“We working girls have to stick together. Arella must deal with that mage.” I offer my hand.
Her face hardens with determination replacing fear. “Yes. He’s awful. Come, she’ll reward you for saving me. I’m one of her best girls,” she adds, smug with pride.
We plunge back into chaos.
Morana leads me downstairs. We weave past brawling drunks and shattered glass until we slip behind a black curtain I hadn’t noticed before.
Beyond it, a black marble hallway stretches into silence. As we walk, the sounds of the laughter and violence behind us fade into a low hum. The further we go, the more the world narrows.
The hall ends in a richly decorated room still in theme with the sin house but quieter and more official. Leather furniture is perfectly arranged and not a thing is out of place.
Morana leads me toward a set of imposing doors on the right. She pushes them open.
Inside, there are multiple small lounge sofas in deep red and purple covered in sheer silk panels. On each one, women reclining in delicate silks are accompanied by men with glazed-over eyes. Their bodies drape like queens while men kneel before them acting as servants, worshippers, andtoys.
Those who can compel drape themselves in finery and don’t so much as lift a hand to care for themselves.
Another breed of sheep.
At the center of the room, a makeshift throne rises like a stage. A woman lounges atop it, platinum hair spilling down her hips, a shimmering purple gown clinging to her curves like liquid light. One man kneels beneath her feet. Another feeds her grapes. A third fans her slowly with a giant palm leaf.
Her pink eyes lazily flick to us.
“Morana? A new guest?” Her voice drips seduction like it’s stuck in a permanent bedroom whisper. I’m not swayed the slightest, the saccharine in her voice repugnant like sulfur on my tongue.
Morana smiles and offers a quick bow. “Madame, a mage attacked me, trying to get information about you. This woman here saved me.” She squeezes my hand.
Arella bites into a grape a man feeds her as she determines if I am worthy of her presence.
If I didn’t have this damn collar, I could butcher every single one of these manipulative cunts without breaking a sweat.
Let Arella think she’s the apex predator here. Let her feel in control—for now.
“Defending off a mage?” Her voice feigns awe, but it’s thin and unconvincing. Even as she stares directly at my witch markings, she dares to dismiss me.
I grind my teeth.
She snaps her fingers.
Four massive men rise from kneeling beside her throne and move in perfect synchronization, their eyes stripped of color. Marching in a straight line out the door, they move with purpose embedded in their bones.
They remind me of a shared consciousness. A hive mind with a collective desire one woman implanted.
“Do sit. What is your name?”
“Millicent,” I reply, keeping my last name out of her reach. I take a seat on the sofa facing her throne.
“Why are you here, witch? I don’t know you.”
Her head tilts, her pink eyes narrow with practiced intensity as she scans me for weakness.
I don’t waver under the scrutiny. “I have questions, about a curse I’m unfamiliar with.”
“Why would I know the answer?” she asks, smirking. “Better yet, why would I give it to you if I did?”
She laughs. A cue. The women in the room laugh with her.
Their laughs would not be so pretty and delicate if I eviscerated their throats.
