Chapter 2

Sheila froze, caught off guard. She had probably never seen anyone smile at a moment like this.

She did not know. That smile was my first weapon. I would use it to survive this world and to make those who humiliated me pay.

That night, they threw me into a cramped storage shed. Bruised and starving, I lay there in the dark. And I slept better than I had in sixteen years. Because I was done hoping for anything from anyone. Without hope, I had no weakness left.

They woke me before dawn. It was time to learn.

I practiced walking with a sway that caught the eye, speaking in a voice soft and sugared, and glancing at a man as if he were the only thing in the room. But what I really worked at was learning how to smile.

Sheila said my smile was always wrong. She punished me daily. She said the torment would not end until my smile finally pleased her.

I practiced in front of the mirror. The smile had to be exact. My eyes were gentle, and my lips careful. It couldn't slip into falsehood, nor betray my thoughts. It had to be flawless.

I learned it fast. Because I understood this was more than a smile. This was my mask and my weapon. I would use it to disguise myself and to shield myself. And I would use it to deceive my enemies until the right moment came to strike.

Three months. That was how long it took for me to learn to smile.

The other girls said I had the best smile in the house. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to keep a man looking.

Sheila was pleased. She started putting me in front of clients, though not the sort who expected a bed. I poured wine, sang a little, played some music, and kept them company.

She said I was her prize asset. She would only use me where it mattered. I did not care.

I spent my days entertaining those powerful men, coming and going. I listened to them talk politics, war, love affairs, and scandal. I locked every useful scrap of information away inside my head.

I was a web that caught everything that mattered, a spiderweb spinning silently in the dark as I waited for prey big enough to stumble into my net. Then I would trap him, drain him dry, take everything he had, and put him to use.

At last, the chance I had been waiting for arrived.

That day, Sheila rushed into my room, her face flushed with excitement. "Charlotte! Get read, quickly! Alistair, Duke of Northgate, just arrived in Venton! He is hosting a banquet here tonight and specifically asked for you to serve at his table!"

Alistair, the King's younger brother, commanded Northgate's armored cavalry. Ruthless and decisive, he dominated the court. Few dared oppose him.

My heart gave a sudden jolt. This was it. My moment had finally come.

*****

Alistair's name was a legend in Venton. He went to war at thirteen and became a duke at fifteen. He spent ten years guarding Northgate.

Rumor said he looked like a demon from the old tales. His temper was hellfire. He killed without mercy. Enemies, comrades, even royal kin. Many had met their end at his hand. The King both relied on him and feared him.

Why would a man like that show up at the Pleasure House? And out of all the girls here, why pick me? My mind spun.

Sheila had already chosen my dress, which was pale lavender. Not too revealing, but it followed every line of my body. She arranged my hair herself and touched up my face.

"Charlotte, this is your golden chance!" Sheila said, her hands trembling. "If you can win over Alistair, you will not just leave this hell. You might even become his lover!"

I stared at my reflection and studied the arch of my brows, the depth of my eyes, and the faint smile that lingered at the corners of my lips just enough to suggest nothing at all, with no joy, no sorrow, and not a trace of what I had endured.

I asked Sheila, "Who else is coming tonight?"

Sheila adjusted the final pin in my hair as she answered, "All the major figures from court! The Minister of Personnel, the Deputy Minister of War, and, oh! Your father. General Quinn!"

My hand curled quietly into a fist inside my sleeve.

Grant would be there too. How wonderful. I wanted to see his face when he watched his own daughter pour wine for his colleagues as a courtesan. I wondered what expression he would wear.

Sheila gave me endless warnings. "Be extremely careful serving him. He's a beast. One wrong word and the entire Pleasure House will be buried alongside you."

I nodded. "I know."

As if I did not already know. The more dangerous the beast, the more priceless it was once tamed.

When I entered the banquet hall, it was already full. Guests in fine clothes and jewels filled the room, cups raised in quiet toasts. The mood was tense. All eyes were on the head of the table.

He sat at the head of the table, dressed in black with subtle patterns at the collar and cuffs. He ignored the crowd, tracing the rim of his wine cup. He did nothing, yet his presence alone warned everyone to keep their distance.

That had to be Alistair. The rumors were wrong. He was striking, composed, and entirely in control. Meeting his eyes felt like standing before a storm.

I drew a steadying breath and walked to the center of the hall with measured, graceful steps. I gave a light bow. "Greetings, Your Grace, honored guests." My voice was even. Not too loud, not too soft. It rang out clearly.

Every eye in the hall fixed on me, with some faces showing dazzlement, some sneering, some amused, and some merely curious, but one stare burned hotter than the rest, and I felt it sear right through me.

I glanced up. It was Grant. He sat next to Alistair. His face was ashen. His fists clenched. He stared at me, eyes filled with shock, anger, and shame. But not a shred of guilt.

I felt a cold sneer in my heart. This was only the beginning. Grant had no idea the real show was just starting.

Beside Grant sat Kevin Bradford, the Minister of Personnel, who was a lecherous old man. He leered at me with open lust.

"I have long heard the Pleasure House held a rare beauty. Now that I see her, the rumors hold true. Your Grace, you're such a lucky man."

He was clearly angling for favor with Alistair, but with those words, he had tossed me straight into the center of the storm.