Chapter Two
A Dance of a Different Kind
Eleanor tamped down that sinking sensation in her stomach, which churned as the carriage rolled past the monumental statue of the First King.
The memorial was visible despite the murky night.
The First King was depicted with his raised sword, as though he was defeating the witches anew.
She’d long stopped seeing it as the challenge it claimed to be.
She hated seeing it, it was a harsh reminder that she was the last of her kind.
The First King may have beheaded the Witch Queen, and the successive kings did everything in their power to eradicate witches, but they’d missed one.
For more than a mortal’s lifetime, she had striven to make the king’s line pay. However, there was only so much defeat, loss, and pain she could endure before she felt like a shadow of her former self.
Leaving the streets of Breninsol behind, the churning in her stomach stayed with her as the carriage passed through the imposing golden palace gates.
The King’s palace was either spectacular or hideous, depending on who you spoke to.
The line of kings liked marble and the whole palace was constructed from it.
The king’s grandfather, King Iacobus, the Hunter King, had designed the royal residence.
He’d begun building the marble monstrosity but left his son, King Caradoc the Second, to finish the palace after the Hunter King’s death.
It took most of Caradoc’s life to complete the building and his son, the current king, King Cerdric, was the first of the king’s line to live and party in the finished palace.
Renowned as the largest palace in the kingdom, it also held the title of the biggest in the history of mortals.
Before tonight, the closest Eleanor had ever been to the king’s palace was from the twisting streets of Breninsol; it was the largest and the only pure white building in the capital.
On a bright sunny day, the sun’s rays reflected on the brilliant white of the palace, illuminating its surroundings.
She could recall how the palace was visible from miles outside the capital, and how, at the time, she’d believed the sun made it warmer and acted as a beacon for its people.
Now that Eleanor had lived within Breninsol’s streets, she was all too aware of how the palace glared down onto its citizens.
It captivated them with its bright light only as a constant reminder of who ruled over them.
As the carriage passed through the second golden gate, that broke up the marble wall surrounding the shining white palace, the unsettled feeling within her only intensified and she brushed her fingers over the outline of her hidden Attarician dagger.
The small group of carriages reached a side entrance and halted before a set of open double golden doors, where stewards dressed in the king’s colours stood to await the Season’s courtesans.
Eleanor let the Petals leave the carriage first, taking a moment to ensure only the tiniest crack of her magic could eke out for her scars and marks to be hidden beneath a gossamer veil of magic.
It was as instinctual as a final weapons check before heading out onto a battlefield.
While wielding her magic was as natural as breathing, tonight presented a significant challenge; she was entering the king’s palace.
The descendant of the man who ruthlessly hunted down anyone even remotely suspected of magic, regardless of whether they actually possessed any.
As Eleanor stepped from the carriage, she made a conscious effort to concentrate on her surroundings, pushing aside any distracting thoughts.
This close to the monstrous building, Eleanor had thought she’d feel its pulsing heat, but she only felt the oppressive weight of its still coldness.
It didn’t feel like any kind of monster that was alive anymore.
The walls glistened under the torches, illuminating the palace for her to marvel at.
The white behemoth bore down on her, as its massive wings stretched off into the night.
They entered through a golden doorway, upheld by bleached white bones that had once belonged to something which had ceased existing long ago in the realm, Eleanor and the Petals joined a larger collection of women, more than just those from The Ladies Grace.
As they glanced around, a few women appeared as if their heads could detach while attempting to absorb the great expanse of their surroundings.
The vestibule was at least three storeys tall, with wide glass windows and white columns resting between each window.
White and black chequered marble squares covered the floor, and golden sconces illuminated the white walls, reflecting light throughout the space.
This first room they entered, if it could be called a “room,” left Eleanor utterly unprepared for the sheer magnitude of what had been forced upon her.
The king’s weaselly man’s meticulous selection of prostitutes for an entire week made it no surprise that all the women who’d been chosen were beautiful.
It was a veritable feast for the eyes, skin and hair tones ranging from the deepest part of the ocean to the fairest cloud in the sky.
Iris subtly acknowledged a group of women standing in the room’s centre with a slight nod.
They were all wearing a variation of plain, sheer dresses, but in a mixture of blues signifying that they were from Madam Grace’s competitor: the Moonlight House.
Their dominant position in the room, and the constant seductive smirk playing on their lips as they preened, suggested they anticipated the king’s arrival, eager to be the first to catch his eye.
The air was thick with the unspoken expectation, but Eleanor barely kept her scoff silent.
As if the king himself would deign to personally greet them.
The smaller groups of women from the less popular pleasure houses stood at a distance from one another.
Some appeared too young to be here, while others appeared older than her.
Their expressions varied, some full of dreamlike wonder, while others were etched with mistrust revealing those were the women vying for the coveted position of a Favour.
However, whatever her aspirations, none of the women could resist the urge to rub her arms, appreciating the palace’s interior warmth in contrast to the cold outside.
The sheer scale of the building meant that fires burned relentlessly, a continuous inferno consuming it both during the day and throughout the night.
Echoing footsteps ceased any frantically whispered conversations, creating a hush that held everyone’s attention on the open doors.
Disappointment washed over the women in a barely suppressed sigh as the thin, oily man, who had selected them in The Ladies Grace, entered the room. His eyes lingered on all of them with a belittling look, before a dismissive cough escaped his lips.
“You have personally been selected to entertain the king and his courtiers. While you are here, you will obey any and all orders given to you. If any of you displease the king, you will not be given a second chance.” His final word was followed by an impatient cough, a sound that Eleanor, in her limited experience with the man, found truly repulsive.
But there it was, right there, an unpleasant glint of something lurking beneath his oily demeanour that she’d seen in The Ladies Grace, that had now surfaced with that final unspoken threat.
Eleanor repressed a shudder at seeing that hideosity in his beady eyes.
He spun on his heel, a squeak announcing his departure, leaving everyone to scramble after him, eager to see where the evening’s parade would lead.
The interior of the palace undeniably reinforced the notion from the exterior.
This palace, a monument to unparalleled sovereign power, stood as a testament to the strength and legacy of the bloodline that built it.
If magic had existed, Eleanor could have reached out to feel its hearth and reveal its personality, most likely an imperious nature.
The king’s man led the courtesans up a wide marble staircase, so wide that six of them could comfortably walk next to each other.
It stretched around the walls and high above them, continuing up and up further into the recess of the palace, leaving a fathomless ceiling somewhere high above them.
Tiered chandeliers descended the centre of the staircase, with high windows that overlooked them.
Some windows were darkened by the night outside, while others glowed with the candlelight from the hallways, creating a dramatic contrast in the view.
Several women stumbled as they ascended, paying more attention to their surroundings than to where they were going.
Having arrived on the first floor of this particular section of the palace, their journey continued as they were guided through a complex network of interconnected halls.
Gleaming white marble formed the elegant, pristine paving of each and every hall, while gold glinted from the ceiling’s corners and trimmed the large mirrors that were placed in seemingly random sections of the walls.
A subtle and nearly imperceptible symphony played, barely audible, on the very edge of her hearing. With each step, the women ventured further into the depths of the ornate palace.
Regardless of the endless ivory and gold corridors. and the steadily growing sound of music, Eleanor kept count of the turns and any discernible markers in the hallways, trying to orientate herself. She was keenly aware of the ease with which someone could become disoriented there.