Chapter One #2
Eleanor hadn’t considered this a possibility.
She was aware the king invited prostitutes to the palace during the court season; however, she’d thought it would happen later in the year, or some other time entirely.
Definitely not now. Stars, how much wine did she drink last night?
A sufficient amount to have forgotten or blocked out this tidbit of information.
She wasn’t the only one reeling from this declaration, as Madam Grace had to clap her hands to silence the sudden explosion of exclamations.
“You’ll be leaving for the palace tonight and for each night that you are required.
You are all to be on your best behaviour.
If I hear that any of you have displeased His Highness or any courtier, then you will see exactly how displeased I can truly be.
” The madam speared each of the selected ladies with a threatening look.
Eleanor doubted Madam Grace would be the worst threat she’d ever faced, but it didn’t mean the madam’s threat didn’t unsettle her.
She’d grown accustomed to her bed, lumpy and small as it was.
It was dry and private, with easy access to the cheap spirits that helped her sleep.
The threat of losing that was reason enough to be on her best behaviour.
“This is a unique opportunity, and I won’t let you ruin it for me. Behave as courtesans.”
Eleanor stifled her scoff at the thought of her new title. Apparently, calling them prostitutes was too vulgar a word to use for the delicate ears of the aristocrats.
While the other women eagerly awaited their carriages to the palace, Eleanor lingered in the cold until the final white and gold one left The Ladies Grace, pulled by a team of sleek horses.
In doing so, she’d found herself sitting across from Iris, Jasmine, and Calla, who were huddled together, as they transitioned from the uneven, dusty road into the polished cobbled streets.
Like the madam’s other ladies, she knew their names weren’t a coincidence.
The trio happened to be named after flowers.
Madam Grace controlled everything in her little kingdom of The Ladies Grace, even their names weren’t their own.
It was an unspoken rule everyone used the names that the madam gave them, and no-one went by any other name.
As far as Eleanor was concerned, Iris might be the woman’s real name.
It helped to separate themselves from their old lives, a change Eleanor embraced.
The Petals were the classically prettiest of the ladies. Despite everyone thinking they were the daintiest as they were shorter than most, Eleanor knew the truth. They were the feistiest.
She listened to the Petals chatting about the apparent privilege of being this Season’s courtesans and the possibilities that could come with their new status while she wrestled with the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“Eleanor, are you all right? I thought you’d be excited as we are?” Iris asked.
That woman was too sharp for her own good sometimes. “I’m fine. Just not sure what to think of this, that’s all.” She forced herself to give a reassuring smile, or as much of one as she could manage.
“Well, I’m grateful. It means that the king has paid the old bat a small fortune for our exclusive use, and we can have lie-ins,” Jasmine said.
Exclusive use. This was the first time Eleanor had heard of this. She didn’t like the sound of it. Not one bit.
“And there’ll be sparkling wine!” exclaimed an excitable Calla. “And all kinds of fancy food.”
“Did you see the look on Annabella and Mirabella’s faces?” Jasmine smirked at the memory of seeing the two women’s disappointment.
“Exclusive use?” Eleanor asked, redirecting the conversation back to Jasmine’s little detail that they’d seemed to breeze over.
She knew clients could buy any service, as long as they paid enough.
However, it was within the relatively safe confines of The Ladies Grace and the madam’s hired guards were nearby if anything got out of hand.
She didn’t trust those guards to come to her aid quickly, and so she always had her dagger stashed somewhere.
To set her mind at ease, she brushed a careful hand at her thigh where she kept a small Attarician blade concealed.
Only the knives remained from her past, before she came to The Ladies Grace.
They’d been part of a set that she’d left behind in what felt like another life, only taking two of her smaller blades. She was still yet to name them.
“Yes, flower . We’re courtesans now. We’re to serve only the courtiers and not see our usual clients and if we’re not bought in the Collection, then we can charge double our rates,” Iris explained.
Eleanor had learned about the Collection from overheard conversations in the marketplace over time. It was a week-long bidding war between the aristocrats over the courtesans, elevating them to Favours. She swallowed uncomfortably. She guessed that was to be her fate now.
“Weren’t you picked last year?” Eleanor questioned. Despite her short time at The Ladies Grace, she’d already picked up on the gossiping among the ladies.
“I was,” Iris confessed, “but that was before I came here, and then the old bat paired us three together.”
Jasmine waved a careless hand among them. “We’ve become a novelty this way.”
Casting an eye over the trio, she couldn’t deny that the madam had an eye for grouping the ladies together in appealing groups.
Their arrangement complimented each other; Jasmine’s rich black was a stark contrast to Calla’s creamy white while Iris balanced them with her warm brown.
Paired with the usual colours they wore—white, light pink, and purple—they made a bouquet of pure loveliness.
“What was it like? The court?” she asked, wanting to find out any information Iris would give.
“Busy. Drink the wine, keep your head down and make sure you’re ready to leave in these carriages. Don’t stay past the midnight bells—that’s when the party palace closes for the night.”
Eleanor smirked when she heard Iris use the derogatory term for the king's palace. Rumours and gossip had spread over the years across the kingdom, and probably the neighbouring overseas kingdoms, of the wild parties and the outrageous nobles thrown into the mix. The stories were so wild and fantastical that no one could discern truth from embellishment. Although there was one certainty: the king was vain, and his nobles were just as vain and sheltered. They were more preoccupied with the latest trends set by the notorious marquis and the duke rather than the welfare of their people and the realm’s well-being.
“And everyone in attendance is of age?” Eleanor asked, sceptically.
“It’d be stupid if the king didn’t follow his own laws,” Jasmine scoffed.
Iris frowned but replied. “Yes, from what I remember the children aren’t allowed out of their rooms past a certain time.” Iris tilted her head in thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard children in the party palace.”
“It’s a palace ,” Jasmine replied with an amused smirk.
“Imagine if a lord falls in love with us. We could be the first Favour to become a wife, a real lady. Imagine we catch the marquis’s eye,” Calla gasped. “Or what if the king sees me and he falls in love with me? He’d make me the first queen.”
“Calla. Do you want to catch the witch queen’s eye?” Iris hissed, casting a wary look at Eleanor. “You know there’s no queen in Solas.”
Eleanor’s stomach and jaw clenched. She didn’t need reminding why there had never been a queen in the Kingdom of Solas, especially while on her way to the king’s palace.
The Solacian word, witch , still sounded odd to her, but that’s what she was.
She’d not understood the word when she’d first heard mortals use it.
It was a word that had been coined for those born with magic, like her.
She’d considered it fair, as a word for the magicless existed: mortals .
However, it widened an already large divide between those with magic and the magicless of this world.
Then, mortals turned the word against them all; they used it to incite further fear and hate, calling people, like her, evil because of their magic.
But that magic died on the day the Witch Queen was murdered.
Eleanor had long lost the bitterness she’d once had over the mockery of her magic that she’d barely held onto, but she was grateful for the meagre amount.
It was safer for everyone this way.
Eleanor kept her eyes focused on the outside of the carriage.
They had departed the Barrow a while ago, as The Ladies Grace was situated on the edge of the poorest district in Breninsol.
They were now in the midst of the Exchange, the merchant district, an area of clean cobbled streets and well-kept buildings.
It was difficult to see exactly where they were.
The oil lamps were trying their best to burn through the night’s mist. It was a weak attempt.
Jasmine scoffed. “Calla, the king has twelve Favours. Do you think you’d be that good in bed?”
“I could be,” Calla replied with confidence. “Or my beauty alone would be enough for him. If not the king, then any rich lord could fall in love with me. I’m all he’d want, and we’d be happily married.”
Eleanor had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at Calla’s whimsical fancy. She didn’t have the heart to tell the young woman that this was pure fantasy on her part, and she should stick to reading her romance novels.
Eleanor desired neither the role of a Favour, nor, Mother forbid, a wife.
Although Calla’s ambitions weren’t that different from the other courtesans.
If a courtesan got at least one lord attracted enough to bid on them during the Collection, then they’d become a lord’s Favour.
They couldn’t reach a higher status in this life.
The lord’s wife and his subsequent heirs, supposedly only provided by his wife, would always outrank the Favour in the lord’s household.
A lord could have as many Favours as he liked, provided he maintained a standard of living for his Favoured suitable to his title.
All Favours lived with their lord, often with a room of their own, wearing beautiful silks and jewels, attending the court’s lavish parties, eating as much as they wanted, and, according to Jasmine, sleeping in as late as they wanted.
If a courtesan didn’t have enough reason to aim for the role of a Favour, another rule was that no lord could touch them intimately without the lord’s permission, as a Favour belonging to a lord became his property.
The title should be a lord’s Pet rather than a lord’s Favour, but she kept that bitter comment to herself.
Following Iris’s advice was how she could get out of this—by passing through court as blandly as possible, doing the bare minimum, and not attracting any attention.
Then she’d pass through the Collection with no aristo bidding on her and she could return to her mundane life in her grey room with a bottle of wine for company.
“If we’re not chosen during the Collection, I’ve heard some girls at the Moonlight House could get closer to paying off their contracts,” Jasmine said.
And that was all they were trying to do in this life, pay off their debt to live freely. If she kept her head down, maybe she’d eventually pay off Madam Grace. She had time, and then she’d sink back into obscurity.