-Jaonah-
Taegen leaned back in his seat at my side and nudged me with his elbow. “That’s hardly the response one expects from a man on his way to a brothel.”
Despite my misgivings about the evening, I managed a wan smile. “But surely it’s the response you expected from me. I’m not nearly as at home in such a setting as the two of you.”
“Don’t lump me in with that reprobate,” Lorant protested from his seat across the carriage, flinging a dismissive gesture at our prince.
“Reprobate though I may be,” Taegen admitted with a grin, “you’ll both be thanking me for it tomorrow, mark my words.”
By all accounts, we shouldn’t have bothered with any diversions that night. We had been traveling for days and had days more ahead of us; our stopping in Vallerie should have only been to rest and resupply. Yet as we’d entered the city, my cousin had started in with tales he’d heard of a famed brothel “unlike any other,” an establishment called The Flower Bed. It didn’t surprise me to hear that he was interested in such a place, knowing what I did of his lifestyle back home in the Elvin Empire’s capital city—but I was a bit shocked that he was insisting Lorant and I go with him.
“You’ve not told us what about this place makes it so singular,” Lorant went on. “If you’ve seen one den of iniquity—and I’m certain you have, Highness—you’ve seen them all.” As a captain of the Imperial Guard, some ten to twenty years older than us, Lorant had significantly more discipline than my cousin or I could boast. Small wonder that Taegen’s promises didn’t tempt him.
“That, my friend, is where you’re wrong.” Taegen remained supremely unbothered, tossing fair hair out of his eyes as he mused. “I’m told that a man hasn’t truly lived until he’s visited the Flower Bed and enjoyed its charms. That there are women so lovely and skilled in their craft that no man can resist their wiles for long.”
Lorant rolled his eyes, and I remained silent, gazing out at the darkened city streets as we continued through them. I was quite certain I could resist any woman with little to no effort, as their ‘wiles’ had never held much interest for me. Taegen knew of my preference for men, so I would’ve expected him to realize that and spare me what was sure to be a disappointing evening.
“And it’s my understanding,” he continued as though he’d read my thoughts, magicking a gust of wind at me for my attention, “that beautiful women aren’t all they have to offer. There’s something for everyone, as it were.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “In a human kingdom? That’s surprising. They’re typically too prudish to allow that sort of thing.” All the more reason to keep my inclinations to myself while away from home.
“Haven’t I told you Rilleaud is different? Some would even say this country is as debauched as our own beloved Empire,” Taegen snickered, lazily performing the one-handed obeisance used for our homeland. “The city of Vallerie, especially. All I ask is that you both approach the evening with an open mind. If you can do that and still find you don’t enjoy yourselves, I shall never again force my libertine ways upon you.”
We reached the inn where we would be staying the night, in theory, and our party of three dispersed into individual rooms. It was a nice enough boarding house, far nicer than the one previous on the borders of the Empire. My room was spacious, if modestly furnished, and the air was quiet enough that my thoughts quickly sought to fill it.
I appreciated my cousin’s intentions, of course. These diplomatic ventures on behalf of his aunt and uncle, the emperes, were often bland affairs despite his efforts to enliven them. It was understandable that he should want a night to enjoy himself before we met with Rilleaud’s royal family. And really, if he was right, if there would indeed be more appealing…options for me, I supposed I should take this a bit more seriously. If nothing else, he’d made it clear that the Flower Bed was no alleyside bordello, so I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself by being underdressed.
Still somewhat unsure, I nevertheless made myself presentable after the day’s travel, washing my face and changing into a fresh—and admittedly more sophisticated—ensemble: belted batiste tunic, twill trousers, samite cloak. Taegen was sure to be in his princely best, so it only seemed right that I hold my own next to him.
True to form, when he came to retrieve me, he was adorned in silk jacquard and soft leather, blond hair swept back from his eyes. A still-reluctant Lorant waited at his back, diligently scanning the corridor as if expecting an attack. His official capacity on this journey was as my cousin’s bodyguard, which was likely the only reason he’d agreed to accompany us to the Flower Bed.
“Why look at you, cousin,” Taegen said with a grin. “One might think you expected something to come of the night.”
“You’re already dragging me along against my will,” I reminded him flatly, following him down the corridor. “Spare me the surplus teasing, if you would.”
“Hear, hear,” Lorant agreed, and Taegen waved us off with a sigh.
“How nice to know my two most trusted companions tire of my company so quickly.” He led us from the boarding house and along the lane deeper into town, seeming quite confident in himself despite having never visited the city before. Our journey ended in the midst of the town at what appeared to be a shop like any other. Light shone from within curtained windows, but it was otherwise unremarkable.
“Are you certain this is the correct address?” Lorant asked, echoing my skepticism. “Who gave you this information? If they were having you on—”
“So suspicious,” Taegen said, shaking his head and pulling the door open. “That serves you well as a soldier, my friend, but it’s not necessary here.” He strode into the building, leading us through the entryway and past thick velvet curtains into a dimly-lit antechamber. On the far wall was a heavy oak door, guarded by a single richly-dressed sentry. His posture was impeccable, his face obscured by a volto mask of gleaming silver. At his side was a table on which rested several rows of black half-masks. After a moment of regarding us through dark eyes, observing my cousin’s tapered ears and fine garments, he spoke with a notable Rilleaudin accent.
“Prince Taegen,” he said, inclining his head. “Welcome to the Flower Bed; we’ve been anticipating your arrival.” In my periphery, I saw Lorant’s eyes narrow suspiciously.
“I’m pleased to hear it. We’re quite curious as to what awaits us inside,” my cousin answered pleasantly.
“We trust you won’t be disappointed. Before you enter, please don your masks”—he gestured to the table—“in order to protect your identities.”
“Protect them?” Lorant repeated critically. “You clearly know who we are. What point is there in pretending otherwise?”
“I am personally tasked with keeping track of our guests,” the man agreed with another half-bow. “Those inside, however, are anonymous. We value our patrons’ and Flowers’ safety and privacy above all.” His eyes lingered on the sword belted at Lorant’s hip, but because of the mask, his expression was unreadable. “I’m afraid I must insist. This is one of Madam Elain’s provisions for entry.”
“Where is your sense of adventure, captain?” Taegen asked, already tying one of the offered masks about his head. “It’s a harmless part of the ritual.” Despite growing increasingly impatient with all this, Lorant conceded and took a mask for himself, while I did the same.
Satisfied, the sentry gave us one final nod and took a key from within his coat to unlock the door for us. It led directly to a steep staircase, which my cousin started down without hesitation. As we descended, the door swung shut behind us and locked once more.
“I don’t like this,” Lorant declared, as if there were any way we didn’t know it already.
“There are stranger things going on in the capital,” Taegen pointed out, relaxed as ever. Perhaps not relaxed; he seemed quite excited. But at least carefree. “Why not be honest and admit it’s the humans you dislike?”
“What I dislike is all this performative secrecy and subterfuge,” the captain grumbled. “But for the sake of clarity, no, I don’t like the humans either.”
“You’re being awfully quiet, cousin.” Glancing at me over his shoulder, Taegen asked, “Are you as wary as Lorant? Should I have left you both in your rooms?”
“Forgive us for not being as comfortable with this business as you are, Prince Taegen,” I said, imitating the doorman’s accent: the breathy, guttural R and the unnecessary emphasis on his name’s first syllable. He laughed aloud at that as we reached the foot of the stairs, where double doors swung open before we could touch them.
As we crossed the threshold and finally laid eyes on the Flower Bed itself, I heard Lorant mutter under his breath, “Spirits and heavens.” I could hardly blame him for being awestruck.
The place was massive, its area the rival of any hall of the Imperial palace. Opening out before us was an entrance hall with an elaborate chandelier and a terrace on the far wall. Corridors on either side suggested even this sprawling room wasn’t the entirety of the space. The walls were draped with blackest silk, the furnishings all dark tufted velvet and Cherrywood. Scattered about the room were men and women of various ages and dressed in various styles. Some wore silver masks like the first we’d met; they stood silently along the walls, presumably as some form of security. Many others, likely patrons as we were, wore black half-masks similar to our own, though some were more decorated than others. Longtime clients, perhaps? The rest of the room’s occupants wore masks of crimson, violet, emerald, and, for a rare few, gold.
“Do the colors have meaning?” I wondered aloud.
“Everything has meaning, my lord.” A dulcet voice with a familiar accent answered, and I was surprised to see a young elvin woman approach us, her golden curls pinned back to display her ears. In her hands was a gleaming silver platter on which several flutes of sparkling wine stood. Taegen and I both accepted a glass, while Lorant stiffly abstained. Smiling behind an emerald-colored mask, the young woman went on, “It all depends on what you’re seeking.”
“Could you explain the differences to us?” I asked.
“Could I? Certainly. But where would be the fun in so easily dispelling the mystery? The night is still young; you’ve plenty of time to explore and learn as you go. For now, perhaps just acquaint yourselves with the hall,” she suggested, her eyes wandering unabashedly up and down Lorant’s frame. “All will be made clear in due time, but do try to enjoy yourselves without worrying over the details. As men of the Empire”—she repeated the gesture of respect Taegen had made earlier, the one most elves used when speaking of the Empire or its rulers—“you must be familiar with that idea.”
“Some of us are, yes,” I agreed, shooting my cousin a glance.
“Thank you, my dear,” he told the elvin lass, retrieving a few silver coins from his pocket to place them on the tray alongside several others. “We’ll be sure to explore all that you have to offer.” She answered with a flirtatious smile and a curtsey before moving on to serve another patron. Raising his glass to us, Taegen added, “This, gentlemen, is where I leave you. We’re all more likely to enjoy the evening if we do so separately, so I’ll allow you that freedom, and we’ll be back to Their Excellencies’ business in the morning.” Without another moment of hesitation, he strode off to approach a red-haired woman in a purple mask who sat alone looking rather bored.
Lorant exchanged a glance with me, then shrugged and wandered away, though he seemed significantly less enthused on the matter. In fact, I wondered whether he even intended to seek companionship for the evening or if he was simply going to be in the vicinity.
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Now alone, without Taegen’s brazen confidence or Lorant’s dry disinterest to lead me, I stood still and took a sip of my wine. Humans tended to favor darker varietals, but the sparkling white in my glass was crisp and pleasantly tart, with an undertone I couldn’t quite place. Refreshingly familiar, reminiscent of home. Perhaps Rilleaud had more in common with the Empire than I’d thought.
Realizing I was still standing in the doorway and beginning to feel self-conscious, I made my way further into the room, discreetly observing the men in colored masks around the room. As promised, there was no shortage. Many of them were taller and broader than me, muscular bodies displayed in half-laced shirts and tight trousers. Not exactly what I was looking for, and in any case, most of them were occupied with entertaining female clients. Of course, the fact that there were male courtesans didn’t mean they were all open to being with other men. I should’ve known better than to raise my hopes to begin with.
Disappointed but hardly surprised, I instead explored the facility, meandering through a curtained corridor on the right and into a low-ceilinged room scattered with sofas and ottomans on which still more ‘Flowers’ lounged. Many sat clustered with guests in groups of three or four, sharing tall, multi-stemmed waterpipes; the air was laced with the heady scent of poppy. I found a seat on an empty sofa and made myself comfortable to observe the room.
“All alone tonight, my lord?” Soon enough, a sweet-faced young woman with a red mask noticed my presence and settled delicately onto the cushion next to me. “How is it no one else has sought to keep you company already?”
“I suppose I don’t call as much attention as the rest of your clientele,” I mused, trying to decide how to tell her I wasn’t interested in her ‘company’ and that she would have better luck elsewhere. I didn’t want to be rude, but neither did I want to waste her time.
“To the contrary; you certainly called my attention,” she insisted, moving in a bit closer to my side. When I drew away, she immediately backed off. “Apologies, my lord. I don’t mean to be intrusive.”
“No, you’ve done nothing wrong. I only…” My explanation trailed off as my eyes fell on the group to our right, where a man perhaps my own age—from what I could see past his shining gold mask—had just settled onto a plush ottoman. He was dressed all in white, from his bishop-sleeved blouse to the breeches hugging his long legs. Sleek raven hair fell just past his shoulders, and as he joined in the conversation, his lips curved into a slight smile. I found myself staring and swallowed reflexively. I hadn’t realized until that moment what I was looking for, but now that I’d seen him, I couldn’t imagine any more beautiful man was to be found.
“Ah, I see,” the young woman at my side said, forcing me to tear my eyes away from him. When I looked back at her, she was smiling knowingly, almost sympathetically. “Your desires aren’t the sort I can satisfy.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” I muttered, flushing slightly at having been so obvious in my admiration.
“Oh, not at all. One can’t help what he prefers. That said…” She hesitated a moment, then leaned in to continue quietly, “I advise caution if you do choose to pursue Oleander. There is far more to him than meets the eye.” With this cryptic warning and a polite nod, she left me to seek better prospects.
Despite myself, I glanced at the dark-haired man—Oleander, she had called him—once again. He was already quite something to look at; if there was more to him than that, I was curious to discover it. Even his body language as he sat still, the languid and relaxed quality of his posture, held my gaze. I could only hope my staring wasn’t evident to everyone else.
“We’ve so missed you of late, my darling,” a woman in a black mask was telling him chidingly. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Madam, you and I both know you’ll lose all interest in me if I’m too forthcoming,” he purred in the strongest Rilleaudin accent I’d yet heard. “I’ll leave the answer to your imagination.”
“But it’s been weeks!” a second woman whined. “It’s cruel of you to stay away for so long, knowing we’re suffering in your absence.”
“Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but you’ve seen me much crueler,” he answered with a wicked smirk. “This hardly qualifies. Besides, I’m here tonight for you to enjoy to your heart’s content.”
My hopes of catching his attention quickly faded. Perhaps he was already engaged for the evening. Perhaps he was only interested in women. I drained the last of my wine and set my glass aside, debating on trying one of those pipes in the hopes of building up my courage to speak to him.
The heavy curtains swept aside as someone else hurried into the room, and I glanced up to see the young elvin woman who had greeted us earlier. A tall, well-dressed human man followed at her heels. “I’ve told you already, I won’t,” she said softly. “I’m not comfortable with it. Please, ask someone else.”
“I want you,” the man insisted, his voice low, almost warning. He moved to cut off her path, and she visibly cowered. “I’ll be more careful this time, Satella. I’ll be gentler.”
I didn’t at all like where this was going. Still, was it my place to intervene? Many courtesans in the Empire couldn’t afford to refuse work, but it should have been her prerogative nevertheless. Oleander’s conversation had fallen silent, and I noticed he was now watching the exchange intently, a frown creasing his handsome face.
“You say that every time,” the girl said softly, stealing a furtive glance in Oleander’s direction. Perhaps he was a friend?
“You ought to be grateful I keep coming back for you.” When her would-be client noticed her darting eyes, he snarled, “Look at me, you spike-eared slut!” He grabbed her jaw roughly and forced her to face him, shocking a pained cry from her lips. The tray in her hands clattered loudly to the ground, and suddenly the room went silent. I found myself standing, unable to watch one of my people being abused without acting—but Oleander moved faster.
Within seconds, he was on his feet and had produced a stiletto dagger, which he now held but a hair’s breadth from the other man’s throat. Everything was very still, the room’s other occupants frozen to observe the altercation. In a tone reminiscent of brittle ice only just holding together, Oleander commanded, “Release her. Gently.”
Despite the rage in his expression, the other man remained still and removed his hand from Satella’s jaw, allowing her to take a trembling step back. I wanted to come forward, to see if I might help at all, but as I hesitated, one of her fellows, an older woman, swept in to bear her from the room.
“You should know better than to mistreat a Flower,” Oleander admonished, keeping his blade poised where it was. “Gardeners don’t look on that sort of thing lightly.” Though the other human didn’t respond aloud, this cryptic reprimand made his face turn ashen.
Two silver-masked men entered the room, and Oleander stepped back with a sigh, shifting his weight and letting the dagger hang lazily from his fingers. “Off you go, my lord. And don’t cause any more trouble; I’m sure Madam Elain would prefer her parlor not become a crime scene.” The offender put his head down, fists tightly clenched, but allowed the guards to escort him from the room. Oleander watched them leave, then knelt to tuck his dagger into a sheath within one of his gray leather boots. Once back on his feet, he realized all the others were still watching him and let out a lighthearted laugh. “Forgive the interruption, my ladies and lords. Some people simply can’t help but be greedy.”
As they all dissolved into curious murmurs and went about their business, he seemed to notice me standing and swept me a thoughtful look. Cursing the tension in my body and hoping it wasn’t visible, I tried to speak confidently. “Your name is Oleander, yes? It’s fitting.”
Tilting his head to one side, he asked, “How so?”
“Like the flower of the same name, you’re clearly dangerous,” I told him, trying to control the spike of my heart rate, “but beautiful enough that one might accept that risk.” His mouth split into a smile that sent a delighted chill down my spine. Spirits and heavens, he is gorgeous.
Apparently forgetting his prior conversation, he came to seat himself next to me and patted the sofa cushion so I had no choice but to sit as well. Sprawling on his side but keeping his gray eyes fixed on me, he noted, “You have me at a disadvantage, my lord. Will you tell me your name to even the odds?”
“Then what purpose would there be in the masks?”
His smile didn’t falter. “It doesn’t have to be your real name, if you prefer. Just give me something to address you by.”
In truth, I wanted to hear him say my name. I wanted to hear him say a great many things, in fact, and the list grew with every moment. “Jaonah.” He nodded thoughtfully, eyes wandering away from mine, and I knew what he must be thinking. Brushing my hair back to show my ears, which were more tapered than his but not so much as my cousin’s, I explained, “I’m half-human. That is what you were wondering, isn’t it?”
“I was,” he confessed. “You sound very much like an elf, but—”
“Yes, I know.” As much as I wanted to speak with him, this topic was hardly my favorite.
“That’s why you were concerned for Satella, then,” he reasoned, and I nodded. “Good.”
“Good?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Satella is a sweet girl. I consider her a friend.” Leaning in slightly, he went on, “I would hate to think that I might have to compete with her for your attention.” Some part of me knew very well that this was all a game, that he might say the same thing to any potential client, but he certainly presented it convincingly.
“There’s no danger of that, I can promise you.” I turned slightly to face him, and my knee brushed briefly against his, but he didn’t draw away for a moment. Another Flower in a green mask appeared to offer more wine, so Oleander took a glass for each of us. Perhaps hoping to show him I was worth his time, I took a gold coin from my pocket and placed it on the server’s tray. Her eyes widened slightly, and she gave me a coquettish smile as she left, but if Oleander noticed, he didn’t mention it. Was it gauche to try to impress him with money? All that I knew of situations like this had been learned from Taegen’s tales of his exploits, so it was difficult to gauge exactly what was proper.
“It’s rare to see elves outside the Empire,” Oleander noted, twirling the stem of his glass idly between his fingers. “To my knowledge, the only two in Vallerie are employed here with us. Are you here to stay? Or just passing through?”
“I’m only here for the evening, I’m afraid.”
“On your way to better things, no doubt. We’ll have to be sure this is an evening to remember, then.” He gave me another playful look, and I took a large sip of wine in a vain attempt to cool myself down. “Does that mean you’re one of the emperor’s diplomats? I’ve heard more and more envoys have been crossing your borders lately.”
“My cousin is the diplomat, not me. I’m simply accompanying him on the emperes’ business, as a second…voice of the Empire. And in case he needs any real magic done,” I snickered. Taegen could best me with a sword easily enough, but I outstripped him by far in terms of spellcraft.
“Oh, is that a talent of yours?”
“It’s more likely a matter of access to training and education. My magic may be impressive, but I had impressive teachers and resources,” I explained. “It’s not as if it’s something inborn.”
“Or perhaps you’re just modest,” Oleander suggested. “And now you have me very curious about this impressive magic you do. Will you show me?”
“I’m not sure this is the best time or place for a demonstration. What’s impressive to me might be intimidating to others, and I’d rather not be thrown out for misconduct as that last fellow was.”
With a pout and an exaggerated sigh, he conceded, “Later, perhaps? I so rarely have the opportunity to witness elvin magic, and the sort humans do just can’t compare.”
“If it means that much to you, then certainly. Assuming I can keep your attention long enough, that is.” I stole another glance at him, trying and failing to be discreet in what I was implying. After all, he might easily decide he was bored with me or could find a better opportunity elsewhere. I could only hope that wouldn’t be the case.
Seeing the apprehension on my face, he smiled and shook his head. “Unless you choose to send me away, you have my attention, Jaonah. For as long as you care to keep it.”
As expected, the sound of my name in his rich and smooth voice bloomed heat in my chest, not least of all because he’d pronounced it correctly. I took a deep breath in an effort to pace myself despite wanting to get him alone as soon as possible. “Ahem. I was surprised at how you responded when Satella was threatened. Are all Flowers similarly armed?”
“Oh, no. I’m a very special Flower,” he chuckled. I certainly agreed.
“And the ‘gardeners’ you mentioned? Who are they? Your friends in the silver masks, perhaps?”
He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled mischievously. “You haven’t heard the rumors? Well, I suppose you haven’t been in Vallerie for long. No, my lord, there is only one Gardener, and you won’t find him here.”
“Yet you talk about him as I if should know who he is.” I’d had enough wine by this point that I was beginning to feel pleasantly warm and relaxed a bit further in my seat. “A figure of power in Vallerie, I suppose?”
“In all of Rilleaud, in fact. The Garden is all but an institution.” Oleander leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice slightly, and it took all my willpower not to gaze intently at his lips. “It’s an organization, a network of professionals, shall we say, carrying out covert operations for the rich and powerful. Or so I’m told.”
“Covert operations?” I repeated. “Such as?”
“Difficult to say. I’ve never met any of them myself. One assumes information-gathering, at the very least. Beyond that…” He shrugged lazily, continuing with great relish, “Who knows?” It was an interesting concept, a group of—what?—spies? Informants? Assassins? The Empire had its share of subterfuge and noble intrigue, so the idea wasn’t entirely foreign. The strangest part was how interested Oleander seemed to be in it.
“And you’re saying that the Flower Bed is somehow related to this ‘Garden’?”
“Oh, no.” He sat back and laughed airily at the idea, suddenly abandoning all his earlier secrecy. “Of course not. It’s just a rumor that arose from the fortunate name of our establishment. There’s no truth to it, but the good people of Vallerie don’t have to know that. You can keep a secret, can’t you, my lord?”
I had to laugh at that. “I’m an unmarried elvin prince in a human country. Of course I can keep a secret.” I didn’t realize how bitter that must sound until I saw the smile fade from Oleander’s lips to be replaced with sympathy. Clearing my throat, embarrassed, I tried to amend myself, but he stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm.
“For tonight, you are an elvin prince in Rilleaud, in a darkened room, in a mask, and in good company,” he purred, fingertips gliding lightly up my arm toward my shoulder. His pale eyes flickered down toward my lips, and I thought for a moment that he might kiss me, but he likely realized our masks would be in the way. Would we have to keep them on all night? That would be a disappointment.
“The only company I’m truly interested in is yours, beauty,” I confessed, catching his hand in mine, praying I wasn’t being too bold. “Tell me how I might have it all to myself.”
He seemed taken aback by how earnestly I wanted him, and I almost worried I’d committed some breach of etiquette—but quickly enough, his smile returned, as warm as ever. “All you had to do was ask.” He finished his wine and set the glass aside on the table in front of us, then got up and pulled me to my feet. Tense with desire, hardly able to believe my luck, I followed his lead.