Page 7 of Crown of the Courtesan

The debutante gasps again. “She actually attacked her Keeper?”

“Stop,” I whisper, barely more than a breath—a prayer to the Spirit Goddess—as my eyes squeeze shut.

“I hate to spread gossip like this, but she only has herself to blame. It’s not my fault she couldn’t control herself⁠—”

“STOP!” The force of the word tears out of me like a wave, burning the inside of my throat, erupting through every pore in my skin.

How could he go to her?

My chamber door swings open, hitting the wall with a great crash. I curse to myself, blink, and see stars in my vision.

With a huff of air and crossed arms, Vennisa stands in my gaping doorway, clad in a blue dressing gown. Her glow emits a calm white aura, accentuating her pale-blonde tresses set in rag curlers. A beautiful yet superior smirk marks her upturned face, and under thick, lowered lashes, her eyes narrow as she asks, “Dear me, are you quite unwell?”

A dozen other girls, in varying states of undress, fill the hall behind her, trying to get a good look at the unfolding scene. They glow with a thrumming curiosity.

With an effort, I spring to my feet, thinking of an excuse. I try to hide the hoarseness in my voice by murmuring, “I tripped on my gown… fell into the wall. I’ll be all right.”

Vennisa’s gaze rakes me over, head to foot, no doubt looking at my drenched form. I hope my unwiped tears blend with my rain-soaked face as my hair drips down my shoulders. There’s nothing I loathe more than someone else noticing my uncontrolled emotions.

For the benefit of the watching courtesans, she dips her words in sugar before practically purring, “You poor darling—it’s perfectly reasonable to be a bit… frazzled… in your situation. Is there something you might need? Perhaps some tea? I could send the maid to fetch it for you.”

She fakes a smile.

All at once, I see the two little girls we used to be when we lived and trained at Alexandria Academie before we moved into the Bidding House dormitories.

After so many years together, I know her. Duty, success, and rewards have always defined Vennisa. She’s driven to compete and achieve more because it’s just who she is.

I’m hanging on to my position by a thread, and the prize of having the oversized suite of chambers, the largest dress allowance, and unending attention is what she wants. It wouldn’t matter who held the High Lady Courtesan title; she would still hate that person with every fiber of her being. I try not to take it personally, but the callousness hurts when I think of all we have gone through together.

My jaw tightens, and heat rushes to my head, making my eardrums thump-thump with pressure. It takes everything in me not to dig my sharpened nails into her perfect face. “I need nothing from you,” I tell her, my eyes daring her to provoke me further.

I almost wish she would.

The courtesans erupt in whispers, their glows flickering on and off like twinkling lights. My head swims in circles as I hear every snippet, but I brace myself.

“Of course,” Vennisa finally responds. “We wouldn’t want to disturb you. You’re going through so much.” She motions for the others to leave with a flick of her dainty wrist. “Time to return to preparations, ladies. Many of you still have much work to do.” She closes the door on me, just as she closed the door on our friendship long ago.

Four

She’s not a very good High Lady Courtesan…

The debutante’s harsh remarks place me in such a surly mood that eventually my attitude drives off my poor maid, and she never returns. My head submerges into the depths of the copper bathing tub, but the debutante’s words follow me down, deeper under the lilac-scented water.

It’s true: I don’t particularly enjoy being High Lady Courtesan, especially when teaching new girls ruthless manipulation is vital to their survival. Eventually, that tires out a person more than any romp in the sheets ever could.

Sex is easy.

Sex, I’m good at.

Sex doesn’t scare me like the constant judgment does. I reemerge, the water clinging to my features and dripping down the curves of my flesh, my nipples hardening as the cold air encircles them.

My feet pad onto the rug, and I wrap myself in a long dressing robe of evergreen velvet and step into matching slippers. Perhaps a little too thick for the lingering summer heat—but my skin remains chilly from the dampness, so the added warmth is welcome.

I grab the wine bottle I opened before my bath and try to pour another glass. It’s empty. The bottle is stupidly tiny, but if I’m being honest with myself, no amount of alcohol will take the edge off tonight.

Grumbling, I brush the knots from my soaked hair, but it needs to dry. Instead of succumbing to my bad mood, I venture downstairs, onto the terrace, and out toward the manor’s garden to employ the breeze of the warm early evening. Luckily, the summer storm has faded, and droplets falling from the blooms are the only remnants of its passing wrath.

Near the ceramic containers of pink cosmos, a weeping courtesan sits on a wooden bench surrounded by a handful of other ladies, their silver ceremony dresses twirling as they flit around her. The crying girl is the young debutante I heard earlier in Vennisa’s chambers. My heart twists. The sight of their group friendship serves as a bitter reminder of what once was with Vennisa and our other friend, Beatrix. No matter how hard I try, rumination follows me everywhere.