Page 12 of Crown of the Courtesan

Name after name, bids are won or lost. Hearts break or revive. Women I’ve known since childhood are traded from nobleman to nobleman as if they were nothing more than silk at market. Our expressions remain serene while the audience openly reacts with rippling gasps of surprise.

“Lady Alisse Brie.”

The crying debutante from the garden smiles demurely now, with no sign of distress on her glowing face. When she reaches the top of the pedestal, she swishes the silver skirts of her dress for emphasis in a dainty, feminine show. The crowd murmurs in appreciation, observing this waif. She may know what she is doing after all.

“Andras Shellton, Master of Horse.”

Something sparks momentarily in Alisse’s eyes in response, but she betrays nothing. It’s an excellent first placement. She’ll soon sit in the highest-ranking drawing rooms across the kingdom, and most importantly, Shellton is known to be kind and gentle.

My concentration wanes as worry gnaws at me, especially when I remember the lack of potion in my goblet. Or worse, when I think of Balor. If being reduced to an item bought and traded is demoralizing, it doesn’t compare to the dread of being rejected and discarded.

“Lady Vennisa Faye.”

She’s blinding, with her icy-blonde waves that blur together with the bluish glow of her aura as she steps onto the dais, appearing completely ethereal. As much as it pains me to admit it, I know she’ll make a lovely High Lady Courtesan. Vennisa seems to inspire the debutantes and the other courtesans in a way I simply can’t. And despite her sharp nature, she’s a natural-born leader.

“Rolfe Edwards, Justice of the Realm.” Her eyes light up at the announcement, and she smiles at the chittering audience before stepping down. The Master of Ceremonies pins this name to the top of the scroll displayed next to his podium. Although Vennisa’s new Keeper isn’t the Chancellor, he’s the highest bidder so far. Balor must bid tonight. Otherwise, Vennisa will still win as High Lady Courtesan.

“Lady Tabitha Rilea.”

It’s almost over; I can get through this.

My heart pounds against my chest as I pass Vennisa on my way to the dais, a negative energy pulsing from her. If she wishes to see me fail, then her dreams are about to come true.

The pressure of the unknown, as all eyes are on me, makes every ticking second seem like an eternity.

My hands grow hot and itchy.

Someone whispers in the back row. The whispers crescendo in my ears until they become unbearable and unintelligible.

I am a jewel. Made of stone.

I am an object. No feelings. No pain.

The noise stops in a sudden wave, sucking the air out of my lungs.

“Balor Black, Grand Chancellor.”

Six

A page boy gives a sharp nudge to my ribs, reminding me that I’m still standing on the dais. I hop off with an anticlimactic thud. The patter of my silk slippers is the only sound as I return to my place among the Lady Courtesans, my body rigid and tense with utter disbelief.

“To the ballroom,” the Master of Ceremonies declares, patting his stomach, “for drinking and dancing, my good people. Keepers, take your prizes.”

Prizes.

Balor’s prize.

It makes me want to vomit.

Everyone rises and talks simultaneously, glad to have free rein over their voices again. The din steadily increases until the atmosphere shifts to a chaotic transition. Some gossip about the courtesans, some about ex-friends, and some about the war with the Witch-King. Everything blends like a whirlwind nipping at my heels as I sift through the people—searching.

Where is he?

I strain to find Balor in the multitude as the crowd shuffles toward the ballroom. Behind me, an overly tall lord steps on my gown’s train, too distracted by the bevy of ladies fawning over him to notice he’s currently trampling expensive and delicate fabric.

“Do watch where you step, my lord,” I chastise, yanking my silvery skirts from under his knee-high leather boot.

He turns, an infuriatingly charming smile spreading over his handsome features as his eyes meet mine. I’m momentarily stunned by his angular jaw and playful grin before realizing his emerald skin and orange irises mark him as an orc halfling.