“I killed his son.”
Water splashes as I whip back to face him. Such an unexpected answer, and delivered so plainly. Lachlan is a celestial knight, capable of all manner of violence. But this happened before that, back when he was a courtesan.
I scroll my mind for an appropriate response, but all I produce is a weak, “Why?”
His gaze catches the shadowed corner of the room, a vein in his temple pulsing.
“You don’t have to tell me, I?—”
“No, it’s alright.” He turns back with a soft smile. “I’m just trying to find the best place to start.”
“Take your time,” I concede, dipping lower in the water to ward off the sudden chill. He pulls my ankles outside his thighs and rubs my calves as he unspools his story.
“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, even during your brief sojourn in the celestial kingdom, there are Houses within each territory that fancy themselves a cut above the rest. Houses who, throughout history, have gathered power through wealth or ties to the monarchy.”
“It is similar in the human realm, as I’m sure you know,” I say, savoring his strong fingers on my flesh and the rich cadence of his voice. I could listen to him speak for hours.
“Then I’ll spare you the boring history lesson and tell you that House LaBeaumont is nearly as bad as House Áine. They both represent a kind of ruthlessness that certain families believe is necessary to maintain power. There are rumors that Faustine LaBeaumont, Lisande’s mother, killed Queen Caer in her sleep. She was mistress of the robes at the time. The act ended the king’s life as well, of course, and opened the monarchy to the other ruling Houses. No one’s ever successfully proved her involvement, though.” He sneers and flicks the surface of the water. “If it were up to me, I’d have wiped House LaBeaumont from existence centuries ago.”
Something deeply personal simmers beneath his hatred.
“Despite my distaste for the family, I will not deny they are extremely shrewd. After all, what’s the best way to maintain a connection to the powerful? Control their vices. House LaBeaumont knows this better than anyone. They basically own Farlock’s Edge and are the chief investors in every pleasure establishment from Tír na Strelle to Tír na Dubh.”
Ah. “Including the one you used to work at?”
He nods. “As the crown jewel in their offering, I was immune to their cruelest policies. My clients were some of the most influential women in the kingdom, after all.” His lips flatten. “My colleagues were not so lucky.”
He spreads an arm across the lip of the tub, knuckles whitening as he squeezes the rim. “Some of the things I sawin those places … They were little better than charnel houses, Charlotte. But as long as a client was paying, no taste was too depraved to service. And if any of the sex workers refused, they would?—”
“Lose their job?” I interrupt.
“Never.” Lachlan’s smile is pure, bitter cynicism. “Even the resulting poverty would have been a mercy compared to the lashings they’d receive for disappointing a client. There were punishments for ending services too early, for getting sick and needing to take time off, for not meeting the weekly quotas—which were nearly impossible for new workers to achieve, given the low rates they started at.”
I shudder. “It sounds horrific.”
“It was. Though there’s nothing inherently wrong with sex work when done in a healthy manner with consent and proper compensation. But the places run by the LaBeaumonts offered little of that.”
A question’s been percolating. I am half afraid to ask. “How did you come to work at one?”
“I was”—he rubs his thumbnail along his lower lip—“a very angry young man. Had lots of questions for which the world did not have satisfactory answers. Who were my parents? Why had they abandoned me? Why had the gods gifted me thediamrhán? They must have had grand intentions for me. Much grander than any opportunity I was being offered at the Eyrie. Garred’s father was always urging me not to use it. I thought”—he laughs at himself—“thought he was jealous of me. Didn’t learn until it was too late that he was trying to protect me.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a story told so many times, I’m almost embarrassed by its banality. Arrogant young man falls in with the wrong crowd. Begins using his gift to help unscrupulous people access inaccessible secrets. Gets showered with dirty money and falsepraise. Rich, beautiful women start throwing themselves at him, and he’s far too hot-blooded and full of himself to refuse.”
I blink. The Lachlan I know is none of those things. At least, not outside the bedroom. But perhaps that’s why he clings so fiercely to his control everywhere else. Because he knows the consequences of a slip-up, how easily that cyclone of vice could swirl him up again.
“I’m not going to lie; for a few years, it was good. Very good, even. I was wanted byeveryone. For an orphan who grew up wanted by no one, fame and fortune were heady drugs. Not to mention I had the ear of the most powerful players in the kingdom. But the more mired I became in that world, the more the treatment of my colleagues grated on me. The only difference between us was thediamrhán. Should a divine gift, one I did nothing to earn, mean that I should feast while they suffered famine? I started pressing the subject with a few of my more progressive clients, and though they were sympathetic, none were brave enough to speak out against a system from which they themselves benefited.”
I want to wrap my arms around him, want to comfort him so badly, but I also don’t want to break the spell. He so rarely allows me these peeks behind his curtain.
“I grew so disillusioned that I was ready to give up. My grandiose lifestyle was not nearly as glamorous as I’d imagined, and my desire for reform had been thwarted at every turn. I was ready to crawl back to the Eyrie with my proverbial tail between my legs. But then, something happened that dramatically altered the course of my life.”
He swallows, dread contorting his features, and despite my thirst for this knowledge, I almost ask him to stop.
“I began mentoring a young woman named Phaelyn, whom I’d met at one of LaBeaumont’s swankier establishments in Farlock’s Edge. She’d asked me for advice on how to snare morepowerful, better-paying clients. She had no gift, but she was ambitious. Beautiful. And very cunning.”
A pang of jealousy flares behind my ribs. It’s not only useless, given Lachlan’s history—if I were jealous of all his former lovers, I’d never have the capacity for a single other emotion—but it’s also unfair, given I’m betrothed to two other men. I shove the feeling aside as he continues.
