Page 4 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Disappointment washed over the women in a barely suppressed sigh as the thin, oily man, who had selected them in The Ladies Grace, entered the room. His eyes lingered on all of them with a belittling look, before a dismissive cough escaped his lips.
“You have personally been selected to entertain the king and his courtiers. While you are here, you will obeyanyand all orders given to you. If any of you displease the king, you willnotbe given a second chance.” His final word was followed by an impatient cough, a sound that Eleanor, in her limited experience with the man, found truly repulsive. But there it was, right there, an unpleasant glint of something lurking beneath his oily demeanour that she’d seen in The Ladies Grace, that had now surfaced with that final unspoken threat. Eleanor repressed a shudder at seeing that hideosity in his beady eyes.
He spun on his heel, a squeak announcing his departure, leaving everyone to scramble after him, eager to see where the evening’s parade would lead.
The interior of the palace undeniably reinforced the notion from the exterior. This palace, a monument to unparalleled sovereign power, stood as a testament to the strength and legacy of the bloodline that built it. If magic had existed, Eleanor could have reached out to feel its hearth and reveal its personality, most likely an imperious nature.
The king’s man led the courtesans up a wide marble staircase, so wide that six of them could comfortably walk next to each other. It stretched around the walls and high above them, continuing up and up further into the recess of the palace, leaving a fathomless ceiling somewhere high above them. Tiered chandeliers descended the centre of the staircase, with high windows that overlooked them. Some windows were darkened by the night outside, while others glowed with the candlelight from the hallways, creating a dramatic contrast in the view.
Several women stumbled as they ascended, paying more attention to their surroundings than to where they were going. Having arrived on the first floor of this particular section of the palace, their journey continued as they were guided through a complex network of interconnected halls. Gleaming white marble formed the elegant, pristine paving of each and every hall, while gold glinted from the ceiling’s corners and trimmed the large mirrors that were placed in seemingly random sections of the walls.
A subtle and nearly imperceptible symphony played, barely audible, on the very edge of her hearing. With each step, the women ventured further into the depths of the ornate palace.
Regardless of the endless ivory and gold corridors. and the steadily growing sound of music, Eleanor kept count of the turns and any discernible markers in the hallways, trying to orientate herself. She was keenly aware of the ease with which someone could become disoriented there.
Finally, the courtesans stopped outside another pair of golden doors. Two manservants stood on either side, their stillness making them seem like statues carved from the same marble as the walls. The king’s royal colours of white and a light yellow, a shade best described as beige, aided their invisibility.
The previously faint, almost indiscernible melody was now clear and crisp, captivating the courtesans, who drew towards the song emanating from behind the ornate gold doors.
The king’s man gave that irritating cough again. “You will remember that you are here at His Majesty’s pleasure. Make yourselves useful tonight,” he said as the doors opened at a nod of his head. “Courtesans. Welcome to the king’s court.”
They found themselves in a grand ballroom, the heart of the palace, with glittering chandeliers casting light on the polished floor. Much like the rest of the palace its design was intended to make the king’s courtiers and guests feel small and insignificant in his realm. For that’s where she was, in his domain, and Eleanor couldn’t help but admit to herself its intention worked. Her throat felt almost painfully dry, like she hadn’t had a drink of water in days.
She felt wholly insignificant here.
The ballroom was at least four stories high, and Eleanor couldn’t even begin to guess at how many houses could fit inside the space alone. She craned her neck at a gold embossed ceiling to see shapes swirling in patterns that made her think the ceiling was painted. However, she couldn’t make out the scene from the shadows that the heavy twinkling chandeliers cast across the ceiling.
White marble, with gold swirling patterns interlaced on the floor, decorated the room. Eleanor had to blink as her eyes stung from the amount of gold and jewels glistening off the white marble. Great white and gold columns lined both sides of the ballroom floor. Darkened alcoves and golden-draped balconies overlooked the ballroom floor from beyond the columns on the right. Floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall offered aview of the hazy, dark grounds beyond. Somehow, even after going upstairs, they were level with the vast gardens.
A snap of fingers from the beady man brought her back to herself.
“Tits up,” Iris murmured next to her, as the courtesans spread out and got to work.
The courtiers were deep in the midst of their revelry, dancing, chatting, and giggling, their glasses brimming with sparkling wine. It appeared they’d been indulging in the merriment for quite some time. In contrast to the courtesans’ revealing attire, the courtiers were arrayed in luxurious silks and jewels, their dresses designed to cover far more of their bodies.
As Eleanor wandered past the giggling courtiers, she tried not to look down and finger at her plain dress. At The Ladies Grace, she’d liked how the dress blended from black to green. Her old friend always insisted that green highlighted her unique eyes, which never seemed to hold a single hue. As far as she’d been able to determine, they were a mixture of green, blue, and hazel. But here, in the king’s palace and amongst the resplendent nobles, she felt plain and dull.
The memory of how the king's line had perversely manipulated the role of prostitutes in his kingdom brought back a wave of bitter resentment, a chilling reminder of more injustice. Under the Witch Queen’s rule, they had had a level of reverence, with a common understanding that they were the pleasure keepers. She remembered sneaking a look at training sessions. She’d been too young at first to understand what she was seeing, but as she’d grown older, she’d watched and learned in secret. She’d always been in awe of the way they moved with a grace that was both powerful and mesmerising, their hands weaving intricate patterns in time to a silent symphony. Hidden in the shadows, she copied their movements, captivated by theirfluid grace. Eleanor then had no idea that that education would serve her well many years later.
She helped herself to a glass of wine from a passing servant’s golden tray, inhaling the fresh spicy scent of almonds and wild berries. She downed the first to settle herself and push away the chest of bittersweet memories that had briefly threatened to surface. Immediately grabbing a second glass, Eleanor hoped it would occupy her hands with something to do, rather than touching her cheap plain dress. None of the courtesans’ dresses were embellished, nor did they wear jewellery, neither of which any of them could afford. If they’d received any jewelled gifts from the clients, it usually went straight to Madam Grace, though a few things had been skilfully slipped by the madam unnoticed.
Eleanor ignored the eyes that followed her through the room and sipped the bubbly drink, sighing as the crisp and tangy flavour tingled her taste buds. It’d been too long since she’d last drunk sparkling wine, and she couldn’t help but admit she’d missed it. She casted her eyes around the room and located the nearest servant, then figured how long it’d take to finish this flute and get another. If she was seducing any of these aristos tonight, at the very least she could enjoy the free wine on offer.
The courtiers' appearance, with all its finery and self-importance, served to illuminate the full extent of the king's vanity. Youth was the sole defining characteristic of the courtiers, and there was not a single grey hair or wrinkle anywhere to be found among them. Eleanor caught herself admiring the shimmering silks and glittering jewels, their beauty almost overwhelming. The knowledge of countless families who would go hungry tonight while she was in this blinding golden palace weighed on her conscience. A stark contrast to the laughing, drinking, and dancing silk-wrapped people who were ignorant of those outside the palace walls. Areckless thought crossed her mind, perhaps she could pilfer a ring or two while she was here. The riches were plentiful, and the nobles, engrossed in their drinking, wouldn’t notice.
These courtiers appeared to be an entirely different species. They would sleep peacefully in their soft, spacious feather-filled beds in warm palatial silken rooms, thinking only what they would wear the next day to stay in fashion. They wouldn’t have to sleep on a lumpy thin bed in a draughty room worrying where their next meal was coming from. Instead they would wonder whether to start drinking with breakfast or lunch, or which necklace would match their outfit.
Eleanor noticed the women in jewels and modest dresses looked at her with distaste, while the men looked on with lust. Whereas the women adorned in jewels and revealing gowns gave her looks of hatred, a look Eleanor knew all too well. She presumed these women were the Favours.
Eleanor understood their hostility towards the courtesans, and she didn’t blame them. They were keeping close to their lords with a territorial eye on the newly arrived courtesans. The Collection allowed lords to select a new courtesan, potentially replacing their existing Favour, who would then rejoin the pool of courtesans. These discarded Favours would become the Court’s Favours and live in the Collection quarters in the palace. For many of them, this was the preferred option. Even though the life of a Favour was better than the life of a prostitute, it still came with its own strings and uncertainties. A lord could have more than one Favour, but that was determined by his wealth and, of course, a Favour wasn’t a wife. Wealthy lords commonly maintained a wife for appearances and alliances, and a Favour to indulge their passions.
As the night progressed, Eleanor continued to wander aimlessly around the opulent ballroom, casually sipping her third glass of sparkling wine. A sudden chill ran down her spine, and she felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, prickling with a sense of unease. Eleanor knew she was being watched by the courtiers, sizing her up and deciding her worth, but this feeling of being watched was different. The observer’s gaze didn’t feel judgmental of her, but as if they wanted to pursue her and was trying to weigh her down with their gaze alone.
Unnerved by this haunted feeling, she lingered near the edges of the courtiers and feigned admiration for the room, a pretence that was easy to maintain. Focusing intently on the shadowy spaces nestled between the gleaming white columns and opulent gold drapes, Eleanor strained her eyes, yet she remained unable to discern any details within the gloom.
When her eyes fell upon the second alcove, which was shrouded in shadow, a sudden chill ran down her spine, causing her hair to stand on end and goosebumps to trail like icy beads across her arms. She was sure she had made eye contact with whoever was watching her from the darkened corner. Straining her eyes against the impenetrable darkness, she eagerly searched for any outline—a person shaped shadow, or anything at all—to confirm that she wasn’t imagining this feeling, but the darkness was too thick to see who lurked within. Eleanorknew she sensed a presence, but she only saw darkness, and the darkness stared back.
Eleanor felt this strange need to go closer. Before she could question the impulse that’d overtaken her, she realised she had taken a half step towards the darkened alcove, and then a bored sounding voice interrupted her from behind.
