Chapter Thirty Myla
The Opal Brothel is the best one in Khargis, and that isn’t exactly saying much.
A bar makes up the front of the establishment, the only drinks served the kind that hurt going down.
Leading to the worn wooden bar top is a collection of mismatched tables and chairs, occupants gathered around them as they scout which female to claim for the evening.
While cleaner than its competitors, this place in the center of the poorest district of Khargis is still filled with the normal assortment of trash.
Rich males doing a terrible job hiding their extramarital affairs from their wives.
Drunks spending coin they don’t have on bodily pleasures instead of feeding their children.
Lurking in the corners are those of an even seedier variety—males for hire that work efficiently and don’t ask questions.
They are mirrored by females whose gift for blending in allows them to hear all.
And then there is me. A princess shunned by her own kingdom.
Believed to be a curse set upon the fae for their discretions during the war. A punishment from the gods.
I toss back my shot of liquor, enjoying the way it burns as it coats my throat.
To believe in the existence of gods is to admit that you are alright with someone fucking with your life, controlling you as if you are nothing more than a puppet attached to taut strings.
I have enough of that existence here in the corporeal plane of my kingdom.
I don’t need it from some made up illusion of power that has never been seen or heard from.
The will of the gods is what Father Yamin calls it during his pretentious hours’ long sermons, and that will is something only he and the other high-ranking holy males of the church can decipher, apparently.
Our people are to continue begging for forgiveness, continue showing their piety in order to find redemption from the equivalent of ghosts in the skies.
I may have tarnished every decent bone in my body over the last half a decade, but even I believe that threatening torture to get good behavior isn’t a way to lead the people. I could laugh at the hypocrisy.
The bartender—a fae who looks no older than myself with greasy black hair and beady little eyes—props himself up on the counter across from me.
“Another drink, princess?” I snort and shake my head.
He uses the nickname as an insult, noting that because I don’t look as if I haven’t showered in weeks, I must be as high maintenance as the royal family living in their fancy stone palace.
It is ironic, and yet I hope the silly nickname won’t come back to bite me in the ass.
“Your favorite is here; she’s just off with another customer. ”
I clench my jaw, my fingers curling into my black leather pants as I look away.
Of all the brothels that dot the landscape in the bowels of this city, I always return to this one.
It seems my repeated presence is beginning to breed a sense of familiarity, and for the sake of my larger mission, I can’t allow it to continue.
I delay leaving, ordering one final shot to avoid having to squat for hours on a nearby roof as I wait for my target to exit the bar he likes to frequent, when I’m hit with the scent of blackberries.
My body immediately relaxes, the aroma working to help me draw in a calmer breath. Fuck. Familiarity indeed.
There are no excuses now—this will have to be my last time here.
Turning from the bar, I spot the owner of the delicate scent.
She gives me a small smirk and quick nod of her head before disappearing down the hallway that leads to her room.
The bartender behind me chuckles as I drop a few coins for my drinks with a glare.
While known for his lewd comments and lascivious gaze, Ayan has never actually touched anyone without their consent.
Word in brothels spreads easily amongst the females who keep it afloat, and no one has ever complained of having a negative experience with him. It’s the reason he’s still alive.
My boots stick to the floor as I walk down the dark hallway, leaving the noisier half of the brothel behind for where the actual business takes place.
Each door I pass contains a cacophony of noises—moans and grunts and the occasional muffled plea.
My delicate sensibilities had been scandalized by all the different ways pleasure could be found when I first came here.
But I had been different then, a little more full of hope and a little less intrigued by the darkness that wrapped itself around me.
The door to Karina’s room is left ajar, and I quietly push it open and slip in, the scent of blackberries intensifying—along with the smell of the others who have been here. “I’m just going to wash up!” she shouts from the small bathroom attached, her voice echoing off the tile.
“Take your time.” In truth, I had plenty to kill before I needed to leave.
The target I am hunting tonight will spend an ungodly amount of coin at the bar, likely harass a few females while he is there, and then have his carriage take him to the other side of Khargis.
Where the homes are as elegantly crafted as the palace itself, built into the mountainside so they can look down upon those who live and work at the mountain’s base.
Karina’s soft voice hums from the shower as I sit on the edge of her bed and begin untying the laces of my boots.
Her room is always clean, the sheets on her bed swapped between customers.
Candles of every shape and size are placed throughout, making shadows dance on the walls.
Karina hadn’t been my introduction to sexual gratification, but she had been the first to see me as more than a paying customer.
It’s been years of indulging in her company—something that brings me pleasure that I don’t often allow myself. But it has to end tonight.
The shower finally turns off, and the rustling noises of Karina drying herself encourage me to move a little faster.
Steam billows out of the bathroom, the mist parting when she steps through, her naked skin flushed from the shower.
“It’s been a while,” she says, running her hand through her white hair, the stark color an anomaly amongst the fae.
Her dark skin is interrupted by patches of pure white, creating a unique and beautiful pattern that I’ve traced my tongue over time and time again.
She crawls onto the bed, night-colored eyes meeting my own as she braces her hands on either side of my shoulders.
A necklace dangles in the air between us, and I lift my hand to caress it between my fingers.
“It has, and you will not see me again after this.”
She watches as my brows draw low when I realize that the necklace is made of seashells. Their flat surface is dotted with ridges and specks of iridescent color. Just like Aria’s scales. Karina chuckles. “What thought is causing such a serious face?”
Flashes of Aria’s luminous skin, her scales inset along her body like some magical piece of art, come to me unbidden.
I let go of the necklace and instead weave my hand into Karina’s hair, guiding her down to me.
There is nothing sweet about the way our mouths collide, the taste of her flooding my tongue as her body drapes over mine and I use her to chase away the images of the ruby-haired siren who has become the bane of my existence.
Her fingers trail down my body, sliding into the indent of my waist before coasting over my hip and then finding the warmth between my legs.
There is a comfort in the way she touches me, as much as I hate to admit such a vulnerability.
Karina had given attention to what I liked from the very beginning, only because it was her job to.
I paid her well and got out of her hair the moment we were done, and she gave me a momentary break from the constant fear I lived in before I knew what it was to be a weapon.
To find some sort of solace in the fae I killed who actually deserved it.
But before I was Khargis’s Shadow, I was just a pathetic, lost female, teetering on the edge of a blade that promised to slice me no matter which way I moved.
The events that led to my full ostracization began with a sweet-talking pair of lips and a head full of silky raven hair.
And in the destruction, I realized that love could never be anything more than a weakness.
I had fallen in love once—let myself be bared to another because I had believed that, no matter what, she held my heart as carefully as I held hers. Never again would I be so weak.
“Is this truly the last time?” Karina says softly, dragging her lips over my neck and down to my collarbone.
“Yes.”
“Then we will make sure you are properly taken care of before you leave.” Nothing more is spoken as she kisses her way down my body, her head settling between my widely spread legs.
I squeeze my eyes shut and let myself melt at her touch, let myself pretend for the briefest of moments that I’m somebody with a soul.
That I have freedoms that aren’t hidden in the shadows cast by my father’s rule.
I give myself this single illusion of happiness.
Later, I slip back into the darkness of the city, my hood pulled up and my mask covering the lower half of my face as I return to my purpose. With my blades strapped to my body, I am the weapon the vulnerable need. And until I can bond a dragon, that will have to be enough.