Chapter Text
Nestled at the end of a crooked alley not very far from the heart of the city, its entrance appeared like any other cellar doors in that neighborhood yet once inside, one would seem to be brought into a different world.
The candlelight danced upon the cold stone floor. There, moved bodies clad in naught but thin, near-transparent white linens. The air was heavy with the scent of wine and heady incense. Mingling laughter, murmured speech and slow, heated breath of strangers echoed freely through the hall.
A broad-shouldered man with tousled hair of silver, one of the house’s manservants by his bearing, leaned upon the bar laughing with two ladies who giggled over mugs of cider. Nearby, a petite woman with hair as pink as blossom and clad in loose linen swayed lazily to the beat of a hand-drum, caring only a little that her cloth slipped from her shoulders. In shadowed alcoves, others lay pressed together in languorous embrace.
Though it was past midnight, the streets were yet to slumber. Men dicing at a corner table, a brawl in progress further down the alley and some merchants peddling strange and unnamable wares. Along the narrow alleyway came two ladies in dark cloaks, seeking to blend among the common folk. The taller one, with hair of silver-grey and atop her head was a pair of cat’s ears, walked before the other smaller lady with snow-like hair cropped short and choppy. The smaller wore a plain black leather mask covering her eyes and hiding her true identity.
"Your Grace, we’re nearly there. Can you hear the faint sound of laughter? I believe this kind of joy is . . . not allowed within the palace court."
The cat-eared lady’s eyes glimmered in the dim light.
"Speak not so of the court. It is no place for such levity.”
The masked lady simply responded.
They pressed on. The masked lady walked in the direction her attendant led. The other lady glanced over her shoulder as her expression turned impish.
"Tonight, Your Grace would be brought into a new world. I do hope this little . . . venture shall grant you ease from your burdens a bit. I pray you find delight in what is to come."
The masked lady tapped the edge of her mask. Her eyes showed a hint of anticipation but with doubt as this was her first time going deep into the commoners' district. She tilted her head towards the entrance ahead, leaning in a little closer. They came at last to their destination.
"Now, the real question is . . . will Your Grace find this place to her liking?"
The cat attendant asked in a playful tone.
“I have asked but for some manner of diversion. Now that we came, I trust you have prepared it well. Yet I confess, Cipher. I doubt your arrangements as you have kept it hidden until this very hour.”
The masked lady eyed her companion with guarded suspicion.
"Your Grace came exactly to the right person. Do not overthink things once we are inside. Let your body bring you to new heights.”
The masked lady felt even more suspicious, not exactly knowing what to expect given her attendant's unsteady and playful nature though beneath it lay the quiet trust born of long friendship.
"I have requested for someone with gentle hands who would care for you but I must add, the beauty of it comes from losing yourself in someone else's . . . . touch. It’s not just about the pleasure they give but also the freedom, the control. You get to be you, not the King's heir who is about to inherit the throne in few more years. Not the perfect image everyone's expecting.”
The cat attendant added with eagerness and excitement.
"Cipher you . . . "
A sigh escaped the masked lady as now, she have understood the "diversion" her attendant prepared for her but nevertheless, there was no turning back. As they opened the cellar door, the music grew louder. The smell of wine and intoxicating incense became more distinct.
"Shall we, Your Grace? She’s waiting."
The cat attendant whispered at her lady with a teasing smile. The masked lady lingered for a moment, examining the room, fully realizing the kind of place they just entered.
"Lead on."
The mask hid her expression but her voice seemed to have a hint of tension. They passed through the drunken crowd and downed a shadowed passage lined with dim-lit alcoves where fair maidens and fine manservants tended their patrons. The cat attendant halted before a velvet curtain. The masked lady stayed right behind her, waiting for what's next.
"Worry not, Your Grace. She would handle you with care tonight."
The cat attendant assured with a proud look.
"Then go on about your own and await for my summon."
Even with the masked lady's calmness, she could not help but feel the anticipation because of her cat attendant's enthusiasm. With a parting wave, her attendant vanished into the house, suddenly out of sight. Perhaps out somewhere fulfilling her own entertainment.
The masked lady drew aside the curtain and saw a maiden with hair of deep amethyst. Her silk robe was falling loosely from her shoulders. In the dim light, her skin seemed to glow. Serene yet beckoning, the maiden turned her gaze upon the visitor. Her lips was curved in a faint smile. The masked lady stepped within. Her eyes were fixed but her words were failing her. The music and chatter beyond the curtain faded to a distant murmur. The maiden rose with her bare feet upon the stone as she came forward.
"Are you well, my lady?"
Her hand reached for the masked lady’s arm, drawing her close.
"I am . . . uncertain."
With their distant closer, the masked lady turned her head aside breaking their eye contact.
"Do tell what you need of me tonight, and I shall obey."
The maiden slightly bowed to meet her gaze again, seeking the truth behind the mask. The masked lady retreated a bit breaking the tension in the air as she spoke.
“Seek not to look behind my mask, only once granted.”
"Yes, my lady."
“Ask me not who I am, nor what I desire beyond this night.”
“As you command, my lady.”
"This is not my custom. Yet I expect your obedience.”
"I am here only for what you need, my lady."
The maiden remained still, sensing the quiet tremor beneath the masked lady’s calm tone.
“Then . . . disrobe. Slowly.”
The masked lady hesitantly commanded but with her unwavering calm tone. The maiden moved in the soft light. She then untied the string lace of her silk garment clinging on her shoulders. The fabric slipped from her collarbone to her breast, inch by inch until it lay pooled on her feet. She did not rush. The masked lady’s gaze followed each movement. There was a burning sensation starting to build up inside her. She stepped forward and caressed the maiden’s soft skin. Her shoulders, her chest, then her arms. With hesitation in mind, she retreated to rest her hands on the curve of the other woman's waist, a bit disappointed with herself.
"You are . . . fair beyond telling. I’ve given orders almost any day. Dismissed people with a single glance, yet . . ."
“. . . I know not where to begin now.”
Her voice softened.
A bit surprised with the masked lady's confession, the maiden calmly responded with her gentle voice.
"Then let me begin. And you shall follow."
"Then, do your duty. Do as you must."
The masked lady stiffened but then nodded just this once.
"As you wish."
She took the masked lady’s hands and guided them to her collarbones, slowly hovering to her chest, letting the masked lady feel the warmth of her body.
"Begin here, my lady. Feel it. Let your hands learn before your mind hinders them."
The masked lady obeyed in silence. Every motion was hesitant yet drawn by curiosity. The tension between them shifted, no longer of dominance but of unfolding intimacy. Still hidden behind the mask, she drew a deep breath, stealing a glance at the maiden’s expression. The soft gasps awakened something within her. The maiden parted her lips and her breath quickened as she continued to guide the lady’s touch, coaxing a little more pressure. Her patron watched her closely with a flush on her cheeks. The way her body reacts to each measured stroke fueled the masked lady’s growing desire. Hesitation falls away and replaced by hunger not for power but for the maiden’s intoxicating responses.
"My lady, you are skilled in this. I - ah. . . I find your touch most pleasing.’’
The masked lady offered no further words. Instead, she lowered her mouth to the maiden’s breast as one hand tended the other side. She licked and sucked, drawing soft moans from the maiden. With each sound, her focus sharpened. What began as study becomes instinct.
"P-please. . . Do not stop. . ."
The maiden gasped while her knees slightly bent, clutching at the other lady’s shoulders. The masked lady looked up at the maiden’s expression twist in delight. The sight consumed her every time.
"Your face is . . . most exquisite."
"K-Keep going, my lady. Learn me . . . and in doing so, learn yourself."
A deep flush bloomed beneath the mask. The masked lady untied the lace of her own cloak, letting it slide from her shoulders, revealing a deep blue fine-linen top and black leather trousers. The maiden led her to the bed and drew her atop of herself. Face to face, their eyes met. The maiden smiled then guided the masked lady’s hands once again, leading her fingers down to her stomach, then into her wet core. Two fingers slid within, moving slow and steadily. The maiden clutched her shoulders, pulling the other woman closer.
"Ah - my lady . . . I wish to kiss you right now."
Without a response, the masked lady just leaned in and claimed her lips. The kiss deepened. The maiden opened her lips offering her tongue and the masked lady followed. Both were soon lost in one another. The maiden’s hand slipped to the back of the masked lady's neck, anchoring her in place.
"My lady . . . would you try me below?"
A faint grin played at the masked lady’s lips. Again, without a word, she descended from neck to chest, to stomach then to the maiden’s core. She gave a brief glance upward and found the maiden watching her. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat before her gaze shifted to the pleasure before her. She leaned in. Her tongue was working over drenched folds. The maiden’s hips rolled in rhythm with her mouth. The masked lady’s movements were guided only by her memory of gasps and every tremble of the maiden before her. She was no longer thinking but only feeling. The maiden cried out as her back arched with eyes closed and cheeks aflame. Her fingers wandered to the other lady’s head for support. By accident, it brushed the mask’s tie and slipped just enough to bare a part of the masked lady's brow.
"Do not—"
The masked lady retreated at once as her hand secured the mask.
"Ah—my lady, I did not mean to. . . . My hand slipped, I did not try to see your face."
The maiden got startled and pulled her hand back. A regret was clear in her wide eyes.
"You have shown obedience this night. For that, thank you. But I must depart now."
The mask was restored but the her voice became colder though still tinged with emotion.
"My lady, have I given offence to you? I—"
She gave no answer and gathered herself quickly, dons her cloak then left a pouch of coins upon the bed before striding from the chamber. The maiden, left unfinished stared at the coins. There was no anger in her expression but only wonder and perhaps a trace of disappointment. She dressed, took the pouch and headed for the house’s private baths. Other patrons await and the night in the pleasure house was far from done.
Chapter Text
The banners of the royal household hung heavy from the high-vaulted ceiling, swaying in the morning breeze that swept through the windows. The royal council chamber was thick with murmur.
At the long table’s head sat the king’s only heir, still, silent and a figure of contained authority. Her gown was of dusty blue wool and velvet cut high at the throat save for a modest split at its center. The long sleeves shaped itself to her slender arms. Her eyes were pinned to the parchment before her.
Her father had been gone for three moons now, riding to the northern territories to deal with fragile terms into a treaty with the fractious lords beyond the mountain range’s cities. In his absence, the council had learned to bow fully to the heir’s word.
“Increased tariffs along the western routes may draw ire from the river cities.”
One of the councilors expressed as his voice echoed across the chamber.
“Your Grace?”
All eyes turned to her. She did not answer at once. The seal at the bottom of the parchment blurred before her sight for her thoughts were far from tariffs. They strayed to the memory of soft fingers guiding hers in the candlelight, to the press of a breathless voice against her ear. A voice without a name. She could almost hear it again.
"Begin here, my lady. Feel it. Let your hands learn before your mind hinders them."
She blinked once. The sound of the council chamber returned like a tide. Setting the parchment down, she folded her hands over it and spoke with a calm and deliberate command.
“Send word to the trade stewards. They are to return with a revised proposal. One that spares the river cities. I expect good news by dusk.”
The council murmured and nodded into an agreement.
When the meeting dissolved, she passed through the stone corridors. She treaded soft but unhurried. Guards straightened and bowed as she passed but gave them no glance. She halted by an arched window. Beyond the gardens, the city sprawled in smoke and stone.
How can such beauty and grace survive in such a crude place?
Her mind wandered to the pleasure house at this hour. To the silken curtains drawn close and to the muffled laughter behind closed doors.
Perhaps she has already taken her first patron . . . or still asleep? Or . . . perhaps, she wonders the same of me . . .
She shut her eyes for a moment longer, letting the thoughts burn itself into a memory then composed her face once more. Yet a trace of softness stayed in her gaze as she turned away from the window and descended toward her next audience.
Right on that same morning at the pleasure house, the sunlight streamed through the wide and open wall across the private bath chamber, a hidden sanctuary behind the main quarters. Steam drifted in lazy curls above the large wooden tubs. The gentle trickle of water echoed softly, mingling with the scent of lavender and sandalwood from the oils stirred into the warm water. Here, the maidens and manservants performed their morning rituals. Bathing, rinsing perfume over their skins and scrubbing away the remnants of the previous night’s labor.
At the doorway, a tall woman in an ivory gown embroidered with golden thread stood with quiet authority. Her golden blonde hair fell in soft waves framing her face. Aglaea, the mistress of the house surveyed the scene like a hawk watching her roost.
As she walked the length of the room, her keen eyes caught sight of a maiden rinsing her long lavender-purple hair in the water.
"You have missed the space behind your ears, my dear ."
The girl got startled as her cheeks flushed then dipped again into the scented pool.
Across the room, a silver-haired manservant knelt beside a shorter maiden with pale pink hair, carefully adjusting the laces of her under robe.
" Mind your hands, Phainon. Rift the lace and you shall mend it by moonlight."
"Yes, my lady. I would be more careful."
The manservant replied with a respectful smile.
Aglaea moved further in. Her gaze were sweeping the room.
"Has everyone here taken the baths already?"
"All, my lady. Save Hysilens. She asked to be alone for a moment in her chamber."
A bath attendant quickly answered.
"Very well. Then let her keep her peace."
Aglaea’s eyes narrowed not in anger, but in thought.
She drifted away from the steamy warmth. Her presence was enough to make the newest maidens straighten unconsciously not from fear but from respect. For all her grace, Aglaea was not merely the keeper of the pleasure house. She was the guardian of what made her fortune. She trained them well, fed them, clothed them and shielded them from harm. She understood better than most that behind every sold delight lay a body in need of rest.
Within Hysilens' private quarters, she sat alone by her dressing table. Her hair spilled over the loose white robe drawn lazily to her frame. Her brows were furrowed from thoughts.
"She did not even stay till before dawn.”
She murmured.
Her fingers reached for a small velvet pouch resting at the table’s corner. It was the gift, or perhaps the payment left by her masked patron the night before. It was heavier than any payment she had received from a first-time visitor. She tipped one coin into her palm, turning it between her fingers. It gleamed spotless.
"A noble? Or . . . . higher?"
She studied it a moment longer before returning it to the pouch. Leaning back in her chair, she let the memory return.
She commanded me of guiding her . . . yet in truth, she did quite well, did she not?
Her hand rose to her temple, brushing back her hair as the thoughts tangled further.
Had I not touched her mask . . . would she have stayed?
A sharp exhale escaped her, followed by a faint smile.
Of all the patrons I have entertained . . . nobles, guards and even the common-born, she stayed the shortest . . . yet gave the most offering.
Her eyes drifted to the pouch once more.
"Who are you?"
She stood, stretching her back before pulling her robe tighter around her frame.
"No more fancies. The bath awaits."
With a decisive turn, she left the chamber.
Chapter Text
The last light of the day slipped through the gauzy curtains, bathing the heir’s private chamber in a warm and fading glow. Cerydra sat before her dressing table. The weariness of the day finally crept into her poised frame. Two handmaidens moved in quiet rhythm about her, unclasping the golden belt on her waist, removing the pendant bearing her house sigil and loosening the pins from her hair.
A knock echoed against the carved oak door.
“Your Grace, forgive the hour. Lady Cipher seeks audience.”
It came from the voice of her royal guard stationed outside her chamber.
“Permit her to enter.”
The heir replied.
The door opened with a muted creak and Cipher stepped in with her tail lazily swaying behind her. The guard bowed once with the handmaidens now dismissed before closing the chamber with a dull click.
“Your Grace, I’ve been chasing your shadow the whole of the afternoon.”
Cipher began as she crossed the floor with easy confidence.
“I had council and accounts to attend.”
Cerydra simply responded, still facing her reflection on the mirror as she plucked the last pin from her hair.
“And last night?”
“You know well where I went.”
The heir’s gaze lifted to the mirror, meeting Cipher’s eyes through the glass.
“I do. What I do not know . . . is why you vanished.”
A brief stillness lingered between them. Cipher’s ears twitched as she pressed on.
“You commanded me to wait . . . and so I did through the night. Then your scent was gone. My trail led me back here to the palace.”
The heir turned at last, her bearing was unshaken though her words were stripped of ceremony.
“I panicked.”
“You . . . panicked?”
“My mask slipped. I fled.”
“Did she see you?”
“I am uncertain. Perhaps . . .”
Cipher’s keen eyes searched her face then she gave a slow sigh.
“I will not pry at what you felt. I only seek to know if you were safe.”
The chamber grew still again. Cipher crossed to the window and leaned against the sill.
“Next time, give some signal. Even a riddle would do. Please do not vanish without a word.”
“I would bear it in mind.”
Cerydra replied. Her voice was calm yet faintly warm.
Cipher straightened, offering a low and almost playful bow.
“Ever at your service, Your Grace. Rest well this night.”
The heir watched her go. The door closed softly behind her. Memories drifted in like the mischief of their youth and the quiet companionship through long and lonely hours. Cipher had always walked the fine line between a steward and a friend.
Weeks slipped by as though stolen from the calendar. Peace held its quiet reign over the capital. The temple at the city’s heart breathed with incense and whispers. Nobles and commoners alike murmured their prayers beneath the gaze of stone gods. Candles guttered in the air as its melted wax pooled in bronze trays.
This afternoon, the heir came seeking not for prophecy nor divine omen, but silence. She sat apart upon a long stone bench near the altar’s flank. Her velvet cloak drew loosely about her that her crest lay half-hidden. The burdens of the council weighed heavily on her shoulders though her face betrayed none of it. Her gaze lifted to the towering stone god as her lips shaped a soundless prayer.
A faint rustle broke the temple’s stillness. A woman entered. She has a familiar dark amethyst-like hair, dressed in the plain beige gown of the city’s modest folk. She walked to the altar then knelt, lit a candle and bowed her head.
Cerydra got a glimpse of her. At first, she was but another worshipper but then, the turn of her face caught by the light and a memory struck like spark.
It is her. From the pleasure house. From that night.
Her pulse quickened from the thought though her posture remained unaltered.
The woman who was still in prayer seemed to feel the weight of another’s gaze so she turned her head slowly. Their eyes met. She offered the heir a soft nod, the kind which is exchanged between strangers sharing sacred ground, yet she lingered. Her brow slightly furrowed as though the face before her stirred some faint recollection. She did not speak. Neither did the heir.
You do not remember. And better so.
The thought came to the heir with a strange ache. It was not longing nor lust but only the ghost of something that had once flared and ought to have died yet refused to vanish entirely.
The woman rose and departed. Her footsteps were soft upon the stone.
Cerydra released a slow breath.
The first time is ever sweet to the memory. I have made peace with it. It was but curiosity that had satisfied me . . . and that is all it ever was.
As the heir thought, but it lacks conviction.
It was only midday and back in the pleasure house, which was usually alive with laughter and chatter beneath the glow of the night is now quiet. A handful of maidens lounged near a low table scattered with half-eaten fruit. By the high tables, a few manservants spoke in low voices with their bare shoulders still damp from the baths.
The maiden entered. A faint scent of the temple incense clung to her hair. She lowered herself onto a small lounge in the corner beside her friend, another maiden with long lavender-purple hair and elf-like ears, Castorice.
"You returned, Hysilens. It took you long. Did something come up?"
"No, I only sought a bit of peace."
Hysilens softly replied.
"You work in a pleasure house. Such a thing was never meant for us."
Castorice jested with a light chuckle.
Hysilens laughed under her breath but soon her gaze drifted. She picked up an apple from the table and stared at it in silence.
"I saw someone this day."
She murmured.
"At the temple?"
"Yes. She seemed known to me. I think . . . she was the heir."
Castorice’s brows rose.
"The heir? You mean the king’s daughter? The one who holds nearly half the realm in their hand?"
She watched Hysilens expectantly.
"Yes. She must be the one. There was a royal guard from the steps outside the temple."
Castorice’s eyes widened at the thought.
"Imagine it, the king’s daughter treading the cobbles of the commoner’s ward. Did she hand alms?"
Hysilens was quiet for a moment before answering.
"I knew her face. The banners in the courts bear it during the trials."
"Yet . . . there was a strangeness about her. She seemed . . . familiar. As though . . .”
Her voice lowered.
"As though what?"
"Nothing. I guess I am fancying things."
Hysilens gave a faint half-smile.
They drifted back into idle conversation until evening approached. The house began its nightly transformation. Under the veil of darkness, candles bloomed with amber light, shadows danced upon the stone walls and laughter moved like a slow tide through the room. Patrons arrived shrouded in robes. Some sat flushed as they murmured to their chosen companions while others sipped in silence, lost in the eyes of a maiden.
Hysilens wore a dark plum wrap stitched with silver thread. At a cushioned table in the corner, she sat beside a drowsy noblewoman. Her cheeks were warm with drink. Her cloak was crooked upon her shoulders. One unsteady hand rested on Hysilens’ hip before sliding away. The noblewoman softly slurred about disputes within her clan, though her eyes remained half-closed. The maiden poured more wine into her goblet, which the noblewoman barely reached for. She offered a slow and knowing smile. The noblewoman’s hand rose again, sluggishly and unsurely but sagged back down before it even touched Hysilens' thigh and finally, a faint snore escaped her lips.
Passing by was a fellow maiden, Hyacinthia just freed from her own patron. She casted a glance at the scene.
"There she drifts, down with the tide."
She said with a smile.
Hysilens smiled back. She was about to help her patron toward the private chambers when a movement at the main entrance caught her eye. A hooded figure slipped inside. Unremarkable at first glance, save for the sharp glimmer of blue-violet eyes and the subtle flick of feline ears beneath the hood. The maiden’s eyes widened. She has seen her before twice. Once, walking beside a black carriage at the marketplace bearing the royal crest and the second, walking around in this same hall a week ago. Each time, she had vanished too quickly to follow but those ears . . . they were unforgettable.
The cat-eared woman moved past the lounge with her head bowed. She exchanged quiet words with a senior guard at the stairwell before being allowed through, ascending without a pause toward the upper floor where only a single room exists. Toward the mistress' private quarters.
"She is no patron. She does not look like one."
Hysilens murmured.
"Who?"
"The one with the cat’s ears."
Hyacinthia glanced at the now-empty stairs.
"Ah . . . her. I have seen her visit few times but she always goes up, never stays here in the halls."
"Do you know who she is?"
Hysilens pressed.
"I cannot say for certain. Lady Aglaea shows her no displeasure. So . . . she must be someone important."
Hyacinthia was soon pulled away by a merchant eager for her cup to be refilled, leaving Hysilens alone with her drunken patron. With steady care, she helped the noblewoman to her feet and guided her toward the privacy of their chamber.
Chapter Text
Cerydra's day would be long, filled with audiences and council duties. She had gone to the temple in the morning to seek silence before enduring the endless hours of petitions and formalities. Upon her return to her private chamber just after the sunset, she stood near the tall and arched window with her arms crossed and her gaze was lost somewhere beyond the gardens. Her mind lingered on someone's eyes who she had unexpectedly met in the temple until a firm knock broke her train of thoughts.
“Your Grace, Lady Cipher is here.”
The royal guard’s voice carried from beyond the door.
At her word, the door opened. Cipher stepped inside with her hood lowered and her tail swaying in a lazy arc.
“Your Grace.”
She greeted bowing her head.
“You summoned me?”
“Yes.”
The heir answered with an even voice, turning to face her attendant.
“I want you to fetch someone for me. From the pleasure house.”
“From that pleasure house?”
“Indeed.”
“You wish another night arranged?”
Cipher's tail gave a slight flick.
“No. See that she is brought to me here within the palace. Let it be done in private.”
Cipher tilted her head as she studied the heir.
“That is . . . not how it is done. The maidens do not simply leave the house. They are bound in their contracts. Their mistress looks after the house rules like gold.”
"I do not seek to purchase her freedom. Only an evening. One night where I do not need to hide in the shadows."
The heir’s tone sharpened in frustration.
“I could find another.”
Cipher carefully offered.
“A dozen . . . as fair as she. It does not need to—”
“—It does.”
The words cut through, leaving Cipher silent for a breath. Her eyes slightly narrowed not in defiance but in thought.
“This is not . . . mere diversion for you anymore.”
Cerydra’s jaw tightened and turned again towards the gardens.
"I crossed paths with her this day, within the temple’s walls. She knew me not, yet I knew her well enough. I will not creep back to that pleasure house shrouded like a common wretch skulking through my own capital."
“Then perhaps do not.”
Cipher’s voice softened.
"That is precisely why I would have her brought here."
"I am the heir. Such a trifle should not require me asking twice."
Cerydra’s hands clenched at her sides.
“Which is why . . .”
Cipher evenly replied.
“You must think twice.”
The chamber fell silent. The heir exhaled slowly. Her restraint was visible in the set of her shoulders.
"You would deny me and cite a mere house rule as a cause?"
“I mean to say you cannot storm in and take what you want like some spoiled noble child.”
The heir’s eyes flicked to Cipher as her anger cooled to a simmer.
“If it matters so much to you, I will find a way.”
“Bring her to me . . . nothing more.”
Cipher inclined her head.
“As you command, Your Grace.”
She departed leaving the heir by the window. Her breath was caught between desire and defiance. Cipher made haste through the corridors. Her steps were swift until the palace gates gave way to the winding streets. The path led her straight through the city’s heart as the night gradually approached then continued onwards until she reached the pleasure house.
The upper floor lay hushed as it was far from the laughter and murmurs that echoed from the lower floor. Inside the lavishly appointed chamber, Aglaea sat at a curved writing desk with her ivory silk robe softly gleaming in the lamplight. Her short golden hair was neatly set and her emerald eyes hinted a quiet amusement as she reviewed her ledgers. A goblet of spiced wine was resting in her other hand.
A soft knock caught her attention. Cipher stepped inside without waiting for permission.
“You have kept me waiting, my dear.”
Cipher’s tail idly flicked as she closed the door.
“I did not come for pleasure tonight.”
“A pity. I wore this robe for you.”
“I have come to ask a favor.”
Cipher approached her stopping just short of a touching distance.
“You arrived yet offer me not even a greeting.”
Aglaea arched a brow and set her goblet aside.
“A fine evening to you, Lady Aglaea.”
Cipher leaned slightly forward with her voice taking on a mocking formality.
“Better.”
The other woman reclined as she crossed her legs with a languid grace.
“Well then, what summons you this time, my little cat?”
“There is a maiden here. With long hair. Purple as dusk. Her name is unimportant but I require her . . . for a night.”
Cipher spoke with a tone of hesitation.
“You . . . have you turned your taste to my maidens now?”
Aglaea’s brow furrowed and her tone shifted dry.
“N-No. . . . Not for myself.”
“Ah, for your . . . friend, then?”
Her interest was sharpened. Cipher gave no answer then continued after a short silence.
“Only for one night. She will be returned unharmed by dawn.”
“You know full well that is not how I conduct my house, Cifera.”
Aglaea handed her a goblet of spiced wine but kept hold of it.
“She has been . . . requested. Specifically.”
Cipher looked away.
“You grow stubborn when loyalty moves you. Only two people make you so. One is here before you, then that leaves the other one.”
Aglaea’s lips curved in a knowing amusement. She stiffened on the remark but said nothing. The other lady finally released the goblet and turned back to her own spiced wine.
“I have no need of names. What I require is but a promise that the one who requested is discreet.”
She sipped on her goblet then steady her gaze at Cipher.
“And I assume this particular someone does not wish to be seen in my house?”
“Indeed.”
“You are asking me to bend rules I have never bent. That will cost more than a word of thanks.”
Aglaea rose then drifted towards the window.
“Name your price.”
Cipher’s voice was quiet but firm.
“Someday soon, I will call on you. You will not hesitate. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Then you will pretend this visit was routine.”
“Naturally.”
“Now you are here . . . why not embrace the part?”
Aglaea’s mouth curved in a jest but when she turned, Cipher was already close enough that she could feel her warmth.
“Then . . . may I?”
Their eyes locked with a glimmer of desire. Without a word, Aglaea tenderly smiled then closed the space between them. Cipher gently pressed her back against the windowsill. Their lips met in a kiss. Aglaea’s hands roamed from her back, going to her hips and pausing at the base of her tail. Cipher flinched at the touch as a soft sound escaped her. The other woman deepened the kiss just for a brief moment before pulling away.
“ As much as I desire your presence this night, your time runs short. The maiden will be ready.”
Cipher stepped back with her cheeks faintly flushed.
“Do not make a jest of your intent next time. And . . . I am grateful to you, Aglaea. The maiden shall be returned unharmed by dawn.”
Aglaea watched her quietly as Cipher composed herself and slipped away to the door.
Chapter Text
Only a handful of hours until midnight and in a private chamber somewhere in the pleasure house, a noblewoman lay slumped among the silken cushions. Her eyes were half-lidded with wine and exhaustion. Her murmurs had long dissolved into incoherence. Occasionally, her hand was lazily groping Hysilens without strength. She stayed beside her, smiling with practiced warmth though her thoughts were elsewhere until a soft voice came from behind the velvet curtain. The fabric parted just enough for a tall and red-haired attendant, Tribios to enter.
“You are summoned. Quietly now. Lady Aglaea’s orders.”
Tribios moved with calm precision.
“She is still—”
Hysilens’s brows drew together as she glanced at the drunken noblewoman.
“I will sit with her. You are needed elsewhere. Change quickly. Take the back door. Someone awaits you. ”
The tone was firm. The matter does not need to be questioned so Hysilens rose without protest then disentangled her hand from the noblewoman’s grip. She took her robe, polished herself then slipped away. Her pulse began to quicken. The hidden corridor was narrow and lit only by few lanterns. She had rarely walked here so unease crept in.
Why such urgency? We are never taken out. Why send Lady Tribios herself?
She pushed open the final side door. The cool night air brushed her face. Beneath a stone arch stood a cloaked figure. Her ears were upright and her tail was still, watching the street as if it was an enemy line.
Her . . . the one who came to Lady Aglaea’s private quarters.
Cipher turned then approached her.
“Follow me.”
Hysilens nodded, falling into step behind Cipher. The alley led to a modest merchant’s carriage like the sort used to transport fine cloth or spices. One coachman sat at the front with his face turned away.
Cipher checked the street before she opened the door.
“Inside. Quickly.”
The interior of the carriage was surprisingly clean, lined with simple cushions and covered crates. Hysilens sat across from Cipher. Her posture was composed but then her eyes flicked towards the cat-eared woman. For a while, they rode in silence. The city’s uneven stone roads gave the carriage a soft jolt every few turns. Hysilens studied Cipher discreetly. Her tail was resting still on her side. Silence stretched until Cipher finally spoke.
“What follows tonight is not to be spoken of. Not to Lady Aglaea. Not to family nor friends.”
“Am I in danger?”
“No. But the one you shall meet must remain unspoken.”
Hysilens folded her hands in her lap. Outside, the lights of the city thinned as the carriage climbed towards higher ground and more quiet roads.
Towards the palace . . . Who would dwell there and hide their desire behind a mask?
She turned to Cipher but the cat-eared woman sat still with her eyes closed as if her mind was already somewhere else. Hysilens swallowed the questions rising in her throat. Instead, she waited. The answers would be right ahead once they arrived.
Chapter Text
Cerydra's private chamber was warm and softly lit by a handful of amber lanterns perched high along the stone walls. A tall window was open to let in the cool breeze heavy with the scent of the night-blooming jasmines. By that window, the heir stood with her arms crossed and her shoulders were hinting a bit of tautness. Her gaze was fixed upon the royal garden below. The moonlight bathed the flowing fountain in a silver glow.
A faint creak echoed near the bookshelves. The hidden door silently swung open then Cipher slipped in first through that secret passage. Behind her, Hysilens hesitantly stepped in. She paused a few paces inside before the door was shut with a muted click.
“Your Grace, we have arrived.”
Cipher announced with a respectful bow though the heir had yet to turn from the window.
The maiden's eyes narrowed as she drank in the sight before her. The poised figure, the curve of her neck and the way the moonlight kissed the silken layers of her snow-like hair. No one spoke afterwards. The two women waited for the heir's response.
Cerydra drew a steadying breath after a while then finally turned to face her visitors. Their eyes met. Hysilens’ gaze was steady and unwavering as if she's studying the heir's every angle. Still, no words were spoken. The air held a quiet weight.
It is her. I need no further proof.
The maiden thought with certainty.
For a brief moment, Cerydra's expression softened. Vulnerability broke through her usual reserve demeanor. She had not expected to feel this way, seeing the maiden again without hiding behind a mask. Gathering herself, she addressed Cipher.
“You were quick.”
Cipher’s tail flicked lazily as she replied.
“You sounded impatient.”
A soft exhale escaped Cerydra. Her amusement could not even be hidden. She stepped away from the window and walked towards Hysilens.
“Do you recall me?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. . . I do now.”
The stillness lingered before Cipher’s voice gently broke the silence.
“I shall take my leave now, Your Grace. Should you require me, summon me.”
With a graceful bow, Cipher slipped away through the hidden passage leaving the two alone in the chamber.
The room lay heavy with silence once again as though time itself hesitated between them. The maiden stood still a few steps from the heir, who was facing the empty space where her cat attendant had vanished through the secret door. Her hands were clasped before her. The silence stretched until the maiden decided to speak.
“I believe I saw you this morning, Your Grace . . . at the temple.”
The heir’s brow lifted, caught not by the mention of the temple but by the maiden’s clear tone. She turned her gaze upon Hysilens.
“So you recalled me from that place?”
“Indeed. Yet you feel familiar, as if I had glimpsed you somewhere before that.”
“Had you?”
Beneath Cerydra’s composed exterior, her pulse quickened.
“I could not say but your presence . . . your eyes . . .”
The heir briefly glanced away, lowering her lashes to veil her expression. For a moment, she considered denying it with a faint and elusive smile but the way Hysilens regarded her now, respectful, unafraid and curious but not intrusive, it disarmed her more than she cared to confess.
“Perhaps your thoughts are not misplaced.”
Surprised, Hysilens raised her brows. She had already guessed yet did not expect such candor from the heir. She held the gaze a moment longer then offered a gentle smile.
“I knew, Your Grace. Even your voice and your manner in which you watched me. How could I forget? I merely did not think you would confess it so freely.”
Tilting her head, she added.
“You must have found some measure of pleasure then. How may I serve you this night, Your Grace?”
Her voice then softened and the practiced formality was settling back.
The heir turned to approach the long couch beside the closed wooden shutters. She seated herself, folding her arms.
“You are not here merely to entertain. Had I wished such, I could have summoned any among the maidens. Come, sit beside me.”
Cerydra’s voice was firm and unwavering as she gestured to the spot next to her.
Hysilens’s brows rose in a mild surprise though not with defiance. She obeyed and came to sit with the heir.
“You shall speak to me not as a patron nor you as a servant. Simply . . . speak.”
Hysilens inclined her head, uncertain if she had heard correctly.
“Tell me of your day. Or the pleasure house itself. Whatever it is you do when you are not—”
Cerydra faltered, biting back the words that might betray her own stirrings instead, drew a measured breath before continuing.
“Tell me of your world. Tell me of yourself. I tire of hearing only what I am told I ought to know.”
The maiden regarded her with a quiet interest. A faint smile touched her lips out of genuine curiosity then nodded once.
“Then, I shall speak plainly, Your Grace.”
Cerydra met her gaze.
“Indeed. That is what I have bid you.”
Hysilens sat more straight. Her voice was clear, steady and devoid of shame or hesitation.
“Daylight brings a bit of peace to the pleasure house. When no guests arrived, we linger in the lounge. Some read while others sleep too long. Most speak of the smallest whispers from the streets.”
Her eyes flicked towards the open window. The shadows from the curtain drapes fell in patterns upon the carpeted floor.
“We bathe after dawn, always. The house has its own baths. Cleaner than most if I may say. Lady Aglaea tends to them herself. She claims that if we trade beauty, we must honor it with care.”
Cerydra’s expression betrayed a flicker of recognition at the name mentioned. Hysilens paused a bit, carefully watching for any signs of reaction but the heir remained unreadable.
“At night, well . . . we do as is expected. Some patrons come laughing. Others weep before we undress them. Should a patron bring us harm or grows violent, the house guards intervene. I’ve never known what follows, only that they never return. We learn not only how to move but how to listen. It is strange how many seek only to be touched . . . to feel real once more.”
A silence settled. The heir stayed still as Hysilens pressed on.
“I play the vielle when the house is slow. That is how Lady Aglaea found me. At the market corner, playing for coins.”
Her fingers absentmindedly traced her own wrist.
“I have no kin of my own. The house is my family now. The maidens are my sisters. The manservants are my brothers.”
Another long pause followed. Cerydra made no move to interrupt. Uncertain if the heir had truly heard, Hysilens’ voice softened in doubt.
“Is that too plain for a royal ear?”
At last, Cerydra spoke with her voice as low as if confessing a forbidden truth.
“I have tried not to think of you.”
She drew a slow breath turning briefly towards the velvet-draped window before returning her gaze to the maiden.
“It was a moment of indulgence I had no right to entertain . . . at least, that is what I told myself a nd yet, you lingered in my thoughts. It would seem Lady Aglaea has proven most adept in caring of her maidens."
Hysilens remained composed. Her hands were still gently folded on her lap but a flutter rose within her chest.
“I am trained not to be remembered but only to please. A fleeting warmth on a passing night.”
She glanced down briefly then met Cerydra’s eyes once again.
“If I left an impression . . . then I suppose I should be flattered. We are taught never to feel in return. It complicates matters more than it comforts and some patron could alter your life with a single whisper.”
Hysilens tried weighing her words as though they are coins between her fingers.
“But if you offer to be a private patron, t hen I imagine that might prove . . . lucrative.”
Cerydra's gaze held steady though a subtle tension gripped her shoulders like a sign of some inner strife.
“You have done something to me. Or perhaps you have not. Perhaps you were merely as you always are.”
She paused and deeply inhaled.
“I have decided this is your fault.”
She paused once more then her tone grew firmer and more commanding like it was sharpened with resolve.
“Take responsibility, maiden. Make it so. Do something . . . anything to still this unrest you have brought.”
Though her words were not harsh, the undercurrent was unmistakable. There was a hint of urgency beneath the her veil of pride and formality.
“I know not what more I could give nor what you could desire if not pleasure.”
The maiden shifted closer as her hand lightly brushed Cerydra's wrist with uncertainty yet her gaze held firm.
“If there is more you seek, speak it now. But if your unrest is of the sort I was taught to ease . . . t hen allow me to ease it as best I know how.”
Cerydra sat poised with her hands clenched lightly upon her lap. The weight of Hysilens’ offer hung heavy between them. Her voice though soft, bore a sharp edge of command as she leaned closer. Her breath was steady yet charged with a fire kept hidden. A whisper barely stirred her lips.
“Then ease the burden that plagues me. If this is your art . . .”
Her fingers brushed the maiden's cheek with a gentle insistence as she continued.
“I bid you silence all else.”
Chapter Text
A quiet pause settled between the maiden and the heir as the chamber lay mute, save for the whisper of the garden leaves stirring in the wind. Hysilens held her tongue when Cerydra's voice fell upon her. She knew too well what was to follow.
The heir's hand traced the collar that bound Hysilens’ cloak, untying its fastening with a deliberate grace. The garment slipped away, falling soft and slow from her back. Clad now but only with her thin underlayers, Hysilens watched without fear as Cerydra undid the laces of her own waist cincher and casting it aside. A tender touch cupped her chin. Cerydra’s thumb grazed her parted lips like a silent reclaiming of what had left unfinished. Hysilens breathed shallowly from the touch. Finally, the heir closed the gap between them and their lips met in a kiss. It was not rushed but filled with the weight of a long-held desire. When they parted, Cerydra's hands moved with reverence, shedding the maiden's modest gown until the final layer gave way, revealing her soft and warm skin beneath the moonlight. Her gaze roamed from the maiden’s collarbone then to her shoulder’s curve. Her hand slid to Hysilens’ nape, drawing her near in a whisper meant only for her.
“Shall we resume what fate denied us?”
“Had you recalled what we shared?”
Hysilens curiously questioned with a gentle tease in her tone.
“Yes, I yearn to know the depths of you.”
A faint smile curved on Hysilens’ lips upon hearing the heir's response.
She then guided Cerydra down upon the cushions, gracefully mounting on top of her. Her fingers traced the embroidered folds of the heir’s dusty blue brocade gown. Their eyes locked and warmth pooled between them. Slowly, she gradually rubbed her pelvic against the heir's form beneath layers of fine fabric. Cerydra’s breathing became heavier as she closely watched the woman atop her sensually moved. She instinctively clasped her hands on Hysilens’ waist grounding herself in each measured sway. The couch creaked beneath them but its echo of passion only fueled their desire even more.
“Your Grace . . .”
Hysilens’ voice softened laced with invitation.
“. . . act as you please"
With Cerydra's lust building up from the sensation, she decisively rose to recline, closing her face to Hysilens' body. She wrapped one arm to anchor herself then lightly pressed her mouth against the maiden's chest. She then let her tongue hover to the maiden's nipple. Hysilens glanced at the heir’s expression, searching for any hesitation but Cerydra was steady and focused on giving her pleasure. With a gentle and deliberate hands, Hysilens began to undo the remaining fastenings of the heir’s gown one by one. The clasps fell away and the soft fabric loosens under her touch. Cerydra remained still, offering no resistance and was bearing herself with a regal grace even in surrender.
The flush upon your cheeks. The way you veil your uncertainty beneath that composed exterior. How appealing.
Hysilens thought while she closely watched Cerydra before her.
As the final ties fell away, the heir reversed their places with a swift intent. The maiden yielded willingly and let her body fall back as if drawn by gravity. Cerydra who was now mounted on top drew her gown fully aside, now pooled on the floor. Hysilens had not expected how slim the heir looked without all her adornments. She was not fragile but more like, real. Cerydra leaned closer and her lips trailed the delicate skin of the maiden’s neck.
Hysilens’ heart unevenly beat in her chest though she told herself this was service. But in the warmth of Cerydra’s body against hers and in the trembling breath against her collarbone, she found herself drifting into something she was never trained to have.
Emotions.
If this is only for tonight . . . then I shall give you all I know about silencing the world
Without a warning, Hysilens took Cerydra’s hand. The heir blinked as their eyes briefly met. She drew the heir’s index finger towards her mouth then gently flicked her tongue on the fingertip. Cerydra jolted inwardly. The heat from that small gesture sent a current straight through her like a boldness wrapped in tenderness. The heir stared as her cheeks flushed despite herself. Her thoughts scrambled as if trying to catch up with her own body. Hysilens slowly released her finger. There was a faint trace of smile in her eyes.
Cerydra deeply breathed and Hysilens sensed the shift of their position. She did not speak but only watched with quiet eyes. The heir brought herself lower as her hands slid beneath Hysilens' knees, gently lifting her thighs. She bowed her head lower as her breath brushed over the maiden’s sensitive skin. There was a faint hitch in her throat. Cerydra paused over that sacred center for a moment then pressed in. She moved her tongue steadily and gradually matching her phase to the maiden’s subtle twitches. The other woman tilted her head back against the couch as gasps escaped her lips. The warmth slightly spread on Cerydra's mouth like a honeyed wine.
Her grip turned slightly tighter upon the maiden’s thighs, grounding herself still while her mouth remained in the woman's now drenched folds. Hysilens bit her lower lip trying not to cry out but her body betrayed her. Driven by a rush of heat and instinct, she reached down. Her hand trailed against Cerydra's hair then hovered to her cheek. The heir did not flinch but only paused for a brief moment to glance up. Her face was glistening with devotion and want. The maiden could see her face clearer now without the mask anymore. With the grace of someone long trained to give pleasure, Hysilens who was now acting on her own desire shifted upward as she carefully adjusted her legs until her thighs were on either side of Cerydra’s head. The heir was surprised but does not resist. Her eyes slightly widened as Hysilens' warmth hovered above her close enough to feel and to get a taste of it again. Hysilens who was now straddling on the heir’s face glanced down. Her breath was trembling with her one hand pressed against the back of the couch to steady herself.
“I-I beg your pardon, Your Grace . . .”
The maiden whispered in a trembling voice.
“I was thinking . . . without your mask, you would not mind I . . .”
No word came in reply but only Cerydra’s hands tightening upon her thighs. The heir’s gaze was calm and fierce like granting a silent consent.
Hysilens lowered herself with care as Cerydra welcomed her. The heir's mouth was already rising to meet her once again. A sharp and helpless breath came out of Hysilen's mouth. Her one hand hovered to her own chest and the other threaded through the heir’s snow-like hair. Her breath faltered as soft gasps marked her climax. Hysilens’ body trembled above Cerydra. The warmth bloomed in waves as her hands clenched on the couch’s fabric and her body slightly folded forward. Her essence gently coated Cerydra’s mouth. She took a glimpse at the woman beneath her who was now gently holding her thighs with her grip already loosening.
Unfair, it seemed.
Hysilens gently withdrew even with her legs still weak, settling beside the heir. Her hand traced a tender path along Cerydra's jaw. Affection softened her features and unspoken words hung between them.
“It is not right if only you are the one giving.”
The heir who was still in daze blinked. Her lips was still damp and her breath was shallow but before words formed, Hysilens moved again, coaxing her to lean back upon the cushions.
With a quiet grace, the maiden straddled once more. Her lips captured Cerydra’s in a slow and sweet kiss. The faintest taste of herself lingered in her own mouth. Hysilens shifted her hips, guiding herself so that the warmth between them touch again but this time, not with fingers nor mouths but skin against skin.
The heir softly gasped. Her eyes flew wide as Hysilens gently pressed their sacred centers together. The heat was sudden and disarming.
“W-What . . . do you—”
But the questions faded in the rising rhythm. Hysilens’ hips moved steadily and precisely. Her breath was mingling with the heir’s ragged gasps. Cerydra’s hands gripped as she surrendered to the sensation.
“I would have you feel what you have given me. Allow it.”
Hysilens softly voiced out. There was no sound but only their breaths and the slow cadence of flesh and fire mounting between them. The heir’s head fell back with her eyes fluttering closed. Passion consumed her. The climax swept through her like lightning. Her lips pressed tight to stifle the sound and her brows were drawn in a quiet resistance but then, a low exhale slipped through her nose. Her eyes were pressed shut. She tried not to give out her expression but even in the low candlelight, the flush across her skin was unmistakable.
Hysilens witnessed it all. She offered no word but only a warm and intimate smile meant not for a patron but for one she has yet to name.
“I trust Your Grace finds contentment. . . ”
She murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Cerydra’s cheek.
“. . . as I found great pleasure in your company.”
Hysilens continued.
The heir was still trembling faintly beneath her then her muscle started to ease after a while. She blinked slowly and her chest rose with uneven breath, unable to form a reply. Cerydra did not trust her voice not to crack. Hysilens shifted beside her, coaxing her down into the cushions of the long couch. The maiden laid beside her and drew the heir gently into the curve of her body. They rested in silence. The peace felt earned. The sky beyond the chamber's window began to pale just slightly. The dawn was not far away. Just when Hysilens thought that the heir had fallen asleep, a quiet voice broke the stillness.
“You may expect to see me again. . . . b ut not as a whore. Not so.”
Hysilens pulled back just enough to look at her.
“That is not how I wish to see you.”
The heir continued with her voice barely above a whisper and her eyes were still closed.
The maiden gently smiled again but this time with a faint surprise in her eyes. She responded nothing but only her gaze pinned on Cerydra for a long moment. Something soft bloomed behind her eyes. It might be affection or curiosity. Perhaps even something that might become longing. In the silence, she nestled close to the heir once more. Her head was near the other woman's shoulder and her fingers brushed lightly over her hand. Dawn creeps closer but in that hour before the light, they simply laid together not as a royal and a maiden but just two women who had briefly and unexpectedly became something only the night could name.
The first light of the morning crept slow and pale, spilling across the stone walls. The warmth of the night’s candles had long since faded, leaving only the ghostly scent of the melted wax.
Hysilens had not truly slept. She drifted in and out of light slumber, lying in the hush beside the heir’s still form. The heir too, had barely stirred though at some hour in the dark, her breath had fallen into a rest. Turning her head slightly, Hysilens let her gaze trace the soft arc of Cerydra’s brow and the pale line of her cheek. In sleep, she seemed different, unguarded and almost delicate. Something stirred in her chest. It was sudden and warm, blooming like a thing that should not take root. She eased herself upright, careful enough not to wake the heir. She clothed herself in silence. Her cloak was back over her shoulders. She smoothened the worn fabric down her arms.
A light knock came upon the hidden door. She turned to see Cipher slip inside. Her dark shape almost got swallowed by the gloom.
“It is time.”
Cipher murmured.
Hysilens gave only a nod, casting one last glance towards the sleeping figure. There was a weight in her chest. It was no regret but something that would follow her beyond these walls. Cipher led her through the narrow passageway the same they had taken the night before. The lantern she carried threw long shadows along the damp stone with each step drawing them further from something that felt half like a dream. When at last they stepped into the grey-lit alley behind the palace, Cipher spoke without turning.
“You will speak of this to no one. Not to your sisters, not to Lady Aglaea. No one.”
Hysilens inclined her head.
“If it becomes known that you met with her --”
Cipher’s gaze cut to her.
“-- there will be consequences. Not only for you.”
“I understand, my lady.”
Hysilens swallowed. Her voice was soft yet steady.
They moved swiftly through the hidden streets as though the night before had left no mark upon the waking world. The pleasure house’s rear gate came into view just as the sun began to edge above the horizon. Cipher halted then turned to the maiden. She held out a pouch heavy with coins.
“Take it.”
Hysilens accepted it without question and in the next heartbeat, Cipher was gone, swallowed by the dim streets.
Now with only herself left alone, she rested her palm against the gate before slipping inside unseen. The house was quiet. It was still an hour before the morning bath so she returned to her chamber. Her brothers and sisters were likely still wrapped in sleep. Her body still carried the memory of the night. A memory forbidden from her tongue.
The hours have passed and it was already time for the daily baths. The maidens and manservants started to gather and sink themselves in the warm pool of the wooden tubs. The heat of the water curled around Hysilens’ limbs like a slow embrace. Steam drifted upward in pale ribbons blurring the edges of the narrow dawnlight that spilled weakly through the bath chamber’s windows. She sunk low in the wooden tub. Her knees were drawn up and her arms rested in slack along the rim. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders. Around her, the air was alive with the rustle of linens, the muted laughter of the younger girls and the soft clatter of buckets. Yet she heard none of it.
Her thoughts wandered in that silent chamber where her breath had mingled with the heir’s, where her body had known the weight and warmth of her touch.
You may expect to see me again. . . . b ut not as a whore. Not so.
The memory pulled her lips to a curve but she resisted the smile. She resisted the thought that her heart’s quickening might mean something more than the vanity of being wanted.
I must know my place and keep my dealings within the bounds of duty.
She let the steam rise about her as though it might strip her of such thoughts yet the memory returned to her unbidden and impossible to banish. Her fingertips trailed the water’s surface, tracing slow circles.
What if . . . the heir loved me?
The thought was foolish but yet it came to her mind quietly. Her chest warmed as she imagined it.
A future with the heir is impossible . . . slipping letters in secret, stealing away a night or being hidden in some chamber of the palace. Could she truly love me?
Hysilens softly shook her head as the truth came like a shadow across the fantasy.
Too many walls between us. Blood. Title. The weight of the crown she bears and the chains I simply cannot shed. Even if there had been something in her touch last night, it would fade in the morning. That was the way of such things.
The water gently shifted as she stretched her legs, tilting her head back to let the heat sink deeper into her bones.
“Hysilens.”
The voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Castorice leaning on the tub’s edge, bare-shouldered and unhurried. Her brow drew faintly in concern.
“You’ve been in the water for too long. You will prune like an old pear.”
“And am I not already?”
A small smile ghosted over Hysilens’ lips.
“Your eyes is of someone staring at a ghost. Something happened last night?”
Castorice gave her a sharper look.
“No.”
Hysilens said lightly and continued.
“Nothing of importance.”
“If there is trouble, you would tell me. You know that?”
Her friend’s gaze lingered, narrowed not in suspicion but in care.
“I know. But I am well. Only the water is settling my mind and making it still.”
Hysilens gave a low chuckle to ease the moment and Castorice, satisfied enough, let the matter drop then moved towards the next tub. The scent of lavender oil was trailing faintly in her wake.
The sounds of the bath returned in waves like the splashes of water, the laughter and soft hum from somewhere across the room. The day was stirring. The world was returning to its rhythm and Hysilens would return to hers as well. Her secrets were tucked deep beneath her skin, warm and hidden like the water that now cradled her. Yet in some quiet corner of her heart, she kept a single ember alive, waiting for the next time she might see the heir even knowing she should not indulge in this feeling.
Chapter Text
Right within the palace's great hall, laughter rolled between the stone columns mingling with the clatter of goblets. At the head of the long feast table stood the heir, clothed in a deep blue gown whose sleeves clung like water to her arms. The family crest were sewn over her heart. Her sharp eyes was unobstructed as she navigated conversations after conversations with practiced elegance.
The feast had been hastily called. Her father’s raven had brought the news that the treaty in the northern territories was secured. This celebration was less a matter of joy but more of a display of their strength.
Her steps slowed when her gaze fell upon a table near the center of the hall. Among the crowd, a woman drew her eye not for her extravagance but for the gravity of her presence. Clothed in ivory and gold, the woman wore a long laced mantle over her shoulders held in a regal poise.
It was Lady Aglaea.
The name came unbidden to the heir’s mind, whispered to her once in a quiet chamber by the maiden herself. Her land, trade and other ventures were whispered of in darker corners. She's a noblewoman who held half of the city in her palm and ran a pleasure house whose reach extended far beyond the city's walls.
Before thoughts could settle in her mind, a noblewoman down the table who had a long silvery-gray hair, leaned forward. A flush stained her cheeks. Her gray curls bounced as she waved her goblet, spilling drops upon the wooden feast table.
“Oh, come now.”
She drawled with her voice already thick with the wine.
“Let us not pretend we have not all stepped through that esteemed house.”
Her gaze slyly slid towards Aglaea.
“Your house trains them well, Lady Aglaea. Truly. There is one who refuses to fade in my mind. Gentle, plays the vielle and her hands . . . gods, those hands.”
Laughter rippled through the hall. Aglaea’s lips curved in a slow and satisfied smile as she drank from her goblet while unbothered by the vulgarity. However, Cerydra did not laugh on the remarks. Her back stayed straight with her smile still unstirred but something cold took root inside of her chest.
So she tends to others. Of course she does.
She drank to hide the slight clench of her jaw but from across the table, Aglaea’s gaze found hers for the briefest heartbeat. It was sharp and amused before it slid away.
The gray-haired noblewoman’s laughter still lingered when Aglaea set down her goblet with a soft chime.
“Oh, Lady Bronya . . .m y house is ever honored by your loyal patronage.”
A murmur stirred among the guests. Aglaea’s jeweled fingers tapped the stem of her goblet.
“As long as your coin gleams and your tastes remain refined, you will always be welcome. Any of my maidens or manservants may attend to your whims.”
She paused a bit to let the promise hang in the air. With a glance so subtle that it could be missed by all but not by the mark herself, she added.
“. . . but do remember. They are my most precious treasures refined under my roof meant to be admired . . . only from where they belong.”
The air tightened. Bronya was too drunk to catch the weight of it and laughed again instead.
“Certainly! I would never dare whisk one away. I borrow pleasure, nothing more.”
The heir heard every word.
Only where they belong.
Her blood stirred but not with shame. Be it might possessiveness, agitation or with something heavier. Her thoughts reeled back to that quiet night in her chamber. The maiden's soft sounds, the eyes that looked at her without fear and the touch that disarmed her. And now, this noblewoman with a sharp smile was reminding her that the maiden was hers and only belonged within her house. It felt like it was a loan and that she was just another borrower.
Cerydra offered no reply. There was no flicker of emotion but only a small tilt of her head in appreciation of a toast.
“Lady Aglaea, I hear your house prides itself on being . . . most accommodating.”
Aglaea inclined her head in turn.
“I am pleased Your Grace hears such praise of my humble ventures.”
And then the conversation drifted on. The nobles exchanged names, gossips and trade routes but the heir’s eyes though still smiling, burned with something that had nothing to do with celebration.
The feast had dwindled to embers. Laughter clung faintly to the corridors, dulled by wine and weariness as the last of the lords and ladies drifted from the great hall.
In the hush of her private chamber above the pleasure house, Aglaea reclined upon a broad bed in velvet. The lamplight painted her skin in warm gold. Beside her lay Cipher, half-curled with one arm wrapped possessively about her lover’s waist. The stillness between them was brittle for something festered within Cipher’s chest.
“You should not have done that.”
Her hold tightened as her voice broke the stillness in the air.
“Done what, my love?”
Aglaea turned her head with a languid grace. Her fingers lightly trailed along Cipher’s arm like coaxing a restless cat to lay rest.
“You know what I mean.”
Cipher simply responded. Her tail flicked once like a sign of agitation.
“That speech of yours. At the table.”
Silence came then she continued.
“. . . You wished her to hear it. Did you not?”
“Mmm . . . I wished to see if she would bite.”
Aglaea’s lips curved in a mischief smile.
“And now I know.”
Cipher shifted, drawing back just enough to meet her eyes. Frustration hardened her features.
“Why? You risked needling a woman who could ruin you. She is no common noble to toy with. S he is . . . dear to me.”
Her ears slightly lowered. For a breath, Aglaea’s emerald eyes softened then her amusement returned, sly and knowing.
“Oh, my sweet. Such devotion. It is most touching.”
“It is not devotion.”
Cipher said sharply then added.
"I would only keep you from her anger.”
A low and rich chuckle slipped from Aglaea.
“But it was . . . almost as interesting. To watch her exterior remain unbroken while her eyes burned.”
Her nails traced idly along Cipher’s collarbone.
“That alone, told me all I wished to know.”
Cipher narrowed her gaze but held her tongue. Aglaea leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“Do not fret, my love. I meant no harm. You know I could not resist a reaction I am not meant to see.”
Her smile deepened. Cipher’s sigh was a quiet surrender, torn between exasperation and a pull of affection. She rested her head to Aglaea’s shoulder.
“Do not push her too far. . . not for your amusement's sake.”
Cipher murmured.
“Very well.”
Aglaea hummed and drew her lover closer.
The chamber turned quiet as hours bled away, save for the soft rhythm of Aglaea’s breathing. Cipher laid wakeful. Her tail curled and uncurled with her eyes fixed upon the ceiling. Aglaea slept with one hand wrapped across her waist like a silent claim even in slumber.
Cipher wondered.
What if I had never brought her there?
It had seemed harmless then. A respite from the suffocating weight of the palace. A night of stolen freedom for a restless heir. A shared adventure between childhood friends. She had thought it would delight her but the threads had knotted tighter. The heir now seemed to become fixated to the maiden who was bound under her lover’s roof. Cipher who was caught between her dearest friend and her lover could not see the path clearly.
She imagined the night remade. A quiet tavern where dice clattered and mercenaries sang together, a hunt in the woods with nothing to fear but only a missed arrow or a wild ride under the moonlight. Anything but the pleasure house.
Her eyes closed for a moment, forcing her breath to still. She did not know which danger loomed greater. The anger of the king should he learn, the possible conflict with her lover or the heir’s own heart should she fall for one she must not have.
Days had gone by in a blink. The capital’s market swelled and merchants hawked their wares with voices sharpened by competition. The scent of fresh bread mingled with spices and children passed between stalls, weaving through the crowd with mischief.
Hysilens walked alongside Castorice, each bearing a wicker basket. Aglaea had set them to the day’s errand to fetch fresh produce and sundry necessities for the house.
As they passed a weaver’s stall, Castorice caught her by the sleeve.
“Hold—look at these.”
Her eyes were bright as she stepped towards bolts of fabric piled high. The colors were rich as autumn leaves.
“Would that not make a fine new curtain for the lounge?”
The shopkeeper who was plumped with a smile practiced from years of trade, seized his moment.
“Ah, fine ladies! A keen eye you have. These are the best cloths in all the city. Fit for a noble hall, I swear it. Why? Even the royal household has taken from my store!”
His chest swelled with pride as he gestured to his wares.
Hysilens lingered towards the far end of the stall where a bolt of deep blue brocade drew her attention. The shade was near to the one that the heir had worn the last time they met within the palace walls. Her breath stilled unbidden. Without thought, her fingers brushed the fabric.
It was soft enough. Its pattern was worked with care yet it lacked something like the weight and richness that only the truest luxury possessed. She remembered the feel of the heir’s gown that night. The silk threads which caught the light and the warmth beneath as she loosed the fastenings. This cloth was fine but it feels ordinary by comparison to the heir’s though to anyone else, the difference were unnoticeable.
“Is it not lovely?”
Castorice held up a length of the same brocade, smiling as she pictured it in their lounge.
“Lady Aglaea would be pleased, surely. It has the look of a noble’s hall, does it not?”
Hysilens withdrew her hand, forcing the curve of her lips to a polite smile.
“It does.”
But in her heart, she thought.
No, not like hers.
As she gazed upon the cloth, it startled her how this simple fabric had stirred a memory into something warmer yet forbidden.
I would see her again.
She thought again. Her fingers tightened on the basket’s handle and she willed the thought aside.
“Come.”
Castorice urged, tugging her towards the next stall.
“We’ll have Lady Aglaea upon us if we dawdle.”
Hysilens followed yet her gaze slid back once more to the bolt of blue fabric. In her mind, it was replaced by another richer and rarer cloth belonging to the one that kept her mind restless.
Chapter Text
The sun hang low with its light spilling gold and blood-red through the windows of the heir’s private chamber. The day’s council was done. When the door opened and Cipher entered, Cerydra turned from her writing desk at once. She did not waste her breath on courtesies.
“Bring her to me once more.”
Cipher stilled in the doorway. Her tail gave the faintest twitch. Her reply came slow and careful as if each word were weighed before it left her tongue.
“Your Grace . . . The first time was already a favor Lady Aglaea granted. A second would not be asked for lightly.”
She paused, searching for words that might not sound like defiance.
“Her consent will not come easy. You know the rules she keeps in that house.”
Cerydra’s eyes narrowed and her voice sharpened carrying the edge of her displeasure.
“Then you will tell your Lady Aglaea that whatever she requires, I will see it paid. Gold enough to drown her coffers if that is what she craves. Make her understand.”
Cipher bowed her head a fraction though her gaze still met Cerydra’s with a quiet caution.
“Lady Aglaea would not wish for attention to fall upon her should one of her maidens be found absent once more.”
The heir’s jaw tightened. She closed the distance between them. Her voice was measured carrying a weight of command.
“You know the woman. You have her ear. Speak my will to her. If her trade is all that matters then let her take my gold and be done with it.”
Cipher’s ears angled back slightly.
“What you request . . . will not be a small favor.”
The heir’s tone snapped, quick and sharp.
“Remind her who you speak for. Remind her who she offends with her absurd house rules.”
A silence stretched for a moment then Cipher inclined her head. The gesture was slow, hiding the knot of doubt tightening within her.
“As you command, Your Grace.”
The words were calm enough but inside, Cipher was already wondering how much further will this continue.
A day passed and in the royal library, it was quiet at this hour. Only the sound of pages turning and the crackle of the fire in the corner hearth filled the space. Rows of ancient tomes towered around the heir as she sat by a long oak table with one hand propping up her chin and the other absently flipping the pages of a tome she wasn't truly reading.
Cipher had been gone since the previous afternoon and still there was no word from her. A slight furrow marked her brow as her gaze drifted unfocused across the page.
What price could Lady Aglaea be pressing for?
She wondered.
Gold? Jewels? Power? It might be anything. Any reasonable soul would dare demand.
A sharp breath escaped her nose as she leaned back with her fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the armrest. She let her eyes rest for a moment, allowing the weight of her thoughts to pull her inward. Again and again, her mind circled back to the maiden’s soft smile and that quiet gravity in her presence unlike the hollow laughter of courtiers or the flattery of nobles.
Two nights. A handful of words. No more than that. And yet here I sit as though she were already mine. Is this what they name foolish love?
Whether folly or not, the truth had already taken root in her. She wanted the maiden. For selfish pleasure or for something rarer, it did not matter. What she desired, she would have. Such had always been her way and she would not unlearn it now.
A sigh left her as she bent once more to the tome, skimming lines without seeing them. A few more pages turned beneath her fingers before a scrape of a chair on stone drew her from her reverie. Someone had seated at her side yet she did not turn. It was likely a court scholar or attendant who came to work in silence.
Then a gentle feminine voice cut softly through the air and the world snapped her into a sudden focus.
“Your Grace, forgive me . . . if I intrude.”
That voice was familiar enough to set Cerydra’s heart to a sudden violent rhythm. Her head turned sharply and for a breath she stilled. There, seated beside her in a modest gown and hands folded with grace on her lap was Hysilens.
How . . . How come she is here? Did Cipher bring her at last? Or has she walked these halls of her own?
For a rare moment, the heir’s composure faltered. The practiced mask of calm gave way to wide-eyed surprise. Her gaze was fixed upon Hysilens as though she feared the vision might vanish if she blinked but Cerydra still tried blinking to test whether this was but a daydream spun from her restless longing.
She cleared her throat and leaned in. Her voice was pitched low so the few quiet souls in the library would not hear.
“How come you are here?”
The question carried a note of disbelief.
“Was it my attendant, Cipher . . . who brought you?”
Hysilens hesitated. Her voice was measured and polite.
“Not this time, Your Grace. I came in the company of Lady Aglaea herself. My lady attends upon the council this day, consulting with one of your advisers. She bid me to serve as her handmaiden until she is done.”
Cerydra tilted her head slightly at that. The thought of Aglaea moving openly through the council chambers stirred a suspicion yet Hysilens’ next words smoothed the edge of her thoughts.
“Lady Aglaea ordered me to attend to you until she returns.”
There is a beat of silence. The heir’s fingers stilled on the edge of her tome. Her usual sharp wit got caught somewhere between a surprise and a quiet delight. She should have been irritated as Cipher had not mentioned this arrangement at all. Yet here the maiden sat, in broad daylight as no courtesan but simply a woman before her. The thought sent warmth through her chest she had not anticipated.
She leaned a fraction closer. Her lips curved into the faintest smirk.
“So . . . she has sent you to me, in full daylight, in my library.”
Her eyes lingered on Hysilens’ face as her tone dropped lower and more deliberate.
“I do not know what Lady Aglaea’s purpose having you brought here herself but I cannot say I am displeased by the result.”
The heir closed the tome before her, turning fully in her seat.
“Then for this day, you are mine to keep. At least until your mistress comes to reclaim you. Come. Walk with me.”
The moment she rose, Hysilens stood as well, following a respectful step behind. They passed from the hushed shadows of the library into the sunlit expanse of the royal gardens where blooms spilled their colors and the fountain gleamed like a molten silver. For a time, neither spoke.
Then Cerydra's glance slid sidelong. Her tone was softer than Hysilens expected.
“Have you been well?”
It was a simple question yet it carried weight. Royals seldom inquired after the lives of women from pleasure houses. But here she was, asking as though the answer mattered.
“I have been well, Your Grace. The days are much as they have always been.”
A faint smile touched the heir’s lips.
“Still tending to patrons and playing the vielle on some nights?”
Hysilens nodded.
“Yes . . . the music soothes the house when the noise grows too much.”
She hesitated as she quickly glanced at Cerydra before continuing.
“I did not think you would recall that.”
Their eyes met and though the heir’s expression remained composed, there was warmth in it.
“I recall more than you think.”
The words settled over Hysilens like a secret too precious to speak of.
They came at last to the gazebo. Its vantage was overseeing the city far below. A breeze carried the scents of roses and lavanders. Upon the table lay an ivory and oak chessboard with its pieces set in perfect order.
“Do you play?”
“A little, Your Grace. Some nobles once taught me few moves.”
“Then you shall learn properly.”
Hysilens sat opposite from the heir with curiosity. The heir’s voice took on the measured cadence of instruction, calm yet laced with challenge.
“This”
She lifted a knight.
“Moves in an L-shape. Some underestimate it yet, it commands more ground than most reckon.”
Hysilens tried the move but faltering slightly. The heir leaned closer. Her touch was light but certain as she guided the piece.
“Not there.”
She corrected. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Hysilens looked away.
“There. It opens your line of attack.”
The game moved in a quiet focus though the heir clearly tempered her skill to match her companion’s pace. Now and again, a clever move from Hysilens drew a small and knowing smirk from Cerydra.
“Not bad, maiden. You learn quickly.”
The words brought a flush to Hysilens’ cheeks. Still, she kept her attention on the board though every brush of the heir’s fingers against hers seemed to pull at her chest.
After a while of playing, Cerydra’s voice dropped lower and spoke.
“I dislike sharing you.”
Her gaze was unwavering.
“I have grown fonder of you than I ever meant to.”
Hysilens stilled as her hand hovered above a pawn. Cerydra leaned in.
“Tell me. Do you wish to be free of that place? If you do, I can make it so.”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Freedom. Once only a vague dream, now stood before her, spoken into possibility.
Hysilens’ fingers closed more tightly on the carved pawn. Its smooth weight anchored her in a sudden rush of thought.
Free? And where would I go, if not back to the house? The pleasure house has been my whole world. My sisters are there—Castorice, Hyacinthia, Phainon . . . even Lady Aglaea, in her way.
Her gaze lifted to the heir who sat across from her, watching in unbroken silence. The sharpness of Cerydra’s eyes pressed upon Hysilens as though she was waiting for the answer from the maiden’s lips.
And if I do leave . . . would it be for her?
There was a heaviness that settled in her chest.
What if I am but a passing amusement to the heir, kept close while desire burns hot, cast aside when it cools? Would I be no more than a personal whore summoned at her whim?
The thought twisted deep in her gut.
Lady Aglaea gave us shelter when I had none, protection, a home, a life. Would she take it as betrayal? Even if she has never barred us from seeking another fate, would it wound her to see me choose someone else over the walls she built for us?
Her lips parted. Her words trembled at the edge of her speech.
“Your Grace, if I—”
The moment shattered as footsteps sounded on the gravel path. Both Hysilens and Cerydra turned towards the sound.
“Your Grace.”
It was Aglaea. Her curtsey was measured and fluid.
“My apologies for the intrusion. The council has concluded its business sooner than I had expected. I thought to collect my handmaiden before we depart.”
The maiden lowered her eyes at once. Whatever words she had nearly spoken dissolved into nothing. The heir’s gaze lingered on Hysilens a moment longer, softened by something unguarded before it cooled like quenched steel.
“Why not let her see more of the palace? The grand library, perhaps. While you and I… speak.”
Hysilens’ eyes darted between them with uncertainty until the heir gave her the faintest nod with reassurance wrapped in authority.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
She murmured and soon a royal attendant guided her away, leaving the two women alone.
“Sit.”
Cerydra spoke. The word was not harsh, yet its weight admitted no refusal.
“Let us not waste breath on courtesies, Lady Aglaea. What is your price for the maiden?”
Aglaea lowered herself gracefully into the opposite chair. Her lips curved in a smile that skirted the line between amusement and provocation.
“Your Grace, my maidens and manservants are indeed my assets. But they are more than flesh to be bartered. They are loyal. And loyalty is far rarer than gold.”
The heir’s brow furrowed as her patience was thinning but Aglaea pressed on in her calm tone.
“In our world, power is not only measured in wealth or swords. It is measured in who chooses to remain by your side. Should one depart, it is not their failing but yours. For lacking the strength to bind them.”
Aglaea leaned forward slightly with her eyes gleaming.
“So, if Your Grace seeks to claim one of my most steadfast jewels, I must ask something of equal worth.”
The heir’s eyes narrowed.
“And what would you name as equal value?”
Aglaea’s smile deepened.
“Someone whose loyalty to you is as precious as hers is to me. Someone like . . . your cat attendant.”
The words dropped like a stone into deep water. The air between them tightened. Fury flickered in the heir’s eyes as her jaw clenched.
“You dare. . . if it is servants you crave, I could drown you in them. But not her. Never her.”
Aglaea did not flinch. She spoke with the same smoothness but her words carried an unguarded note of tenderness.
“Cipher is dear to me, Your Grace. You know this. But so long as she wears your crest, she will never truly be mine. She clouds my judgment where you are concerned and I cannot afford such softness. Not in my place.”
For a breath, her gaze gentled, rare and unfeigned.
“If I am to surrender a treasure of my house, I expect a treasure in return. Yet if the maiden chooses not to leave, I will not bar her. Or, if it pleases you, I can offer another maiden as a gift to sate your interest.”
The heir rose with her voice quiet but taut with restrained fury.
“I will not suffer your insolent bargains. Recall well who stands before you, Aglaea. I have tolerated your games long enough but press me further—”
She stepped closer. Her eyes were like drawn steel.
“—and I will see your house brought to heel.”
Aglaea did not rise. Her poise was unbroken and her expression was smooth.
“I only guard what I have built and those who have given me their faith. Surely, Your Grace, you would do no less.”
The heir’s silence cut sharper than any retort. At last she flicked her hand. A gesture sharp as a blade’s edge.
“Go.”
Aglaea rose and bowed with elegance. As she turned away, her thoughts lingered not on the heir’s fury but on Cipher. If fortune shifted, perhaps she might finally have Cipher's full attention.
Chapter Text
The carriage drew to a halt before Aglaea’s pleasure house. Hysilens stepped down first. Her posture was neat and her face was schooled into courtesy. She bowed her head.
“My Lady, I shall take my leave and tend to our patrons.”
But before she could turn, Aglaea’s soft voice yet edged with command halted her.
“Tell me . . . have you ever wished for another life?”
Hysilens stilled. The question struck her like a stone tossed into still water. She turned slowly, meeting her mistress’ emerald gaze.
“I . . .”
Her words faltered.
“At times, the thought crosses my mind. Yet it is only a dream. I have known no life but this. Under your roof, my lady, I am kept in peace. And I thought . . . that was enough.”
Aglaea regarded her long as though she was weighing each syllables. At last, she inclined her head with the faintest hum slipping from her throat.
“I see. That is all. You may go.”
Hysilens dipped into a curtsy and withdrew, though her chest bore a strange weight. She slipped into the rush of laughter and music where masks of joy were easier to wear.
On the stairwell, Aglaea climbed with an unhurried grace. From above, Cipher descended. Hysilens caught a brief glance between them. Their eyes met but only for a moment. Aglaea spoke something low and inaudible to others yet Cipher’s ears twitched. Worry flickered across her face. She bowed and passed towards the outer door without another word.
Hysilens pressed deeper into the crowd, continuing her role.
“Ah, there you are.”
The call was warm though tinged with wine. A red-haired navigator woman with rich silks draped about her frame, waved her over. Salt clung faintly to her clothes like the mark of the sea.
“I had hoped you’d keep me warm again tonight.”
Hysilens slipped beside her, pouring wine into her waiting goblet.
“Gladly, my lady.”
Her voice was gentle as if crafted to soothe.
“And how fare was the sea since the last you sailed?”
The red-haired patron chuckled, lifting her cup.
“The sea is kind when shown respect. Yet I think this voyage may be my last. I mean to settle far east in the free cities. A small house on the bay. Sun on my skin. A vineyard, perhaps. No more endless months away.”
Her eyes gleamed with a wine-born hope.
“That sounds like a blessed life.”
Hysilens responded, leaning her cheek against her palm.
“You have braved storms and strange shores. Such peace is your due.”
The other woman's smile softened but wistful.
“Indeed. Still, I shall miss this place. The warmth, the laughter . . . and you.”
Hysilens lightly laughed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“You are too kind. But new horizons are worth chasing. May you find every joy you seek.”
Yet her heart was restless. Freedom sounded simple on another’s tongue.
A house by the bay, a vineyard, a choice. . . what choice could I have? Could I ever walk away? And if I did, where would my steps carry me? Into the hands of a future queen? Or only into another cage more gilded?
She buried the thought and instead, reached for the patron's hand.
“Until that day comes, let this night be one you carry with you.”
The red-haired woman grinned with her cheeks flushed due to the wine and the heat of her body's desire. Hysilens then, led her to the private chambers.
In the chamber, silk sheets embraced the woman’s figure as she sank with languid ease onto the bed. Her half-lidded eyes lingered on Hysilens as though she was a rare and fleeting jewel, something rare to hold before leaving for the distant shores. Hysilens climbed onto the bed with ease yet there was a tension in her movements tonight like a restless energy she couldn’t tame. Her lips found the other woman’s neck, trailing hot and impatient kisses that drew soft gasps from the woman below. Her hands pressed firmly as though seeking to silence the storm raging in her own heart.
The red-haired woman softly moaned. Her breath was uneven while tilting her head back in surrender.
“You make me feel alive.”
She then breathed, clutching weakly at Hysilens' arms.
But Hysilens was not wholly there. The heat blurred and replaced by a voice that still rang heavily in her skull with command and doubt alike. She kissed harder as if she could drown it out, as if she could banish the image of the heir from her mind. The room was filled with gasps and broken sighs until her patron cried out her release. Hysilens followed after. Her release was sharp and hollow like it was only the sound of a body but not of a heart. She buried her face in the other woman’s neck. A flash of blue brocade seared her thoughts. The red-haired patron sighed in bliss and was already drifting towards sleep. Her hand lazily brushed over Hysilens' arm.
“You’re . . . always unforgettable . . . ”
Hysilens laid beside her as her eyes pinned on the ceiling. Her heart stuttered and was restless. She had been content. She had taught herself contentment but two nights in the company of the heir had unsettled something deep, something that refused to be soothed by wine or flesh and no matter how much she played her part, it was no longer enough.
On that same night at the palace, the door to the heir’s chamber creaked open. A guard bowed low before stepping aside and Cipher slipped inside. She lowered her head as her ears slightly twitched, betraying the unease she tried to mask.
“Your Grace. I beg your pardon for my delay of return. There were . . . matters I needed to set in order.”
Her hands clasped behind her back and her shoulders squared with military rigidity. Yet her eyes did not rise. Even Cipher, so bold in most things, seemed diminished in this silence.
Cerydra stood by the tall window, bathed in silver glow. For a long moment she gave no answer. Cipher braced herself for a sharp command but instead, the heir turned with her tone unexpectedly soft.
“Come. We ride. The moon is too fair a thing to be wasted behind these walls.”
Cipher blinked as if got caught off guard by gentleness where she expected a sharp command. With a small bow she murmured.
“As you command.”
Then she withdrew to make ready of their horses.
The two rode swift and silent through the sleeping palace grounds as hooves thudded against the damp earth. Cool night wind chased the heaviness from the air until they came to rest at a quiet lake. Its surface was a mirror of the moon. They dismounted their horses, walking towards a fallen log where the heir seated herself. Her gaze was fixed on the rippling light across the water. Cipher sat close. Her sharp eyes was stealing glances as if weighing whether the silence was safe to break. At last she asked with a low and careful voice.
“Are you well, Your Grace?”
The heir turned. Her lips curved into something wistful.
“For tonight, do not call me Your Grace. Do not bow. Do not silence your tongue. See me instead as the girl who once dared to climb the palace roofs with you.”
Cipher’s chest tightened at the memory and she inclined her head.
“Then I will be only Cipher, your friend.”
The heir’s gaze returned to the water.
“Lady Aglaea made her wish plain today. She would have me give you up if I mean to claim the maiden.”
Her mouth twitched into a smirk, though it bore no mirth.
“She is not a fool. I cannot even fault her for it.”
Cipher exhaled through her nose. Half a sigh and half a laugh.
“She’s like you. Neither of you surrenders easily. Both will twist the board until it bends to your favor.”
The heir glanced at her sidelong.
“And yet you always regarded her as . . . gentle?”
A small chuckle escaped Cipher as her ears flicked.
“What I meant is if it were you and no choice left, you would break the board outright. Which is what I fear most.”
For the first time, the heir let slip a quiet laugh. The sound broke the night’s stillness.
“Perhaps. But I’ve no wish to act the fool. Be at ease. I’ll not do anything reckless.”
Cipher lowered her gaze but the uneasiness still shadowed her.
“Whatever bargain may come, I remain yours to command.”
Silence fell again, broken only by the lapping water. At length, Cerydra’s voice cut through, calm yet weighted with decision.
“I asked the maiden if she longed for freedom.”
“Freedom?”
“Yes . . .”
“. . . I will not drag you into this quarrel again. Lady Aglaea holds you dear. I will not make you choose between her and me over so small a matter as a single maiden.”
Cipher blinked. She was startled by the sincerity in her tone and the usual iron of command was no where to be sensed.
“I’d still follow. But indeed, this one has tested me more than most.”
She gave a weary smile.
“Yet my loyalty is yours. Always.”
The heir studied her for a long moment, then placed a hand upon her arm. A rare touch and warm in its brevity.
“I know. And thank you. . . for caring. And for remaining.”
Cipher gave a low chuckle.
“Had I not dragged you to the pleasure house that night, none of this storm would have risen. Would’ve spared us both some trouble.”
The heir’s smirk softened into something almost tender.
“It matters not. I do not regret it. That night was . . . unshackling. I hadn’t thought myself so easily undone.”
Cipher tilted her head. There was a humor in her sharp gaze.
“Do not blame yourself. Lady Aglaea weaves her maidens to bewitch kings and beggars alike. You were bound to fall under their spell.”
Cerydra’s low laugh carried across the lake. And for a moment, the burdens of thrones and bargains slipped away leaving only two old friends side by side beneath the moonlit sky.
On the next day in a familiar gazebo at the palace garden, the heir reclined to her chair. The sprawl of the city stretched far beneath her. A silver goblet rested by her hand. Its steam carried a faint sweetness of the spiced tea. For once, she allowed herself a rare moment of stillness, closed her eyes and let the whispering breeze cool her thoughts but the hush did not last. A soft and deliberate steps drew near. She opened her eyes to find Cipher at the edge of the gazebo. Without a word, her cat attendant stepped forward and extended a small folded parchment sealed with plain wax.
“This came to me last night.”
Cipher said lowly as her ears twitched with unease.
“From . . . her.”
Cerydra’s brow lifted.
“Her?”
She reached for the letter. Her fingers brushed over the seal before breaking it with care.
“You saw her?”
She asked. Her tone was quiet though her gaze had already fallen to the page.
Cerydra had steeled herself to summon Aglaea once more to endure another round of shrewd words and veiled bargains for the right to claim the maiden yet here unbidden, lay a letter addressed to her. It was a boldness she had not expected.
The words within were plain yet each carried a pulse that struck the heir’s heart.
To the one who haunts my thoughts . . . I should not think of you, yet I cannot forget. Every moment lingers, etched upon me like a vivid memory. I know not what awaits if I abandon the only life I have known but I know my heart will not be still until I see you again.
H—
The heir’s lips curved slowly and rarely at the confession. She let the parchment rest lightly in her hand, turning the single initial between her fingers as if it were a precious jewel.
“So . . . that is how she signs her name.”
She murmured.
What is the rest, I wonder? Surely it must be a lovely name.
Her gaze flickered briefly to Cipher, ever-loyal and ever-trapped between them. The heir pressed her lips into a thin line remembering her promise not to draw her attendant further into the crossfire of hearts and bargains.
She folded the letter with deliberate care, sliding it into the inner fold of her gown.
“Thank you.”
She said simply with her voice unreadable but within, resolve had already kindled. This time, she wouldn’t wait. She would just make it happen.
Chapter Text
The night bled over the city. The palace torches were guttering like restless fireflies in the dark. Cloaked in a plain riding garb and her hood drawn low, Cerydra sat astride a black horse. There were no guards riding in her shadow and no Cipher by her side but only herself, her desire and the pounding of her heart.
Through the narrow streets, she rode with her face hidden until she reined in near a crooked alley not far from the pleasure house. Dismounting the horse, she pressed a pouch of coin into the hand of a loitering boy nearby.
“Mind the horse.”
She ordered. The boy nodded eagerly without a word.
Drawing her hood tighter, she slipped to a side door she remembered well. It was the one favored by servants and discreet patrons. She gave a soft knock before walking inside unnoticed in the bustle of music, laughter and low murmurs. Her eyes searched swiftly and found the maiden not long. Hysilens moved through the hall with the same grace that had burned itself into her memory. Attending to another patron, her smile was gentle yet it struck the heir’s chest with a sharp and jealous heat.
When at last the maiden excused herself to fetch wine, Cerydra seized her moment. She stepped into the dim corridor. The torchlight threw shadows across the walls. Hysilens’ eyes widened upon meeting her gaze.
“Y-your Grace . . . ”
She whispered while glancing around in alarm.
"What are you doing here?”
The heir adjusted her hood just enough for the maiden to see her. Her voice was hushed but edged with urgency.
“I had to see you.”
The maiden parted her lips to protest but the heir closed the space between them. The faint scent of leather and perfume was clinging to her cloak.
“If you want this as I do, then meet me tomorrow night at the Old Gate by the city wall.”
Her tone carried command yet beneath it throbbed a raw and unspoken plea. Hysilens’ cheeks warmed for a heartbeat. She wavered but then bowed her head in a timid nod. Cerydra’s mouth curved in a quiet satisfaction.
“Good.”
She whispered before pulling her hood low once more and vanishing into the dark. Hysilens who was still stunned, already ran her mind on how would she slip away by nightfall tomorrow. She pressed her lips together, forcing the thought away before it consumed her entirely as she could not afford to dwell on it now. She steadied her breath then gracefully returned to accompany her patron who was now eagerly waiting in the dim-lit alcove. The night was young and she still owed her patron her service.
Out on the street mounting her horse, Ceydra turned towards the palace. Her heart thundered not with the dread of discovery but with the wild anticipation of what tomorrow night might bring.
On the following day, the time had slipped within the walls of the pleasure house the same as any other days. It was already past sundown. In the corner, Hysilens sat with her hands tightly folded on her lap. Her heart was drumming louder with each hour passing by. Cerydra would be waiting by the city walls and yet, the house’s rules bound her like iron.
She drew in a slow and shallow breath, schooling her features to pallor and rose. A cough escaped her lips as she approached Tribios.
“Lady Tribios.”
She murmured, rasping her voice with careful frailty.
“My head . . . spins. My stomach is unsettled. If I remain with patrons, I fear I’ll faint before the night is through.”
Tribios lifted her gaze from the goblet she polished as her brow creased.
“You’ve been driven too hard. That merchant kept you late last night.”
Her hand gently pressed on Hysilens’ brow. The maiden made herself clammy and even flinched at the touch.
“Hmm. . . Warm indeed.”
“As I thought, too.”
Hysilens whispered while glancing timidly towards the door.
“Perhaps the apothecary might still be awake. Only few hours. I’d not trouble Lady Aglaea with such a trifle when the house is so full.”
Tribios frowned with a flickering suspicion.
“At this hour?”
She muttered. Then, with a sigh she added.
“At least let one of the guards go with you. If you’re truly unwell, it would be foolish to risk the streets alone.”
Hysilens quickly clasped Tribios’ hands and shook her head with gentle insistence.
“I’ll be quick, I swear it."
Her tone was soft and almost pleading yet carefully measured as not to sound suspicious.
“You know well what Lady Aglaea says about wandering beyond this house without cause.”
Still clutching Tribios’ hands, Hysilens pressed with feigned desperation.
“I will return by dawn. If I collapse before a guest, the shame will be greater. Please, just a healer’s draught, a little air. . . .”
Tribios regarded her for a long and weighted moment. Only two guards remained within the hall and the rest had been sent to drive out unruly patrons who had soured the night with their drunken violence. On a second thought, she could not afford to spare another hand in such busy hours. Duty warred with pity upon her face and with a heavy sigh, Tribios yielded. She was not that heartless to ignore the maiden's plea. Afterall, Hysilens had a clean reputation in the house.
“Very well. Keep your cloak drawn. If Lady Aglaea asks, I’ll say you were unwell and sought remedy.”
She wagged a finger in warning.
“But be back before dawn.”
Hysilens bowed her head as gratitude masked her thundering pulse.
“Thank you, Lady Tribios. I shall be quick.”
She wrapped her dark cloak close and slipped through the side door into the biting night air. Her chest surged not with sickness but with the quick beat of expectation. She walked fast yet each step carried the weight of treachery. A night outside the pleasure house without Aglaea knowing was risky enough. Meeting the heir in secret was unthinkable yet here she was, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
The Old Gate loomed ahead far from the palace’s main road. A single lantern flickered and beneath its glow, a hooded figure stood waiting. Even cloaked, Hysilens knew her at once. Her steps faltered as doubt seized her. She clutched her cloak and whispered against her racing heart.
“I should not. . . yet I wanted this.”
Cerydra turned before she spoke as though the air itself carried her presence. Their eyes met and the faintest smile of relief touched the heir’s lips. She crossed the space in swift strides.
“You came.”
“I could not remain still.”
Hysilens whispered. Her words trembled. She glanced around as her nerves pricked then continued.
“If Lady Aglaea learns of this, I—”
“She would not.”
The heir cut in, firm as steel as to calm the maiden. Her gaze left no room for argument. She reached and took Hysilens’ hand before guiding her towards the waiting horse.
“Come. There is a place away from every watching eye.”
Cerydra placed a steadying hand guiding Hysilens up first into the saddle. The maiden’s breath caught as she got settled atop the horse. The leather creaked faintly beneath her. For a heartbeat she sat alone before the heir mounted gracefully. The warmth of Cerydra’s presence pressed close. Instinctively, Hysilens held onto the heir’s slender waist as not to fall. Her heart skipped wildly. Despite the cool night air, a flush bloomed in her chest.
“Hold fast.”
The heir murmured low against her shoulder before pressing her heels lightly into the horse’s flank. It moved swiftly from the Old Gate with its hooves striking the earth in steady rhythm. Behind them, the city walls dwindled into a shadow. Moonlight silvered the path ahead and though no words passed between them, the weight of their longing hung heavier than any silence.
The horse slowed as they entered a clearing hemmed in by tall and swaying trees. A still pond lay at its center mirroring the stars above. The heir dismounted first then turned at once. She offered a hand to guide Hysilens down. Their touch lingered longer than courtesy allowed before their eyes were caught and held. In that fragile stillness, the world beyond ceased to matter.
Hysilens drew her cloak closer and her voice was hushed and wavering.
“We cannot tarry. Lady Aglaea believes me unwell. By dawn, I must be within the house again before anyone questions my absence.”
The heir’s mouth curved though her gaze carried something wistful.
“Always pressed by time. Always fleeing. Each moment with you feels stolen . . . yet I could not stop stealing them.”
Her words drew a tremor through Hysilens’ chest. The maiden clutched her cloak tighter, gathering what courage she had.
“I could not keep my thoughts from you.”
Hysilens confessed softly.
“I . . . I waited for your cat attendant to appear in the house and placed a letter in her care.”
As pleasure brightened her eyes, Cerydra gave Hysilens a tender smile.
“You dared that? You sought me out?”
“I had to. She alone could lead me to you.”
For a heartbeat, silence lingered then Cerydra closed the space between them. Her gloved fingers slid tentatively into Hysilens’ hands.
“You signed your letter with but an ‘H.’ Tell me . . . what is your name?”
The maiden faltered. Her name had never held meaning for patrons. She had always been no more than a passing comfort. Yet here, beneath the moon’s quiet witness, the question felt like being seen for the first time.
“. . . Hysilens.”
The heir breathed it softly as though tasting a secret meant for her alone.
“Hysilens. . .”
A rare smile was shown in her lips.
“A lovely name indeed.”
Their faces drifted nearer and their breaths mingled in the cool night air. The fragile patience between them unraveled, giving way at last. Cerydra raised a hand brushing a loose strand of hair from Hysilens’ cheek. Her chest tightened knowing dawn would soon reclaim the maiden. Hysilens closed the space between them herself and her lips met Cerydra’s in a kiss. Both of them trembled in restraint but also with hunger.
The first touch was fleeting like a ghost of lips against lips but then, Hysilens’ arms moved of their own accord, circling Cerydra’s waist and pulling her closer. The heir tilted her head back to meet the maiden's gaze once more. Her smaller form refused to yield to the difference as her hand slid upward with authority, catching Hysilens by the nape and tugging her to slightly bow into another kiss. This time it was deeper, slower and more consuming like a surrender.
They stumbled together beneath a tree as neither willing to break away. Hysilens pressed the heir against the rough bark of an old oak. She steadied herself placing a hand on the tree. Cerydra’s gloved hands tightly clutched at the maiden's collar as to keep her still. When Hysilens drew back for air, she cupped the heir's face but Cerydra only answered with a low and urgent hum. Her eyes were sharp and burning as she pulled her down again to claim her mouth with fiercer tenderness.
The friction of their closeness set every nerve alight. Cerydra took off a glove letting it fall forgotten to the ground. Her bare hand slid beneath the hem of Hysilens’ gown, brushing against the heated skin, then seeking higher until it found her steaming warm core. Cerydra's fingers glided with ease upon the dampness that seemed to be only waiting for her. The maiden gasped. A soft whimper caught in her throat and her body jolted at the spark that surged through her.
Their rhythm built slow but relentless. Hysilens bent her knees, pressing her thighs together as the warmth pooled hot and unbearable. Her hands clung hard to the heir’s shoulders, anchoring herself. When Hysilens’ release broke, her embrace to the heir turned tighter with her eyes shut. Her breath came in broken shudders and her whole frame pressed onto Cerydra as if her very essence had spilled out on the heir's hand. Her knees which were robbed of strength refused to steady her. Cerydra stood still beneath her, bearing her weight like it was nothing. Her face rested against Hysilens’ heart.
For a long moment, neither spoke. When Hysilens finally stirred, it was with a quiet laugh softened by lingering weakness.
“Your Grace . . .”
She murmured gently yet edged with a shy boldness.
“If it pleases you . . . might we sit? My knees—”
She paused with a faint flush.
Cerydra’s head tilted back to face the maiden. Her blue eyes gleamed with a flicker of mischief.
“So the great oak has conquered you?”
She teased softly but her words carry warmth.
“Very well. I would not have you collapse on the ground.”
Hysilens let out a breath, caught between a smile and a sigh. The heir took her hand. Their fingers laced together then step by step, they left the oak’s shadow and moved towards the silver-lit pond. The moonlight rippled silver across the glassy water. They sat on the cool grass as Cerydra gazed upon the pale reflection of the moon. There was silence until her voice came low and unyielding.
“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. Let it take root in your mind. I want you for myself.”
She turned fully towards Hysilens. A long breath left her lips as she continued.
“But I am the heir.”
The words came hard and bitter.
“Every step I take is watched, weighed and whispered upon. Were I free of such chains, I would claim you outright, keep you by my side with no thought of consequence. But . . .”
Her voice faltered and softened to almost a whisper.
“I could not. . . Not yet.”
Hysilens lowered her eyes, fighting the tumult within her chest.
“I . . . I know my place, Your Grace. I am but a maiden under Lady Aglaea’s roof. I have been . . . contented with the comfort of my lady's walls.”
Her voice trailed then rose again, fragile yet resolute as her gaze found the heir’s once more.
“But since I met you, I’ve hungered for more. For the taste of freedom. To move, to choose without thought of rules or chains.”
Cerydra’s jaw tightened as her heart twisted at the rawness of the confession. Hysilens swallowed and gave a thin and trembling laugh as though she was seeking to lighten the weight of her own words.
“If you truly mean to pay what Lady Aglaea demands, then I would be in your debt. And in return . . .”
She continued with her tone slightly teasing.
“ . . . I could be your secret whore once I’m free. I would come whenever you summon me. If that is what you wished.”
Cerydra responded with her voice edged with steel.
“When you are freed of that house, you could choose another life far from this city. But should you remain, I’d see you safe. You would have a place of your own . . . yours alone. And should any soul lay harm upon you, they will answer to me.”
Hysilens parted her lips. Her voice broke between gratitude and sorrow.
“That is . . . more kindness than I deserve, Your Grace.”
The heir’s expression softened as her eyes caught a glint of mischief. She sought to unburden the moment.
“Or perhaps I’ll make you my handmaiden. None would dare question my wish to keep you near.”
A quiet laugh slipped from Hysilens’ lips. She shook her head, trembling between amusement and ache.
“Your handmaiden . . . You’d make a cruel mistress, Your Grace. I’d find no rest under your command.”
Her voice gentled and her eyes shimmered with hope.
“Or perhaps . . . perhaps it could be more than that, one day.”
Silence held. Cerydra leaned close. Her reply was no louder than a whisper.
“ . . . Perhaps.”
For a time, they remained with their heads bowed together side by side. In the hush of the night, their longing wove itself into a fragile promise, unspoken but deeply understood.
Dawn was soon to approach. Their return to the Old Gate by the city wall was unhurried. Cerydra led the horse by its reins. Her stride was measured to match Hysilens'. When the gate emerged from sight, the heir slowed and her voice cut softly through the silence.
“Do nothing.”
Her eyes slid towards Hysilens, sharp but calm.
“Do not speak to Aglaea. Do not plead. Do not seek to alter what has already begun.”
Hysilens glanced at the heir with her brows knitted but the heir stopped before the gate and turned fully. Her words were steady yet edged with something gentler.
“I will not have you bend to her. You will not grovel. That burden will never be yours. Only wait for me.”
Another silence stretched and was only broken at last by Hysilens’ soft reply.
“ . . . I trust you.”
The heir’s lips curved faintly not in triumph but in understanding. She reached out. Her fingers brushed against Hysilens’ hand, a fleeting touch heavy with unspoken promise.
“Now go.”
The command was quiet and reluctant but final. With a small nod, Hysilens slipped through the gate. Her figure vanished into the waking hush of the city. The heir lingered as her eyes pinned on the empty space the maiden had just left from, before turning back towards the palace.
The sky blushed pale when Hysilens got sight of the pleasure house’s rear gate. She closed the door behind her soundlessly. The house was steeped in the quiet of exhaustion. The air carried perfume, stale wine and the weight of spent pleasure. An oil lamp flickered low on the wall. Few maidens slumbered with their patrons while a weary servant shuffled past with a tray of empty goblets, barely noticing her. Everything appeared as it should. No eyes turned her way. No one asked where she had been.
She passed through the lounge with steady steps though her heart still thundered with the memory of the heir’s kiss, the fire of it, the ache it left and the startling clarity of desire. But then, someone from her doorstep was standing. It was Tribios. Her arms were folded and her sharp eyes softened with worry rather than suspicion. She had been waiting.
“Hysilens.”
“You’ve returned.”
The maiden's pulse caught but she drew herself upright, forcing her expression to calm.
“Yes. I—”
She smoothed her gown with steady fingers.
“—I am well enough.”
Tribios studied her a moment then stepped aside, leaving the path open for her.
“I pray you are. I’ve spoken to Lady Aglaea of how unwell you’ve been. She thought you’d be mended by now. Rest a while longer this morning. By night fall you may return to your duties.”
The red-haired attendant's gaze lingered on her steadily yet not unkind.
“I am grateful of your care Lady Tribios."
Hysilens inclined her head politely, hiding the storm in her chest as she slipped past her towards her door. Only when her chamber’s latch fell into place she allowed herself to exhale. She pressed a hand over her racing heart. Crossing to her narrow bed, she lit a single candle and drew her cloak close not for warmth but to cradle what lingered of the night beneath the stars. She remembered the words she had given.
Do nothing.
Only wait for me.
Yet even now she knew that it was already too late. A part of her had crossed the line and there was no turning back now. All that remained was to wait.
Chapter Text
Cerydra sat at her writing desk with only the soft scratch of her quill settling in her private chamber. A knock broke the silence and the door opened at the guard’s announcement. Aglaea entered with her usual grace, bowing her head in practiced measure.
“You summon for me, Your Grace.”
“I did. Thank you for answering so swiftly.”
Cerydra gestured to the chair across from her. Aglaea settled in poise with her hands folded neatly on her lap.
“I’ll not waste words. Again, name your price for the maiden’s freedom. And know this. . . Cipher is not on the table.”
Aglaea’s lips curved though her eyes revealed nothing.
“Spare your concern, Your Grace. I knew your answer before it was ever spoken when we touched upon this matter.”
Cerydra studied her for a long while, seeking any trap behind her elegance but there was none. Only the guarded truth of a woman protecting her own.
“Then let us speak plain.”
She continued.
"For what the maiden has earned you, I will pay in coin. I will pay the loss of her absence. Beyond that, I will give her my protection and swear no harm shall touch her while she is under my care. And when the crown falls to me, your petitions would be welcomed if deemed just. I will remember this bargain.”
Aglaea studied her for a while, weighing the balance between gain and risk.
“You speak as though it were but a simple thing."
She said at last.
“Still . . . if it must be, better it is you who takes her than some brute warlord. At least I know the manner of the hand that claims her.”
For an instant, the trace of a wistful smile flickered and died upon Aglaea's lips.
“If my will alone ruled, it would be Cipher I demand. But her loyalty is bound . . . not to me. Yet . . . it would have been a trade of worth I had hoped for.”
Cerydra regarded her closely and was intrigued. Aglaea drew a slow breath before continuing. Her tone was edged with warning.
“I will not set myself against the throne. It is not wise. But hear me, Your Grace . . . should word ever reach me that she suffers for this choice, I will not sit idle.”
Cerydra’s answer came without hesitation.
“Not only in terms, Lady Aglaea. This is a vow I offer.”
For the first time, Aglaea’s composure wavered. A flicker in her emerald eyes betrayed her but she inclined her head with a deliberate voice as she responded.
“Then I will see the papers drawn. When all is done, she is yours and without quarrel between us.”
The heir returned a grave and certain nod.
“Good. Let it be written.”
The chamber stilled once more though the air between them had shifted. Not foes nor allies but two women bound by bargain with each of them well aware of the weight of the promises and the consequences that comes when they are broken.
At the pleasure house after days of settling the agreement, Aglaea's private chamber was just as Hysilens remembered it. The wooden floor was polished and the gold-thread curtains were as exquisite as ever.
Her mistress stood behind a low desk with her sleeves rolled as she scanned over the scrolls. When she looked up to meet Hysilens, her expression was stern as it always was but her eyes paused just a second longer.
“You’ve been bought.”
She said plainly. The maiden’s heart skipped a few beats.
“ . . . Bought?”
Aglaea set down the scroll.
“You heard me. Not leased. Not borrowed. Bought. For freedom. With price in full.”
The words didn't sink in immediately. Hysilens just stared at her, unsure if she was dreaming.
“You’ve served well. You held no debts and made no enemies. You’re leaving clean.”
Still, the maiden couldn’t find the breath to respond. Aglaea looked at her long and quiet then a tight smile curved the corner of her lips.
“You’re not mine to keep anymore. And I am not to cling on things that wanted to fly.”
“Besides . . .”
She added almost like a jest.
“I’m not in the habit of standing between heirs and their foolish desires.”
Hysilens' eyes widened and after a few moment, she lowered her gaze as she responded.
“Thank you, Lady Aglaea. My life might have been . . . harsher. Perhaps even broken, if not for your protection. I will not forget that.”
Aglaea exhaled through her nose. There was trace of warmth in her eyes though her voice stayed firm.
“Good. The world outside this house is less forgiving than I’ve ever been. Don’t squander the chance you’ve been given . . . and don’t come to regret it.”
Aglaea turned, pulling something from a drawer. It was a dark travel wrap plain enough for use yet embroidered at the hem with careful stitching in golden thread. It was not extravagant but unmistakably fine.
“Take this. The nights bite colder than you think. Cipher will meet you before dusk.”
She crossed the room then handed the cloth directly. Hysilens took it, clutching it to her chest. Her throat tightened then she bowed low deeper than she ever had.
“ . . . Thank you.”
Aglaea's hand twitched as though to touch the maiden’s shoulder but she restrained herself, folding her arms behind her instead.
“The next time I meet you, you are no longer a whore. Let them call you something else. Now, be gone before I change my mind.”
Hysilens bowed once more before slipping out of Aglaea's chamber. When the heavy door closed behind her, she stood still for a moment. Her mistress' words still echoed in her ears. It felt unreal. She walked back through the familiar corridors, past the velvet curtains and the muffled sounds of laughter. Each step seemed to deepen the ache in her chest. These walls had been her prison but also her shelter. Within these walls she had found laughter, small kindnesses and companionship among the other maidens and manservants who had become her family of sorts. To leave meant to breathe new air but it also meant cutting away from the only roots she had ever known. By the time she reached her chamber, the dusk light was almost approaching. She sat at her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hands trembled as she picked up a quill and parchment, pouring both of her sorrow and hope at the same time.
By the time Cipher came, Hysilens was dressed no longer in gauzy silk but in the travel wrap Aglaea had given her. No words were exchanged when their gaze met. The look in Cipher’s eyes was warm. Together, they slipped out through the back entrance. There was just the quiet sound of her sandals brushing against the stone floor as she left the only life she'd known behind.
The carriage ride beyond the city walls was short and quiet with Cipher escorting her halfway before leaving her to walk the final stretch alone. When Hysilens arrived at the secluded garden cottage nestled just beyond the hills, Cerydra who was dressed plainly with no guards and no crest was already waiting. She stilled for a breath then crossed the space between them upon noticing her arrival. Their embrace was not wild nor desperate. It was certain, firm and true.
“You came."
Cerydra murmured into her shoulder.
“And you kept your word.”
They parted just enough to meet each other’s eyes as if seeing one another for the first time anew. The heir who was often so proud, now spoke with a gentleness rare for her.
“You are no longer bound to Lady Aglaea’s house. That means I may offer you something of my own.”
“What do you mean, Your Grace?”
Cerydra’s hand lifted, motioning toward the modest cottage behind them.
“This humble home is my gift to you. You are yet to live in the palace . . . not now. Too many questions would be raised but here, you will be kept safe and you will be tended.”
She drew a steady yet heavy breath then added.
“It is not all I wish for you. But it is what I can give now.”
Hysilens gazed on the house. It was plain enough not to raise any suspicion and unadorned but serene.
“I have no need of gold or grandeur. As long as I see you is all enough now.”
Cerydra inclined her head as her expression hardened with resolve.
“When my father returns, each step I take must be measured. This place lies beyond his shadow. And yours shall be the only door I seek when the weight of the crown allows me to breathe.”
A rare smile broke through her guarded composure touched with something fragile.
“So tell me Hysilens, will you open it for me when I come?”
Hysilens threaded her fingers through the heir’s hand and responded with a steady voice.
“I would . . . even if you had nothing to give. I will wait as long as I must.”
Yet something sharp and unbidden stirred within her. She drew a breath gathering courage as she shook her head.
“And if you are to speak my name, let it be the name that was truly mine. Not the name of a maiden claimed by another’s house.”
Her eyes glimmered as though she revealed a secret.
“Call me Helektra.”
Cerydra repeated it softly at first then with weight.
“Helektra. . .”
A slow smile curved her lips.
“A name with fire in it. Bright and alive. It suits you. Then Helektra you shall be. And I will speak it until the sound of it becomes a part of me.”
The two women lingered in each other’s gaze before stepping inside their modest cottage. Within those quiet walls, the night gently stretched before them enough to cradle the longing that had waited patiently between them.
Chapter Text
It had been but a handful of mornings since Helektra left the pleasure house behind, yet to her it seemed as time had folded upon itself. Each hour stretched longer burdened with quietness she had never known. It unsettled her.
Her years had been ruled by noise. The clatter of goblets, the shuffle of patrons and servants, the laughter and the ceaseless undercurrent of caution. Now, her dawns began with silence, warm hearth, pale light of the sun and the smell of fresh bread made by the kitchen attendant who was coming at first light and was also departing before Helektra could start her day.
The house was modest yet more than she had ever expected. It was a cottage tucked in the outer walls of the city, hidden from the clamor of the palace but close enough where Cipher could reach her swiftly if called. Cipher had been coming at times with necessities in hand or with nothing at all save a nod and a glance checking upon her well being. She never stayed long but her presence left Helektra with a strange comfort like a reminder of the bridge that still bound her to the heir.
However, the heir herself had not returned yet since that first night. Duty pulled her elsewhere likely to the council, to the court or to her kin. Helektra understood this but the emptiness it left pressed on her like a weight neither the soft sheets nor the idle hours could take away the ache so she searched for something.
Upon a shelf, she found leather bound books with their edges frayed by use. Those were genealogies of noble houses, records of treaties and the laws. She traced the names with her fingers, reciting them silently as they were incantations. The heir’s blood ran deep as she discovered. They were woven into the very roots of the realm. A name spoken in council halls and battlefields alike. She read of settled disputes, crushed rebellions and forged alliances. The words were dense but she read them slowly again and again until the meaning began to take hold in her mind.
She wished to understand not only the woman who would be coming to her in secret but the world she bore upon her shoulders. She imagined the heir in those pages, as a girl taught to wield responsibility like a blade, as a future ruler speaking to men who underestimated her and as a daughter who perhaps still unseen by her father in ways she couldn’t voice. It made her chest tighten.
How lonely must that path be?
It was reckless pursuing Helektra but there was no fear nor burden in the heir's gaze whenever she looked at her. There was something unspoken that made Helektra want to be more and not just someone hidden away in a cottage. Someone who could walk beside her someday even from the shadows.
Her new days were spent half-studying and half-dreaming. She was practicing the shape of formal speech in front of the mirror, trying to memorize the noble sigils by sketching them with charcoal and reading old letters she found.
In the afternoons, she’d sit by the window watching the path from the palace. She's not idly waiting but preparing for the next time she’d see the heir and be able to speak not just with heart but with understanding.
Her first venture into the neighboring villages had been hesitant. Her eyes were searching for anyone who might recognize her but as fortune was with her, no one did. Unlike before, her presence in public was somehow monitored and her time was sliced into hours. Now, there was no curfew nor restriction. She could walk past the market stalls and linger where she pleased, watch street performers, smell roasted chestnuts from a food cart and listen to the rumble of dice game in an alley. She could even follow the small winding paths by the canal just to see where they led. Her only limit was the strength of her legs.
One afternoon, Helektra sat by the window with a book on noble trade disputes left open and still unread. Her gaze kept drifting to the path beyond the hedges. She told herself she was only looking to see if Cipher might visit again so when she spotted movement of a lone figure stepping through the garden, her breath suddenly got caught. It was not Cipher but Cerydra.
Helektra stood quickly with the book sliding from her lap then falling on the floor. She moved to the door as her pulse thrummed in her ears. She hadn’t expected the heir today or tomorrow. Not even for weeks. Duties had a way of swallowing time for the heir and Helektra had trained herself to wait. When the door opened, she forgot every practiced patience she’d been building.
“Your Grace, you didn’t send word.”
“I chose to come here first before a word of my return reached others.”
The heir’s gaze swept over her as if she needed to memorize every changes since their last meeting. The distance between them quickly vanished. Cerydra gave her a warm embrace and the corner of her lips lifted into a relief. Together, they walked inside with their hands interwind. The familiar scent of the hearth smoke and lavender welcomed them. Helektra guided her visitor to a chair near the fire, slipping the travel cloak from her shoulders and setting it aside.
“Rest, Your Grace. You’ve come a long way."
She gently spoke as she slightly kneel to remove the heir’s riding gloves. Her movement was careful.
“How was your journey?”
Cerydra leaned back and scanned the cottage, seeing if it still the way she remembered it the last time she was there. There was a faint smile touching her lips when she responded.
“Long. And heavier than I care to admit. But stepping through this door . . . I feel lighter now.”
Helektra’s heart swelled. She brushed a strand of hair from the heir’s temple with a quiet affection.
“Is there anything you wish for tonight? Food, wine, a bath prepared? Say the word and I will see to it.”
Cerydra’s hand caught hers and letting her stay still.
“Only this. Only you here beside me.”
Helektra softly chuckled. Her eyes were bright with both affection and mischief.
“Ah, but at least you need to bathe, Your Grace. You’re covered in dust from the road and if I keep you this close, I’ll soon be the same.”
Cerydra exhaled, half defeated and half amused then sank a little deeper into her chair.
“Then I cannot argue.”
With a smile tugging at her lips, Helektra rose and called for the two household servants who tended the cottage and garden nearby. Together, they carried warm water to the bathing chamber while Helektra herself prepared the oils and cloths. Soon, the steam curled through the air carrying the scent of the herbs.
The heir allowed herself to be guided there. She softened beneath the tender attention but for Helektra herself, this act of service no longer felt like a duty but something far more intimate and more of caring. By the time Cerydra finished her bath, the night had already deepened. Together, they stepped on the narrow wooden stairs to the upper floor where their private quarters nestled beneath the moonlight's reach. The room was warm with the glow of a single candle. Cerydra sat on the edge of their bed and with curiosity, she asked.
“Now tell me. How have you been while I was gone?”
The other lady, who was approaching to sit beside her enthusiastically responded.
“I have been well, Your Grace. I learned a little from your books and walked in the neighboring villages. ”
The heir paused for a while as she listened but her eyes was still pinned to Helektra until she finally breathed her concern.
“Speak my name. Each time you call me Your Grace, you make me feel thrice my years.”
The heir softly chuckled as she urged Helektra. There was a hint of playfulness in her gaze.
“It might take a little while to get accustomed to it Your Grace but if it pleases you then so be it . . . Cerydra.”
The heir’s brow arched in gentle amusement. Her name sounded fragile yet precious on Helektra’s tongue.
“Better."
They didn’t speak of tomorrow. Both was well aware of their fragile agreement. Helektra thought that someday, the heir’s responsibilities would outweigh whatever thread bound them together and Cerydra, though she didn’t say it, feared Helektra might one day grow tired of waiting for a life they could openly have. Neither voiced those thoughts tonight.
Sitting side by side on the edge of their bed, Cerydra leaned closer, reaching for Helektra’s cheek with her thumb tracing the curve of her jaw but before the heir could draw her closer, it was Helektra who leaned in, suddenly claiming her lips that caught her by surprise. When their lips broke apart, the taller lady whispered against her ear.
“I have longed for you in silence. I am not to hold it back now that you are here.”
Cerydra’s eyes widened as though the words themselves struck her with both ache and affection.
“Then take what you will of me. Tonight I am yours.”
Helektra’s eyes softened at her words. She then reached for the clasps at the heir’s collar, unfastening them with patience and her fingers grazed her skin as though testing if it was real. They exchanged small and almost shy smiles. Cerydra’s fingers followed, brushing along the ties of the maiden’s gown. Piece by piece, they shed the barriers between them as if rediscovering what it meant to belong to each other. As their lips once again joined, Helektra pushed the heir back with a gentle force that spoke of denied weeks and nights endured alone.
The heir lay upon the bed and the other woman pressed above her. For a moment, Cerydra yielded to that boldness yet, guilt stirred within her. The guilt for the weeks she had left her lover waiting. It drove her to act.
With a sudden shift, she turned and now she was atop of the other woman. Her lips grazed Helektra's skin with reverence, laying soft and lingering kisses as to atone for her absence. Helektra did not resist. She welcomed it. When Cerydra drew back to her knees, Helektra's limbs stretched open beneath her, framed in trust and unguarded desire. The sight made her chest tighten with a mix of awe and longing that felt almost unbearable. Slowly and deliberately, she wet her own fingers to her lips before sliding them to the tender edge of Helektra’s core.
The first touch drew a sharp gasp from Helektra, catching in her throat. And in that sound and unshielded expression of need, Cerydra felt her own restraint waver. Her cheeks deeply flushed as if it were her first time beholding such intimacy and yet she pressed on. Her fingers were gliding easily in the warmth between the folds making a soft sound due to the gradual motion. Helektra's hips rose to match her touches as instinct guided them into a rhythm.
When Helektra’s breath broke into words with a low and urgent voice, Cerydra did not resist. She bowed, leaning her head to face Helektra's soaked center. Her snow-like hair spilled forward as she bent to her task. Her mouth and fingers were working in unison. Her tongue traced the edge of the soft fold with reverent and her fingers insistently pressed deeper, searching until she found the spot that drew a cry from Helektra’s lips.
The taller woman's hand clasped at the sheets, twisting them tight with her body quivering under the weight of pleasure. Cerydra curled her fingers from the inside with her tongue coaxing at the same rhythm, determined to wring all the fluid she had longed for during their weeks apart.
Cerydra backed up on her knees, catching her breath with her lips still damp with the taste of the woman she had just worshipped. She thought it was done and that the shudders had left her lover sated, yet before she could draw back fully, soft hands firmly caught her wrists.
Helektra pulled her lover down and her body folded over hers until they lay face to face. The heir braced her arms as to not crush her but Helektra’s smile undid her restraint. Her eyes glowed with a heat that still had not waned but only deepened.
“You do realize. . .”
She whispered with a half-breathless and half-teasing voice.
“I must be the most fortunate soul in all the realm . . . to have the heir herself kneel and serve me.”
A rare and low laugh escaped Cerydra despite the flush still on her cheeks. She shook her head yet her smile betrayed her.
“You jest at my expense.”
She murmured though her tone carried no edge but only affection.
Before she could say more, Helektra lifted her chin and caught her lips once again. The kiss was hungry and brazen. The taste shared between them was reigniting the tension that had only just begun to ease.
Cerydra softly groaned into her mouth. Her composure was unraveling as Helektra’s tongue pressed against her mouth, claiming what moments ago had belonged only to the heir’s giving. Helektra's legs curled up around Cerydra's hips, urging her closer and holding her still.
The kiss deepened until their breaths became scarce and when they broke for air, Helektra’s smile had sharpened into something bolder and more daring. Her body thrummed with desire yet unspent. Cerydra's gaze softened as she whispered against her lips.
“Then let me serve you still. . . . until even fortune itself grows jealous of you.”
She kissed her again and once more yielding to the pull of the other woman's desire. Before Cerydra could steady her breath, her lover pushed her back with a hunger too fierce to hold back as to suggest her into a straddle over her body. With hands firm but trembling with urgency, Helektra pressed against her waist.
“Please. . . "
She whispered. Her voice was breaking with need. She drew the heir closer with her palms urging Cerydra’s hips down towards her own. The heir froze with their lower bodies pressed together. The memory of their last joining flickered. The way Helektra had moved and the way she had only followed. But now it was her body that was being asked to lead. Her jaw clenched as her cheeks burned with both hesitation and the heat curling low within her.
“I . . . I do not—”
“—Just here.”
Helektra murmured with her breath, already hot against her collar. Her hands were steady on Cerydra’s hips. With a gentle pull, she pressed their centers together and met with the smooth friction sending a shiver through them both. Cerydra gasped as her body stiffened with the overwhelming rush.
Helektra only smiled through her own trembling as she moved her hips upward so their bodies brushed in perfect sync. Cerydra faltered. Her movements were halting awkwardly in her uncertainty. A flush spread high over her cheekbones as her composure was fractured by the sheer vulnerability of not knowing. But the heat licking at her spine, the thrum of pleasure rising sharper with every glide of their folds eventually made her body betray her hesitation. Her hips began to move on their own in slow circles then a desperate rhythm that matched Helektra’s urging hands.
“Gods—”
The word tore from her lips unguarded. Her usual measured voice was unraveling. Helektra arched beneath her. She caught her breath and her nails were digging lightly into Cerydra’s sides as she urged her to grind harder and faster. Their gasps blended as their bodies met again and again at the mounting heat and coiling tension shifting tighter with every stroke until they both were almost at their peak.
Helektra suddenly stilled and her hands softened their grip. The sudden withdrawal left Cerydra poised on the edge as if robbed of the final leap into ecstasy. Her eyes flew open and disbelief flashed across her face as her breath caught in a sharp sound of protest.
“H-Helektra—!?”
Her voice broke into something rare, desperate and commanding all at once with her composure shattering with her need. The name left her lips like a plea and a demand together. She shifted her hips, seeking friction but her lover only gave a soft and tender chuckle yet wicked in its restraint.
“Patience, my lady.”
She whispered as though she were the one in control now. Her hips held still for a while, denying them both the release that hovered so near. The heir let out a low and frustrated growl. Her hands clutched the sheets beside her.
“Do not trifle with me now—”
She warned though the plea beneath it betrayed her. At that, Helektra softened. Her teasing smile gentled into something warmer and more loving. She shifted beneath Cerydra, rolling her hips with sudden and deliberate force, grinding up to meet her again. The stolen rhythm was returned and all restraint was shed in a flood. Their gasps rose again until the tightening coil finally snapped. The world fell away in a rush of heat and light as Cerydra shuddered, calling her name and Helektra clung to her as her nails bit down into the heir's skin. Both of them broke and clung through the sweet and unbearable release.
When it passed, their bodies remained pressed together, trembling. Their breaths mingled in the hush of their chamber. Helektra’s lips tenderly brushed hers now with no trace of mischief.
“There . . ."
She whispered. Her voice was ragged but sweet then she continued.
“I would never keep you waiting long . . . . though you did just the same to me, once.”
Cerydra drew back slightly, puzzled through her haze and Helektra’s smile curved, wicked and fond all at once.
“Our first night.”
She reminded. Her voice was soft but edged with playful reproach.
“You left me aching and undone when the night took you away.”
A low and breathless laugh escaped the heir despite herself. She pressed her lips to Helektra’s again, murmuring against her mouth.
“Then perhaps I have much to atone for.”
Cerydra lingered above her, brushing damp strands of hair from Helektra’s flushed face. Her smile still held that knowing glint though softened now with weariness.
“You are merciless.”
Cerydra murmured. Her voice was husky yet touched with affection as she pressed on.
“First you torment me with delay, then you wound me with memory.”
Helektra just let out a faint laugh. The heir gave a mock scowl, though her eyes betrayed the warmth beneath.
They shifted together, Cerydra rolling to her side and gathering Helektra into her arms. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets. The frantic edge of desire was now replaced by the calmness of the night. For a while, silence stretched between them. Slowly, the weight of the night drew down upon them with their breaths falling into sync with their bodies melting into the stillness of rest. As slumber claimed them, the heir’s arm remained around her lover as though even in dreams both would not dare to let go.