Page 35 of Crown of the Courtesan

For too long, I’ve been coupled against my will, and if I married, it would be a whole new power struggle for which I lack the patience or fortitude. Not to mention most kings, princes, and lords demand heirs, and my coronation today doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind and want to become a mother. Nothing has changed in that regard, and if the cathedral agreed to give me back my Rite, I would take it in a heartbeat. It’s not to be, though, because when I inquired, the Priest Elder resisted, citing ancient laws that reserve the Rite’s potion for active Lady Courtesans only. Meaning I would have to settle for herbs from the midwife’s garden, which don’t always work.

“I read in the papers that Empress Erah sent her son, Prince Everett, and he plans to offer for your hand since the Beast Realm is a key ally. I’ve seen portraits of him… he’s quite handsome. Handsome enough to rethink your stance on marriage, I think!” She teases with a singsong quality.

Ignoring her, I shoulder-bump her out of the way to peer through the golden telescope again. I strain to spy on Lir’s cottage from this angle.

“Or you could marry one of the Solarian King’s sons. He’s got several to choose from.” She claps her hands. “Oh! Then we would⁠—”

We’re interrupted when a maid with wild, unkempt hair barges in. She seems to have been searching high and low. “I’ve found them!” she yells down the spiral staircase before she’s joined by the other attendants carrying an assortment of primping tools. She clutches her side, panting. “We can do this here, or we can move this down to the royal chambers. But we are not going away!” She gasps for air as Klara and I glance at each other before bursting into laughter.

* * *

The music of the Coronation Ball swells as the humming instruments tune in and out of harmony, like the weaving of a tapestry. The sounds float over me as I sway on my slippered feet. I smooth my gown of fluttering tulle, adorned with embroidered opals and moonstones, while an itchy gold-and-pearl laurel wreath rests atop my circlet.

Not caring to stop myself, I let out a stifled yawn, exhausted from the coronation that lasted all day. From across the ballroom, I send Klara a small smile, and she returns it with that flash of a dimple. A handful of noblemen’s sons surround her, vying for her first Basse dance. She’s never been to a ball before, so when she begged me not to make her wait until she came of age, I quickly and happily relented. The best part of my coronation is that I can make tonight memorable for her.

I, on the other hand, plan to dance only once before I escape with my books for the night. Because tomorrow comes early—and I plan to be at the High Council table.

Briggs is my first choice to open the initial dance with, but he stumbles into the garden bushes, having clearly overindulged in the flowing wine.

I snatch a piece of peppered cheese from the silver tray being passed around by a servant and chew while contemplating my next choice. Heat rises up my neck, making me hope my chest isn’t flushing with anxious splotches.

A minute slowly ticks by.

His eyes meet mine through the crowd.

Behind a sheepish Balor Black—whom I ignore—stands the handsome orc lord I keep running into. Towering with his extreme build and height, he’s easy to spot. No longer wearing his red armor, he now sports a regal velvet and leather tunic. Burgundy curls sweep over to the side of his rugged face while his bottom lip protrudes slightly in a pouty way, and I wonder if he’s hiding tusks. His arched eyebrow ticks up in response to my stare as he runs a hand along one of his pointed ears lined with hoops and stud piercings. He has an undeniably mischievous expression as he watches me.

I don’t trust him, but he’ll make a decent dance partner.

The crowd parts, and Balor scowls as I step past him and offer my hand to the newcomer. The orc lord bows before raising my hand high for all to see, leading us to the center of the ballroom. A hush falls over the nobles like a tide receding from the empty shore.

Barely concealed anger glitters behind his orange-colored eyes. The chords of the orchestra strike, and he spins me into his arms—hard. Shocked, I peer into his face, but he only smiles, betraying nothing.

“You honor me with this dance,” he murmurs against my ear.

“It’s the least I could do after your help with the carriage accident.” With the fast steps of the dance, my breathing becomes challenging. “Now, could you tell me your name in return?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t oblige you until we meet again,” he answers with a wink. “Just to be fair.” He twirls me around the floor. Although he’s much larger, he never treads onto my toes.

Everyone gawks.

Everyone whispers.

We pass by another couple, and my sensitive ears hear the woman exclaim, “Prince Everett—really? Are you sure? He looks like Empress Erah, but green, doesn’t he?”

I suppress a smirk as we glide through the swishing skirts and embracing couples. The scent of spice and something floral tickles my nose whenever he pulls close.

So the mysterious orc lord is the prince that Klara couldn’t keep quiet about. “Prince Everett, is what I hear?” I say lightly, enjoying the rhythm of our bodies. “You didn’t plan to withhold your name for petty reasons, did you?”

His expression shifts from mock surprise to easy amusement. “I was simply savoring the mystery of our continued encounters.”

“And what if I wanted to make your acquaintance properly this time?”

He flashes sharp teeth as he presses close again. “It would be my pleasure. Prince Everett Delamere of the Empire of the Beast Realm… but you should know that I prefer to be called Rett. The title gets tedious.”

Not many make me curious, but he does. “If you tell me more about your home, I’ll allow you to call me Tabitha,” I offer.

“Okay, Tabitha,” he repeats. “Where should I begin?”