Several girls in line moved, and I tried to catch Eleanor’s eye, silently begging her to stay in place and not draw attention to herself, but she didn’t see me and stepped forward into direct sight of the lord. She was closer to him. Too close. Since we’d arrived so late, Ivory and I were stuck at the very end, the opposite end to where the lord stood. He greedily studied the line of mostly young girls, and nausea swam in my stomach.
Fuck. Okay, we were doing this.
I stepped forward.
Chapter 2
The lord’s words confused everyone. Murmurs grew from the surrounding crowd, and Ivory huffed behind me. It was pure coincidence that both Eleanor and I were born on Summer Solstice, something our mother had boasted about, claiming we were destined for greatness. Supposedly, it brought good luck to be born on the year’s longest day, not that I’d seen any of it.
The lord slowly made his way down the line. I held my breath when he approached Eleanor, not letting it out until he passed her entirely. “If your virtue has been torn, step back.”
There were shocked grumblings among the crowd and several blushing women scurried back in line. I stayed where I was. Staring at the lord as he drew closer to me and farther from my sister who hadn’t moved. Seeming to sense my gaze, his attention focused—eyes narrowing on my place in front of the line.
That’s it. Look at me. Not her.
With hands clasped behind his back, he assessed me thoroughly, mouth pinched as his gaze traveled up and down my body.
“Your virtue?” he asked when he stopped in front of me.
“Intact,” I ground out through clenched teeth. Even if it wasn’t normal for someone my age, I didn’t appreciate his skepticism. It’s not like I hadn’t been presented with the opportunity. I had, many times, especially with Ergo—he was insistent. But something stopped me every time, a harsh tug in my chest had held me back and I could never go through with it.
The lord scoffed. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” I stated, pressing my lips into a thin line to stop the vitriol wanting to spill at his accusatory tone.
He hummed, regarding me more seriously than before. “Have you seen death?” Caught completely off guard, the surprising question sent me spiraling into the past.
A room destroyed. Gurgled sounds. Gasping breaths. Deep-pooling red. Blood. So much blood.
The silence.
“Answer me, girl,” the lord snarled, drawing me out of the flashbacks. The crowd murmured in distaste, and I had no doubt news of my disrespect would spread through the village before I left the square. I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
The lord narrowed his eyes, then moved back down the line without another word. He asked the same questions of every woman standing in front of the line. I was sure Eleanor would answer no to at least one of those questions, and I prayed to Roburvirtus it was enough.
When he finished his questions, the lord pointed at me. “That one is to come with me, the rest may go.”
“O-of c-course, my lord.” Mr. Lyle waved the other women away, and I rushed forward, not to the waiting lord, but to my sister, my heart beating at the rate of a galloping horse.
“Lia?” she asked, wide-eyed at the sight of me and the panic I was trying, and failing, to hide.
“Go home and pack your bags. Wait for me there,” I urged her. Whatever the king wanted, I would get out of it, and we would flee together. Tonight.
“What?” Her head jerked back slightly, and I caught sight of Mr. Lyle heading this way.
“Please listen. Go!” I pushed her toward Mr. Port, who nodded at me and waved Eleanor over. He would take her home.
“Come along, Miss Masters, the king is waiting,” Mr. Lyle said, tugging me to the edge of the square and the impatient lord who waited there.
Judgmental eyes bore into me, accompanied by slurs and names whispered under breath.
Scum. Dirt.Whore.
That one always hurt most. Despite my virtue, living and working next to a brothel had labeled me just as unholy as its ladies. I was glad Eleanor was never included in that assessment. Although I did my best to ignore the slander, I still flinched when the hateful words battered my worn armor. Years of gossip had damaged my strength and fortitude, only a thin layer remaining to protect myself from surrendering to darkness.
If they knew the truth, they would be saying much worse.
I focused on the fine embroidery of the lord’s tunic as we passed through a side of the village I usually avoided. The homes were grander and better maintained than the derelict buildings surrounding Port’s Tavern, the occupants full of judgment. People who refused to get their hands dirty and expected the less fortunate to break their backs to please them.
