"An instrument perhaps. Do you play?" he enquires patiently.
"No."
He tilts his head, curious rather than unkind. “Whatcanyou do?”
Nothing.
I can’t think of anything. My pulse pounds. I’m going to mess this up. I need to say something. Anything.
"I can tell jokes," I say quickly.
Thorn stares at me.
Then his face splits into the widest smile I have seen all evening.
"Ah a conversationalist," he breathes. “You are a dangerous one, Fawn.”
I’m not.
“Do you know how rare that is? You offer them something to remember,” he says smoothly. “They’ll get thirty minutes of their time to talk privately with you, drink included.”
I blink.
He straightens my wig with two quick fingers. "You'll do beautifully. And if anyone makes you feel unsafe, you signal me. I run a clean house."
Before I can find my voice, Petal nudges me forward. I am pushed onto the raised platform in the center of the main salon.
The lights are blinding. They are focused directly on the stage. Everything beyond dissolves into shadow and blur. It turns everything beyond into shadow and blur. I can't see individual faces in the crowd, just a sea of hunger and curiosity pressing in from all sides.
The murmur of voices swells.
Thorn steps forward, arms wide, his voice carrying through the whole house. "Ladies, lords, and esteemed patrons of the Hunt!"
Thorn steps beside me, arms wide. His voice is booming now through the house, rich and theatrical. “Ladies, lords, and esteemed patrons of the Hunt!”
The crowd quiets.
Two girls already stand at the platform's edge. Thorn moves to the first, sweeping a hand toward her with easy showmanship. "Tara graces us tonight with the gift of her company. One evening. One memory." His voice drops to something warm and conspiratorial. "And those wings, my friends."
Tara laughs and spreads them wide, iridescent as a butterfly's, catching every light in the room.
Applause and laughter. The bidding opens at one thousand and climbs fast. A winner is called and Tara steps down into cheers at eight thousand gold coins.
Thorn moves to the second girl. "Viola, our silver water nymph, offers something altogether unique. A private swimming lesson."
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
"From the silver queen herself," someone calls out. More laughter.
The numbers rise more slowly for Viola, but still reach three thousand before the gavel falls. She follows Tara into the crowd.
Then Thorn turns toward me. “Tonight, we present something rare.”
He opens one hand and presents me to the crowd. “A fresh face. A true queen among imitations."
Laughter ripples through the room. My heart slams against my ribs.
This is madness. I am the real Queen of Aelfheim, standing on an auction block in a fae pleasure house, about to be sold to the highest bidder.
