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Tower of Shadows (Once Upon A Wicked Villain #2) CHAPTER ONE 4%
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Tower of Shadows (Once Upon A Wicked Villain #2)

Tower of Shadows (Once Upon A Wicked Villain #2)

By Candace Robinson, Amber R. Duell
© lokepub

CHAPTER ONE

ROZLYN

Once upon a time, a madam of a brothel took in an abandoned little girl, showing her the care and love that her parents never had. The girl was allowed to make her own choices—even as she reached adulthood and decided to become a courtesan like the women around her.

“Oh, Lucius, your cock is so large !” Rozlyn squealed, riding her patron to the utmost bliss. He lay below her, his pale, soft body drenched in sweat. “I’m coming.” She moaned her second fake orgasm.

“Fuck me harder. Clench those legs tighter. Roll those beautiful hips,” Lucius begged, his fingers awkwardly digging into her flesh as she gave the performance of her life. Then a deep and heavy grunt left his thin, parted lips.

Rozlyn’s chest heaved, her large breasts in Lucius’s callused hands. Once he caught his breath, she leaned to the side and collected a dry rag from the bedside table. She dabbed the fabric against his damp brow, his reddened cheeks, and neck. Lucius frequented the brothel every week, always requesting her, and always paying double the coin, more than she believed she deserved.

“That was absolute perfection, Rozlyn,” Lucius rasped. “I’ll always come to you until my dying breath.”

Lucius wasn’t the most attractive man, but he was kind and worthy of finding someone who he would never have to pay a single coin to bed. “You deserve true love.” She bopped him on the nose with a smile. “But you’re my favorite patron. I’m not telling you that because you pay me either—you genuinely are.”

He ran his fingers through her long hair, the corners of his lips turning downward. “This is the closest I’ve come to finding love.”

“You’ll discover her one day,” she promised. “Now, you need to go before you’re late to work, and I must get ready!” With a quick kiss to his lips, she lifted off him and plucked another rag to clean herself. Her golden locks brushed the floor as she slipped on a silk robe. She ran her fingers over the little white doves she’d sewn into the buttery-hued fabric with care—the perfect robe for any patron to remove before pleasure.

As Lucius drew on his tunic and trousers, Rozlyn took a swig of the bitter tonic to prevent any chance of pregnancy. A child wasn’t something she wanted any time soon, but she would enjoy making clothing for anyone else’s. For years she wished for a dress shop, and one day, she hoped to save enough coin to no longer chase her dream, but catch it.

Lucius fished three extra coins from his pocket and placed them on the bedside table. “See you soon, Rozlyn.”

She gave him a tight hug. “You too, handsome.”

After Lucius pushed the scarlet curtains aside and left, Rozlyn scampered to the bathing chamber to prepare for a potential afternoon client. Oscar, a frequent patron, would be selecting one of the courtesans to accompany him on a work journey to the northernmost part of the court.

The chamber was empty, the other courtesans most likely already applying their powders and rouge in their rooms to look their finest. Rozlyn filled one of the four baths, then washed herself with a vanilla soap bar as she hummed a cheerful melody. She scrubbed away every last lingering scent of pleasure before hurrying to prepare herself.

Once Rozlyn finished and returned to her room, she towel-dried her ankle-length hair the best she could. All of the courtesans grew their hair to please the gentlemen who would pay them a visit. It was the signature style of the brothels in Grimm’s Dawnbreak Court, a testament to their womanly beauty. Even though Madam hadn’t forced Rozlyn to work at the brothel, she’d encouraged her to keep her hair long at an early age, to show that femininity was a strength.

The dress Rozlyn chose for the selection was one of yellow chiffon and muslin, the sleeves sheer, and stitched with tiny pink flowers throughout. She examined her reflection in the oval mirror—soft rose powders accentuated her chestnut eyes and cheekbones, the pink rouge making her lips appear plumper.

“Rozlyn!” her friend Cordelia, and fellow courtesan, called through the curtains. “Madam is growing impatient.”

“Oh, sorry!” She set the rouge down and combed through her damp locks to find Cordelia as pretty as a perky daisy out in the hallway. “You wore the dress I made!”

“Of course. It’s beautiful.” Cordelia grinned, trailing her fingers over the lacy bodice of the royal blue garment. “Now, come on!”

Barefoot, Rozlyn padded across the wooden floor to meet with the other nine courtesans, who stood before thick velvet curtains in the sitting room, their long hair hanging freely. The familiar scent of lavender and honey was bolder here than in the rest of the brothel.

Gray plaits framed Madam’s oval face, and fine lines gave prominence to her deep brown eyes. She cast Rozlyn a disapproving stare, but then smiled her welcoming smile. “Be quicker next time,” she chided.

“I will,” Rozlyn vowed, taking her place between Cordelia and a gorgeous brunette named Trysta. No matter how much she tried, Rozlyn was always late, but she always did her best when it really mattered.

The drapes were drawn shut, and candlelight flickered in the room, casting shadows to set the mood and give the allure of pleasure to come.

A few moments later, the door opened to a tall man ornamented entirely in black. Gloves covered his thin hands, his hood drawn too low to see anything but shadows. Certainly not Oscar, unless he was roaming the streets in disguise so his wife wouldn’t hear of his whereabouts. But if he planned to take one of the courtesans with him, she would surely hear of it anyway.

Without a word, the mysterious stranger inched closer to the courtesans, his cloak swept around his bony shoulders. No, not Oscar —the older patron was much more built than this scrawny stranger.

“This one might break before our task is done,” Cordelia snickered under her breath.

Madam stepped between the man and the courtesans before he could come closer. “How may I help you, good sir?” she asked, a warning in her voice if, without her consent, he got any nearer to what she considered her flowers.

“My name is Iseult,” a low voice said. “I am Sorcerer Marquis Haven Darrow’s assistant and am here in his stead. He requests a maiden for a stay in his tower. The length of time is yet to be determined, but both she and you will be handsomely rewarded for her services. More than you could imagine. I have the marquis’ magical seal, his signature, and his shadows if you don’t trust my word.” He reached inside his cloak and took out an obsidian envelope, then held it toward Madam.

Furrowing her brow, she broke the wax seal and tiny shadows of snakes swayed along its surface as she opened the paper. “This is indeed from the Marquis of Shadows,” Madam announced, turning to the courtesans. “It’s the sorcerer’s seal and his spelled signature.”

The Marquis of Shadows was known as the strongest sorcerer, not only in their court but in all of Grimm. His gothic tower could appear in a single location of any court he wished, yet he hadn’t been seen outside his home in two years. It was highly gossiped about that he’d locked himself away inside his tower after his lover chose to wed the lord of the Souldark Court over him. A court where only the dead and sorcerers could enter.

“You’re welcome to pick a flower.” Madam motioned Iseult toward the courtesans.

The assistant only searched one of the women’s faces, then moved instinctually toward Rozlyn and lifted a lock of her long hair. He kneaded the golden strands between his nimble fingers as if he were rubbing a coin for good luck.

“Her,” Iseult said, his tone assured. He retrieved a large velvet sack from inside his cloak and opened it to show it was full of shiny silver coins. “This is the brothel’s half of the payment.”

Rozlyn’s heart beat with glee. If that was the brothel’s half, that meant she would receive the same amount. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for—it meant she could finally afford one of the empty shops in the market where she could sell the designs she made.

“Except for her,” Madam replied, concern filling her gaze.

Iseult straightened, his shoulders growing rigid. “Only her. The marquis would want no other.”

“Please, Madam,” Rozlyn begged, clasping her hands. “This could make our dreams come true, a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I’ll be fine, and we won’t regret it. I promise.” Besides that, she was curious to learn more about the cryptic marquis and his shadows.

Madam’s lips formed a tight line, but she finally relented. “The flower accepts.”

“We leave at once,” Iseult told Rozlyn. “Pack your necessities quickly.”

Madam nodded for Rozlyn to go and retrieve her things.

Scurrying to her room, Rozlyn grabbed her over-stuffed satchel that she had packed the prior night in case she’d been chosen by Oscar, as all the courtesans were instructed to do. Even though she could be gone longer with the marquis, Rozlyn didn’t need much, only sewing supplies, clothing, and the money she had saved to purchase a shop. When that day came, she imagined it to be the perfect place with a room upstairs where she could live.

After shoving on her boots, she placed her bronze dagger, a gift from Madam, at her hip—just in case. Madam had taught her not only how to pleasure a patron but how to defend herself against one. She could sneak out of any hold, easily draw a blade, and remove an eye if needed. Although she would rather not get her hands messy if she could help it.

Taking a leather tie, she quickly plaited her hair, then slipped on her cloak. When she returned to the sitting area, Iseult lingered alone near the door, and the group of courtesans stood around Madam, all waiting for Rozlyn.

“I hope you’re not gone too long,” Cordelia said and wiped away a few tears streaming down her olive cheeks. “Tell me everything when you return. I want to know what the inside of the marquis’ tower is like!”

“Don’t cry. I won’t be gone forever.” It could be only a few days for all she knew, but even if it were longer, she would never abandon her found family. “And I promise I will tell you all about it.”

She drew each one of the courtesans into a tight hug, saving Madam for last.

“Thank you, Mama.” Rozlyn inhaled her comforting cinnamon scent.

“My sweet dandelion.” Madam held her tighter. “You are like a daughter to me. If the marquis is savage to you at all, use your dagger on him and come back to us.”

Rozlyn tapped the weapon at her waist, her tone hushed. “A knee to the groin and a fatal slash across the throat.”

“Followed by a kick to his corpse,” Madam finished while lifting a gift. A small sack of cookies. “For the journey. Be careful.”

“I will.”

“It looks like Oscar finally arrived!” Cordelia called, lowering her bodice and fluffing up her wild dark curls. She then wrinkled her nose. “Hopefully I’m chosen since Cleetus will be here tonight.”

Cleetus was a married man who paid extra to verbally degrade his chosen courtesan while they tumbled. But Rozlyn always looked on the bright side when she played the devious little game with him—he orgasmed almost instantly every time.

With a final goodbye, Rozlyn met Iseult at the door and walked out into the bright afternoon light, a smile spreading her cheeks.

“We must hurry,” Iseult said, his pace brisk. “The marquis awaits us.”

Rozlyn’s shorter legs had to take bigger steps to keep up with the man.

They passed the flower shop and meat market, to which she bid them a short farewell. Near the end stood the three empty shops she could soon choose from to make her own, and she smiled. Then they were on the outskirts of the town, the long trail winding toward the mountains, and Iseult veered off it with Rozlyn attempting to keep up.

“Can we walk a little slower?” she panted as they went deeper into the forest. Her feet ached after walking for what felt like hours, the twigs and leaves snapping beneath her boots. “It’s just I’m getting thirsty and didn’t think to pack water.”

“There’s no time. The sun will set soon,” he rushed out, worry lacing his tone.

A raven screeched at the same time Rozlyn caught sight of the sorcerer’s obsidian tower brushing the sky in the distance. Above them, a murder of crows flocked over the roof. She’d wandered by this area on occasion when visiting the neighboring town to buy unique fabrics that she couldn’t find in the market nearest the brothel—sometimes the tower was there, and other times it must’ve been in a different court. Yet when it was here, birds always seemed drawn to the mysterious tower. Especially the black ones.

As she reached the marquis’ home, the sounds of the birds grew louder as though nudging her to keep going toward the tower. She peered at the structure’s pitch-black stone walls and the dark vines, blooming with onyx orchids and calla lilies, snaking up its length toward a glistening turret.

Squinting, Rozlyn’s gaze settled on a single window with the familiar alabaster stone gargoyle mounted beside it. The gargoyle hadn’t always been there, but she couldn’t recall when it first started appearing. Perhaps a couple of years ago.

The door creaked open, drawing Rozlyn’s stare away from the carving.

“Please come inside,” Iseult said, his voice calmer than it had been.

Rozlyn stepped through the open door. He closed it behind her and locked it, slipping the key into his trouser pocket. The entrance hall rested in darkness, but a violet glow poured down a curving staircase. The only other entrance was an open cellar door at the end of the foyer.

“You may go upstairs,” he stated. “The marquis will meet with you tonight.”

“Thank you.” Clutching her satchel, Rozlyn ascended the black steps. She passed no other decorations except for dark candles hanging on the walls, their purple flames guiding her way through the tower, its citrusy scent folding around her.

Glistening onyx cloaked everything inside. The candles continued to burn, their wax unmelted. No one in Grimm inherited internal magic. It could only be wielded through objects and potions created by those chosen by the gods. Sorcerers and sorceresses.

Rozlyn climbed up step after step, feeling as though the curving staircase would never end. By the time she reached the top, her thighs ached and her chest heaved. Before her stood one black metal door. A tower this high only contained one door? Strange . She wondered what was in the cellar then. More rooms?

Rozlyn entered the lavish space lit with candelabras on shelves, and she gasped. Not black at all. The walls were bright canary with ivory suns and colorful flowers hung along the rafters. The canopied bed, covered in lush yellow silk and ivory fur, hugged a corner of the room, and a matching wardrobe sat in the opposite one. A stained-glass bathtub stood on the other side of the room. She opened the massive wardrobe to find it filled with yellow frilly dresses. This was exactly what her dream bedroom would look like—right down to her favorite color—once her dress shop was successful enough to afford fine fabrics for herself anyway.

Two layers of curtains, sheer yellow for prettiness and silver linen beneath to keep out the light, hung open in front of a rectangular window. Setting her satchel on the floor, Rozlyn unlocked the window and pulled the glass inward to poke her head out. Her stomach dipped as she peered down the side of the tower. Someone could easily plummet to their death from this height. A dove took off beside her, and she turned to face the ivory stone gargoyle guarding the tower.

Up close, he was much larger than she imagined, and if he stood, he would be at least a head taller than her. He sat in a crouched position, long horns curving from his head, massive wings sprouting from his back, and a tail curving over a strong thigh. Her gaze shifted upward, finding a harsh scowl, his lips turned downward with sharp teeth protruding. He had pointed ears like an elf from a storybook, a flat nose, and a sharp jaw that could cut glass. His ivory skin and hair looked to be kissed by the moon itself. Overall, he appeared as though he could be a creature of the gods. As curiosity prodded at her, she reached to touch the marble to see if he was cool or warm, when a knock came behind her, and she hurried to shut the window.

She answered the door, expecting to finally meet the marquis, but it was only Iseult, still cloaked in black from head to toe, carrying a food tray.

“I brought you tea and dinner. I’ll be in the cellar if you need any assistance at all.” He handed her the tray and parted ways with her before she could thank him.

Rozlyn set the tray on the bedside table, then removed her boots and cloak. She unplaited her hair and ran her fingers through the tangled golden locks.

As she waited for the Marquis of Shadows, she drank the delicious honey tea and polished off the savory lamb stew.

Rozlyn pushed up to stand when the room spun and she fell back down on the mattress. She touched her temples as her eyes grew heavy with sleep.

She knew instantly what had occurred—the little weasel had slipped something into her tea.

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