"No, just... I'm still getting used to all this." I adjust the sheer fabric, trying to cover more of myself than it wants to allow.
Her expression softens slightly. "First time working in a pleasure house?"
I nod. "Why did you choose this work?"
The three exchange glances, and I realize this might be too personal a question. But then Petal shrugs.
"Debt," she says bluntly. "I'm working off my father's gambling debts."
"Adventure," River adds with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I was boring nobility once. Youngest son of a youngest son. This is more interesting than court politics."
"Love," Fleur says softly, then laughs at my expression. "Not what you think. I'm saving to buy my sister's freedom from a darker contract. The Painted Moth pays well, and the protection here is real."
"Two more years and I'm free," Petal says, her voice dropping.
"To do what?" River asks.
She smiles, sweet and sad. "Find a handsome prince to sweep me away obviously. Or maybe a princess. I'm not picky. I just want a happy ever after."
"So do I," I mutter softly.
"It's not as bad as you think," Fleur says, moving closer. "The Painted Moth has been here for three centuries. It's not just about throwing yourself at clients. This is art."
"Art?"
"We aren't mere entertainment," she says proudly. "We're performers, confessors, dreams made flesh. Lords and ladies come here to whisper secrets they can't speak at court. We give them what they need, not just what they want."
"The Painted Moth isn't just any pleasure house," Petal continues as she fastens something at my waist. "We're courtesans in the old tradition. We sing, we dance, we provide comfort and conversation."
"And more, if the price is right," River adds with a laugh. "But that's always the worker's choice. No one here is forced into anything."
"Unlike some establishments," an antlered male says darkly as he passes. "During wartime, especially. You're lucky to end up here instead of one of the shadow markets."
"No one touches a Moth worker without permission," Petal explains. "The house has agreements with powers you don't cross. Even during wartime."
"Speaking of protection," Fleur says, producing something from a velvet box. "Your mask."
It's beautiful.
A creation of silver filigree and white feathers that covers the upper half of the face. I can feel the magic humming through it as I hold it in my palms. The fae enchantment is strong and impossible to break.
"House rules. Everyone wears one," Fleur explains as she helps secure it to my face. "Some clients prefer the mystery. Some workers need the protection."
"From what?" I ask, though I think I know.
"From consequences," Petal says simply. "Not everyone here chose this life. The masks let us be someone else for a while. It hides more than your scent and identity. Your very essence is altered. You become nobody and everybody all at once."
The moment it settles into place, I feel the change. Colors dim slightly, sounds muffle, and I feel less present, less real, less myself. My signature, the thing that marks me as Rhianelle, vanishes. It's terrifying and liberating at the same time.
"Perfect," Petal says, but she's not really looking at me anymore. Her eyes slide past like I'm furniture. "You're truly one of us now. Invisible until someone chooses to see you."
"Speaking of which." River produces an elegant invitation from thin air. "The Fae King's Ball is in five nights. All house workers are invited. King Eirik likes to show off his generous patronage. Perfect chance to catch that prince, Petal."
My heart stutters. "The Fae King's Ball?"
"During the eclipse," Fleur confirms. "Every commander, every Master of the Hunt, every power in the fae realm will be there. It's supposed to be spectacular."
"And dangerous," Petal adds. "Eclipse nights are when the old magic is strongest. When masks slip and true natures show."
