Lord Langard looked around the busy streets. He pulled the hood of his cloak tighter around his head. This was not an area a married man should be in!
Courtesans and their paramours fluttered by him. The streets seemed to be filled with bright-colored clothes. The clustering smell of heavily scented oils wafted through the air, cloying but enticing.
This was the street of joy, home to the most famous courtesans and their patron houses—the pleasure district.
The red and yellow lanterns, with their enticing lights, taunted the general. The underside of his collar felt sweaty with nerves. He rubbed the back of his neck.
It was unfortunate but Lord Langard recognized a few of the nobles and other familiar faces from courts on these streets. And more than a few were married.
If Lady Langard found out he was here…
The general shuddered at the thought.
He scanned the area. Where was the damned messenger?
Shrieks of laughter floated by him. Painted faces brushed past him as they teased and cajoled their patrons. The courtesans of the street of joy were as talented as any scholar, efficient in the matters of music, literature, and… other businesses that earned them their fame with the high-end patrons they found enjoyed frequenting their streets.
There were many folktales among the commoners of famed courtesans whose patrons fell so deep in love that they took them for wives and tied their ribbons and coins together for eternity.
But for all of its scandalous but official dealings, the street of joy was also deeply invested in a secondary market… that of information and secrets.
Nobles came to the street for a good time… secretly. Only the courtesans heard their whispered words and undercover meetings. There were strict policies in every house that ensured the protection of such secrets. But everything had a price…
“Did you hear?” A soft voice chittered to their companions. “I heard even the ice prince had solicited the services of our street! He’s even requested a private room at the Lucky Charm!”
“Truly?” gasped another.
The first courtesan nodded eagerly. “My cousin, Flower-Dew, say him go in with her own eyes!”
“Who knew he was such a man!” A finger twisted silky hair. “Although if he requested me… I wouldn’t say no!”
The group burst into raucous laughter. At the end of the day, this was merely a job. But a pretty face certainly made it more bearable.
They rolled their necks. It had been a busy night but the pouch of coins in their pockets sat heavily.
“All my years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that,” The taller courtesan sniffed, “No man can resist…. Especially the newly married ones.” They lowered their voice dramatically. “Doesn’t help if you’re married to a brute! They could put a rabid wolf in his bed and he likely wouldn’t notice the difference!”
“My aunt sells vegetables to the residence,” the girl flapped her hands excitedly. “They don’t even sleep in the same quarters! Apparently, the Lord hasn’t even talked with the Raven demoness since their marriage night!”
The first courtesan huffed, “Would you? I heard his general kicked a girl out on her first day and destroyed half the estate in her rage! Either she’s crazy or a barbarian!… Probably both!”
The others hid a laugh behind their sleeves. “By the way, I heard the Lucky Charm just recruited a new courtesan. A musician! They say he has the face of a peach and the voice of a songbird!”
“Maybe he’ll end up serving the ice prince!”
The courtesans drifted away , their silky sleeves fluttering in the air behind them.
Lord Langard shifted awkwardly. Although he pitied the young man, he hadn’t expected the prince to resort to such things.
“Lord Langard.”
Hand dropping to his sword, the season general twirled on his feet. He turned to face a… masked ,am in a dark blue cloak.
The man tilted their head. “My liege has requested that I escort you to the meeting place.”
Lord Langard studied the young man before him. The mask and cloak hid his identity well, but despite his lean build, the other stood at the same height as the general. Not many did…
The general swept out an arm. “Lead the way.”
Hopefully, it would be far from this place.
With a nod, the servant headed off. They dodged the different bodies swiftly, but would glance back dutifully to ensure that Lord Langard was still in sight.
A hand suddenly latched onto the servant. They squeezed the arm suggestively, as a ruby red smile stared up at the mask. “Sir, come try your luck at our establishment?”
The general and servant glanced up at said establishment. It was a gambling house, where the sound of joy, despair and music floated out from it.
The servant shook their head, they tried to shake off the woman, but the courtesan was insistent. “Come, sir! You look like you have the hands for a lucky toss! Try your luck.”
Suddenly, the servant stopped. He leaned down to whisper something in the maiden’s ears.
Even Lord Langard’s sharp hearing couldn’t make out the words over the noise of the street, but he watched the courtesan’s face pale and then her lips sneer in disgust.
The woman pushed the servant away. “Well, if that’s the case, get away from here!”
The servant did that. As he followed the other man, the general wondered what exactly had the young man said?
Before too long, the two of them reached a tall building. The building looked like a cake, as its floors layered on top of each other, each painted in a different color, resembling a rainbow after a fresh patch of rain. Silk flags flew from the corners of its roof and bannisters, giving it an otherworldly feel as the flags beckoned those passing by. Many of which did… excitedly.
Lord Langard gulped as he read the sign hanging over the wide doors.
The Lucky Charm.
He turned to the servant. “Ah, young man. We aren’t going in there, are we?”
Unfortunately, the masked man nodded. Before Lord Langard could protest, he was already stepping into the establishment. The young man nodded familiarly at one of the front desk attendants.
With a bright smile, the attendant greeted, “Welcome back, sir. Your master awaits. Please,” stepping away from the table, the attendant gestured for the stairs. “Follow me,” she said.
There was an ethereal grace in the way the attendant walked. They had the grace of royalty. Looking around, Lord Langard realized that this was the norm for all of the establishment.
From the serving boys to the courtesans themselves, there was a grace and pride in the way they held themselves. Technically, in the street of joy, those who belonged to Lucky Charm were royalty. Only the best of the best would be considered for interviews. It was even harder to be accepted. Madam Athena, the owner of Lucky Charm, was strict and expected the best of all those under her. This was the Lucky Charm standard.
In the center of the room, Madam Athena stared over her domain, arms daintily clasped in front of her. The serene expression could not hide the ambitious and calculative glint in her eyes as she glanced over the room and its occupants. Suddenly, the woman’s lilac eyes lifted to glance at the masked man and the general.
Feeling her gaze, the two men turned to stare at her briefly as well.
In return, the woman smiled faintly and inclined her head in respect.
The attendant in front of them paused. “The Madam sends her regards and wants the gentlemen to accept her gracious gift of two blossom wines, on the house.” As they reached the top of the stairs, she gestured towards the doors of a private room. Two buff guards stood watch outside.
Seeing the men approach, they pulled open the door. Within the door was another door, which the attendant carefully opened. Lowering her head, the attendant’s lips curved. “This is as far as I can lead you. Please enjoy your time in Lucky Charm.”
The masked servant reached into his pockets and pulled out a small pouch. The leather bag jingled with coins. He placed the pouch into the attendant’s hands.
The woman’s expression remained unchanged as she accepted the coins.
Striding past her, the masked servant addressed Lord Langard. “This way, sir. My master eagerly awaits your presence.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The general took a step forward. He paused, murmuring, “And am I allowed to know the identity of this master you speak of?”
Unsurprisingly, the masked servant was silent. He merely lowered his head respectfully.
Sighing, the general strode forward.
Inside was a private banquet room with ten or more people seated at a long table. At the head of the table was a man in a bright white cloak, and a silver mask, not unlike that of his servant.
All heads turned to the newcomers.
Lord Langard noted the familiar faces. There were minor lords, governors, court advisors, and even a few women he recognized as the ladies of estates in the east and west of the capital. Although Lord Langard was the highest ranked of them all, these were all people of great power and status… all gathered by the silver-masked master seated at the head of it all.
Behind them, the general noted as the thick wooden doors closed. No way out.
The master smiled. His deep voice resonated through the room. “Now that Lord Langard is here, we may begin our meeting.”
Taking his seat at the remaining empty spot, Lord Langard noted his position at the right of the silver-masked man.
The master glanced around the room. “My lords and ladies, we come to discuss our great plan.”
Seats were shifted, and the faces around the tables ranged from curious to determined.
Lord Langard’s brows furrowed.
Turning to him, the master tilted his head. “General Langard, you have something you wish to say.”
The general tapped his finger against the table. Well, he was never one to hold back. “Quite frankly, sir. I received a mysterious missive from an old friend, who you are not.” He glanced around the strategically picked people. Politics, land-owners, merchants, and with himself, the military. “What exactly is it that we have been gathered to do?”
The master was silent for a moment. He gestured towards his servant.
Stepping forward to take his place standing behind the master, the servant spoke. His voice was low. “What I am about to say, cannot be unsaid. Your life and family may be in peril. If we fail, you could be stripped of your power and lands at best, your life, in any other circumstance.”
Some glanced nervously at one another, but none made a move to leave.
“If there is a hint of doubt within your heart, you must leave this room at once. No dishonor or shame will be brought to you,” continued the servant.
A resounding silence answered him.
Lord Langard was the first to speak. “Well, I for one feel too invested to leave. Now, that we’ve ensured we’re all in,” the general’s eyes narrowed. “I ask again, great master. What are we here for?”
The servant took a step back, clasping his hands behind him dutifully. His tall form towered over the table, and his back was straight and proud.
Tearing their eyes from the servant, the room's occupants glanced back at the master.
The masked man crossed his arms. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. The air was tense with anticipation.
Hooded eyes raised to meet the room's. “For a revolution.”
—
A young man, practically a boy, knocked at the wide double doors. They were four times his height and eight times his size. He was like an ant, standing in front of the Prince's Residence.
The people passing the streets stared at him. He had been at this for hours. Small money was exchanged as they bet on how long the boy would continue.
Undisturbed by his failure, the boy tried again, banging at the doors. And again. And… again.
Eventually, the small crowd of betting spectators grew bored. As the sun began to set, the streets emptied as people returned to the comfort of their homes. But the boy was relentless and continued.
As the sun set, the great doors finally creaked open. A servant peaked his head out balefully. “The guards say you have been here all day! What do you want?”
The boy straightened. His hands raised and he began to make fast-paced symbols and signs. It seemed he was unable to speak and communicated through hand signals.
Even more confused, the servant scratched their head. “Sorry, I don’t,” they sighed, staring at the empty streets. The boy had been knocking all day. “Why don’t you come in?” Maybe they could find someone who could understand.
Recognizing the invitation, the boy pressed a hand to his chest in thanks.
Rolling their eyes, the servant led the way into the Prince’s Residence. The boy stared in awe at the tall stone walls and the number of guards patrolling around.
Eyeing his gaped mouth, the servant’s heart softened. He still remembered his first encounter with lavish royalty. “First time in a mansion?”
The boy nodded mutely. His glossy-eyed stare spoke for themselves. Suddenly, the boy saw a broom. Rushing over, he picked the object up and gestured at it to the servant. Staring at the confused look on the other's expression, the boy mimed sweeping the floors.
Understanding dawned on the servant’s face. “You want a job here?” They paused, thinking it over. Coming from the Feldgrau Castle, interview processes were fairly strict and regimented.
But this wasn’t the castle or Feldgrau. And the poor boy looked like he could use a few coins for a good meal. Shrugging, the servant offered, “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll show you to Abby, she’ll know what to do.”
Nodding gratefully, the boy followed, broomstick in hand.
Glancing back, the servant wondered if he should tell the boy to leave the broom. But seeing the eager expression, the other's resolve faltered. It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway. There were plenty of other brooms scattered throughout the estate.
The two continued down to the great hall
—
Scarred hands wiped at the sharp blade. Under the cloth’s attention, the metal glistened and the murky reflection cleared until one could make out their image in the blade.
The utmost care was taken as polishing oil was applied to the longsword.
Abby watched as the Raven General lovingly wiped away the excess oil and continued in the process. Most women reserved the look Faye was shooting at a metal stick for their lovers. The older woman sighed, rubbing her face tiredly.
Still focused intently on her polishing, Faye said, “I was thinking that perhaps I could show the lord a token of my appreciation.”
Abby’s brows rose at the statement.
Not noticing, or pretending not to, the young woman continued, “The armory has been quite enjoyable. It feels,” she paused, searching for the right word. “Dishonorable not to repay such a gift.”
“Yes!” Abby burst from her seat in excitement. Her toes curled. The older woman felt as if she was hovering in the air! This was a miracle! “Absolutely!”
What better way to repair the couple's distance than a thoughtful gift?
The head maid would have clapped her hands together… but there were too many underlings around. Such an act would undermine her strict appearance. Firmly clasping her hands together, Abby leaned forward. She tried to hide the excitement in her face. “What is it you had in mind?”
The Raven General blew on the sword. Holding it in her hands, she studied the clean blade.
Satisfied, the young woman sheathed it. She set it on the table. Tapping her fingers against her knees, Faye shrugged, “Perhaps I can acquire a good blade for him?”
The air deflated out of the old maid. Abby rubbed in between her brows. “The lord already fears for his life around you. If you gift him a blade, he will think it a warning not a gift.”
Faye chewed on her lip. This was harder than she thought it would be. “Mayhaps I could replace his bushes?”
Abby crossed her arms and shot the young woman a deadpan look. “And where will you find century old arrow wood bush that no longer grows in the wild?”
It was Faye’s turn to frown. Her forehead twitched. “Very well. Since you don’t like any of my ideas,” she shot an irritated look at the old maid. “What ideas do you have?”
Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Abby started, “Well, most noble ladies would sew or knit something for their lord husbands. Perhaps a scarf, or a warm blanket, or even,” her voice trailed off at the sight before her.
Abby sighed at the petrified look on the Raven General’s face. “You don’t know how to sew, do you?”
The young woman rubbed the back of her neck. “In all honesty, one of my father’s wives attempted to teach me.” She winced at Abby’s expectant look. Faye admitted, “I ruined most of the spool and had so many holes in my fingers that I bloodied the atrocious mess I made.” She smiled ruefully. “It was almost as insufferable as my time with you.”
“Excuse me!” Abby squawked in indignation.
But Faye was still lost in her own thoughts. “I mean, I could try again. A scarf that could also double as a weapon-”
“No need,” interjected Abby. She could already picture the mess and headache she would suffer if they attempted such a thing. “Some wives recite poetry, or sing, or dance,” listed the maid. "Are there any dances you know? Surely, they have that in the grasslands?"
“Do sword forms count?” asked Faye.
“No.” Abby continued her list. “Others would paint, or host a party, or cook a delicacy-“
The Raven General leapt from her seat. Slamming the table in her haste, the general exclaimed, “That’s it! I can cook!” Seeing Abby’s doubtful expression, she protested, “It’s true! Do you think we bring private chefs out on the battlefield?”
The Raven General smirked haughtily. She crossed her arms. “My men have said that my cooking could rival that of the gods!”
She didn’t bother mentioning that they were too smart to claim otherwise.
Still doubtful, Abby scratched the side of her face. “Well, only if you’re-“
“Ma’am!” called a voice.
The two women looked up to see a servant enter with a lanky form trailing behind them… holding a broomstick.
Abby raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “What is it, Frederick?”
Frederick smiled. The servant rubbed their palms together. “Ma’am. Lady Feldgrau," he greeted. "Have I told you both how stunning you ladies appear today?”
Unfortunately for him, the general merely looked confused while Abby snapped, “Flattery will get you nowhere. What is it that you want, child?”
Sighing, Frederick turned to introduce the broomstick boy. “This is my… distant cousin from back home. He had traveled a long way to work.” He smiled nervously, nudging the boy to do the same. “I had hoped that the gracious Abby would not turn him away?”
Abby rolled her eyes. She let one girl bring in her sister, and now everyone's cousins were moving into the residence. Rubbing her head, she eyed the earnest look in the newcomer's eyes. At least he was prepared. She studied his tight hold on the broomstick.
“That is not your cousin,” interjected a voice.
Abby and Frederick jumped. They had almost forgotten that there was another in the room. Meanwhile, the Raven General only had eyes for the boy who froze imperceptibly. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened in fear.
Why would the lady choose today of all days to speak? Paling, Frederick stammered, “What… what do you mean, of course he’s my cousin, my-”
“Can you speak, boy?” asked the Raven General emotionlessly. Her amber eyes lacked its usual warmth as the warrior raised her weapon. She pointed her sheathed sword at the broomstick in the kid's hands.
The boy's eyes widened. He stepped back, shaking in terror. It was all the answer the young woman needed.
“That boy is from the grasslands, possibly even Wenge.” Faye’s sharp eyes darkened.
The boy took another nervous step back, clutching the broomstick close to his chest.
“He is a refugee and traitor,” stated the Raven General. "Exiled by my father himself."