realize what he’s doing: covering my eyes.
My breath stutters. Darkness is one thing—I’ve lived with it all my life. But surrendering to it here, with him, with guards clawing further into the whorehouse with every heartbeat?
“Yes,” I promise, despite my pulse hammering.
The silk slips over my eyes, shutting out the lantern light, the suffocating velvet, the whole cursed world. All that remains ishim. His hands, careful but firm, knotting the silk at the base of my skull.
His strong hands grip my hips, directing me to the low couch, and I acquiesce to his guidance, body going languid in his hands.
The backs of my thighs hit the couch first, and he drags my ass forward so it’s barely hovering on the edge.
His firm palm presses into my chest, guiding me backwards with care and insistence, until I’m resting on the couch, head and neck draping over the top.
I know this is a performance, an act. But when I’m in his arms, there is no such thing.
There is only surrendering to the man who has my heart.
His breath brushes my ear. “Can I touch you, Elyssara?”
