Page 1 of Crown of the Courtesan

Prologue

ASHLAND

“You must kill them all—each and every one,” my ailing father says, his husk of a voice raspy and tired. “Tell me you’ll eradicate their bloodline.”

In my hands, the weight of my sword grows unbearable. The iridescent jewel in the pommel illuminates against the velvet sky. “I’ve shed enough blood for your cause.”

“The curse won’t be denied.”

An aching bitterness wraps its claws around me. “Fuck you and the curse.” I drop the bloodied blade to the barren earth, where its light shudders like a dying heartbeat.

“The curse will consume you like it did your grandfather and his grandfather before you.”

“Then I’ll leave these fae-forsaken lands.”

“You cannot outrun fate—would you leave your people without a king? Without someone to defend them?”

“I’ve done enough for them. For you.”

“You haven’t even started, boy.”

Looking out across the desolate land littered with crumpled bodies, I exhale a breath. Irreparable loss spears my thoughts as I focus on those responsible for the carnage. “I hate them.”

One

“Lady Courtesans don’t deserve half of what they get.”

“Issa wasted on ’em.”

“She should stick to High Market.”

I try to block out the never-ending gossip that mixes with the clatter of wagon wheels on the ancient cobblestones.

“Would ya lookie at that? It’s Tabitha Rilea over there⁠—”

“Aye, and she’s even lovelier in person…”

Hand-painted signs sway above the bakeries and fruit stands as I weave along the narrow avenue, sidestepping servants in search of ingredients. Little children run underfoot, playfully butting one another, their curved horns protruding from their foreheads.

Newly arrived from distant realms, humans and beastfolk crowd the thoroughfares, all gawking at the banners that flutter against the cloud-swollen sky. As the last kingdom in the Human Realm to still hold the Bidding Ceremony, the Kingdom of Alexandria draws travelers from every corner of the map—all curious about the fabled courtesans who glow brighter than the stars.

It’s a shame paint now peels from most of the half-timbered homes and shops—patches spreading across their thatched roofs like bandages on a dying man. A strange, aching nostalgia settles on my chest. The newcomers will never experience our beautiful streets as they were before we started losing the war against the Witch-King of Ashland.

It hurts remembering when Alexandria used to gleam with vibrancy, when I welcomed every challenge as a debutante. Ignorance was bliss in that way. But now I’m twenty-eight, and the capital city’s decline matches the cracks forming within me.

The Bidding Ceremony is today. So I’ve been indulging in the distraction of shopping. Born with a keen eye for spending, I always find a reason to open my coin purse, whether that’s for the fourth-generation dressmaker or the local minotaur farmstand, but most especially for the bookshop to buy romantic novels—usually the ones with racy titles that make the noblewomen blush. Though they pretend not to read them, these same ladies will send their maids to purchase copies in order to mask their guilty pleasure.

Personally, I could never hide my weakness for books. It would be like trying to conceal breathing, and I’d sooner go without air in my lungs. The same dinners and balls, repeated endlessly, make the literary world a vital escape, one I’ll pay any inflated price for. But I know, deep down, no amount of my patronage will fix the invisible fissures afflicting the common people running these shops—neither would it change their opinions of me.

The surrounding voices continue as if I’m not there. I keep pace, focusing on the rainbow-colored silk bolts at the stall.

“Didn’t expect her to be out on the day of the Bidding Ceremony.”

“Think she’ll retake the highest bid?”

“I would hope not!”

A half-kraken fisherman, reeking of stale rum, slithers by as he heaves a weighted barrel of salted fish with his purple tentacles. Voice coarse from drink, he mutters, “A pretty tabby cat I’d pet all night…”