Page 8 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Opposite the foot of the bed, above the fireplace, hung a painting, its seemingly innocuous surface concealing a spyhole hidden within the eyes of the portrait's subject. The painting, a rather suggestive scene of naked bodies, clearly caused Lord Winterdon discomfort, as his eyes flitted nervously around the room, refusing to settle on the artwork.
Though Eleanor couldn’t see a servant’s entrance from the gold-lined walls, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one, but for now, her main problem was the spyhole.
Seeing Lord Winterdon, still ramrod straight despite his age, leaning a little more heavily on his ornate cane by the doorway, Eleanor gave him a teasing smile and a light giggle. “Why, my lord, you are blushing. I swear you match the upholstery.” As she carefully put her hand on his light blue long-coat and ran her fingers over the gold stitching, a sudden realisation dawned on her. “Tell me, my lord, you’ve seen this sort of thing before?” She met his blue eyes, which reminded her of a cold, clear, mountain-topped sky.
The sound of his audible swallow snapped her back to the moment in front of her, refocusing her attention on the lord standing before her. The deepening blush on his cheeks was answer enough for her.
Eleanor lowered her lashes to trace the pattern on his sky-blue long-coat, ensuring her voice betrayed no judgement. “You haven’t.”
His slight head shake was confirmation of what she already knew and twisted something in her stomach. Eleanor had picked the group of lords as they’d looked lively, confident, and had been joking among themselves. She’d thought they wouldn’t cause her any problems, judging by the leery looks from the other lords. She hadn’t considered the possibility of it being his first time. The rumours of the party palace were notorious for its indiscretions at court, and he’d confirmed he’d lived here for most of his life. And yet, he was inexperienced in sex. He either had an exceptional strength of willpower or someone’s protective influence had shielded him from that side of the court.
She raised her eyes from his long-coat and gave him a soft reassuring smile. “That’s not a problem, my lord.”
Eleanor had anticipated a straightforward and pleasurable night of sex with this lord, a simple night of mutual satisfaction, but this newly acquired information definitively resolved thesituation for her. She wouldn’t steal this lord of his first time. Even though some clients came to The Ladies Grace to have their first sexual encounter with someone experienced, this situation was different. It would be unconscionable to take advantage of this lord, he hadn’t made the trek into Breninsol to find a prostitute, rather he had been, like her, thrust into this situation without consent.
With a graceful sway, Eleanor made her way to the corner table, which was laden with a lavish display of expensive spirits. Eleanor subtly removed a small glass vial she had secreted within the lining of her dress. This little concoction wasn’t common knowledge, only someone with a healer’s knowledge of herbs and their potent properties could have brewed it. This knowledge was a blend of herbal remedies and ancient practices, that she’d gained from an older, wiser witch who stubbornly clung to the Old Ways for healing, eschewing pure magic. A shared peculiarity, as Eleanor had plenty of practice living without access to her full power. It was an aspect of her training that had served Eleanor well throughout her many years and was probably the only reason she was still alive and hadn’t been discovered.
Like her magic, this concoction wasn’t something she relied on when working at The Ladies Grace. It was reserved for the few nights when shereallydidn’t want to work, when all she really wanted was to be left alone and she didn’t want to be touched, or for those few aggressive clients. To refuse a client was not an option, it’d result in Madam Grace calling the city guards to arrest her for her outstanding debt, and she was not being imprisoned, not again. So, Eleanor had remembered some of the finer points of the Wise Witch’s teachings and used this concoction sparingly.
Eleanor kept her back to Lord Winterdon and the fireplace, blocking the spyhole in the painting, and forced herself toconcentrate on the task at hand rather than the burgundy and amber coloured liquids in the other bottles. Eleanor unstoppered the vial and upended the contents into a glass with swift and well-practised movements, while pouring sparkling wine into two glasses. For a moment, the subtle pungent tinge of henbane hung in the air. She replaced the vial in her dress lining and swirled the glasses as she made an exaggerated show of her stumbling and giggling, covering the need to encourage the powder to dissolve, and pressed the glass into his hands.
“What shall we drink to, my lord?”
“To new friends.”
She inclined her head in agreement. “Very well. To new friends,” she said as they clinked their glasses together. Eleanor knew it wouldn’t take long for the concoction to take effect, so she guided him to the edge of the bed and gently pushed on his shoulders to encourage him to sit.
The lord followed her silent instruction, a bit less gracefully than she’d have thought, but he didn’t spill his drink. He rested his cane against the bed, out of the way but within reach. Eleanor sat on his other side and leaned into him, as his eyes stared at where the straps of her dress ran along her breasts. They sat in silence for a time until Lord Winterdon coughed. “I’m going to get in trouble for this, but you seem nice.”
She nearly choked on her wine and gave a little cough. “Are people not normally nice to you, my lord?”
“They are. But…” He sighed and made a small shrug.
“But…?” she prompted.
Eleanor was unsure why she was encouraging this conversation. He needed to drink the whole glass, otherwise her concoction wouldn’t entirely take effect, but she wanted to know where his line of thought was going.
“But…not everyone means what they say.”
“And you think I do?” she asked, attempting to mask the scepticism in her voice.
He looked at her intently this time, his gaze not lingering on her chest. “You’re nicer than others I’ve met.”
Eleanor smiled as warmly as she could manage. “Drink up, then you’ll see how much nicer I can be, my lord.”
He paused as he raised the glass to his mouth. “Could you think of something else to call me?”
“Oh?” She saw the unguarded expression on his face. For whatever reason, tonight he didn’t wish to be reminded of his position. “If we’re to be intimate, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…Riccie.”
His blue eyes lightened. “Riccie?”
“Why not?” Eleanor lifted a shoulder and sipped her wine, making Riccie lift his glass to his lips.
Nearly there.She watched as the bubbly liquid tilted in the glass and nearly touched his lips until he froze as something struck him and lowered his glass again. “I don’t know your name.”
Eleanor blinked. What did her name matter to him? She’d be damned if some of her regular clients actually knew her name, especially the first time they had sex. As long as she did her job, what did a name matter to them?
“You can call me whatever you wish, Riccie,” she said, but seeing the beginning of a protest on his lips, she interrupted him. “It’s Eleanor.”
