Page 1 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Chapter One
The Red Room
“Tits up, ladies—”
“I’ll give her tits up,” Iris mumbled next to her.
“—and big smiles.” Madam Grace finished her usual directions and smiled that predatory smile of hers, with her signature painted red lips.
Eleanor had become accustomed to joining the ladies of The Ladies Grace when they posed in the main welcoming room to greet clients. Unimaginatively, it was called the Red Room, and Madam Grace’s style epitomised the room. Apparently, it washer colour: the madam thought it was sexy and seductive. Thatred was also the colour of blood and fire was a detail Eleanor always tried hard to ignore.
Red drowned the room from floor to ceiling. Fabric drooped overhead and clung to the walls, and rugs covered the redwood floor, making the space feel smaller and more intimate than it really was. The room featured scattered seating areas. A velvet chaise longue angled in the corner. A cluster of red painted chairs on the opposite side of the room. In the centre, a large, round velvet seat sat beneath a glass chandelier. Eleanor assumed that Madam Grace wasn’tquitewealthy enough to order a custom-made ruby chandelier to completely bathe the room in crimson, a saving grace she was thankful for.
Madam Grace had positioned all her ladies throughout the Red Room, sitting or standing in various provocative poses to entice this evening’s special client.
The irony that Madam Grace referred to the prostitutes as “her ladies” wasn’t lost on Eleanor. However, this attracted the wealthier clients that The Ladies Grace was known for throughout the capital of Breninsol, along with the tasteful decor of the brothel. No, not “brothel,” a word she had to correct. Madam Grace always used the phrase “pleasure house.” She’d received one too many strikes for calling it anything else. No matter how prettily or decadently it was dressed up, at its core, it was still a brothel, and its ladies differed from the well-bred court ladies.
The madam meticulously inspected the women, adjusting their dresses to ensure they exposed enough flesh to be alluring for whoever was about to arrive. All of Madam Grace’s ladies were wearing dresses of varying shades in some form of flowing and revealing gauzy material. Their outfits left little to the imagination, with plunging necklines and most showing their midriff through a criss-cross of fabric. The dresses featured asimple wrap and tie for easy access and removal, eliminating finicky little buttons or fastenings.
Eleanor was ashamed that it’d taken some time to get used to wearing the revealing strips of fabric again. At first, she’d felt naked, too exposed, but over time, she’d become reacquainted with the flimsy garments. She focused on the way the dresses flowed around her, enjoying the billowing effect that made it seem like she was constantly walking on her own cloud.
She used what little power she had left to cover her scars and chest marking. Opening a fissure from her pool of magic—albeit already drained compared to what she’d once held—was as natural to her as breathing. Without her years of practice, the feat would have been nearly impossible. Her magic was now a pathetic shadow of its former power, but it was safer this way.
Eleanor counted her Fateful Stars that Madam Grace hadn’t assigned her a colour, unlike the Petals, Iris, Jasmine, and Calla, who had to wear a variation of their assigned colour. Their dresses matched their namesakes: Iris was in her usual purple, Jasmine wore a white dress that perfectly complemented her dark skin, and Calla wore a light pink, nearly white, dress which was a near-perfect blend with her colouring.
She’d got Madam Grace’s signature pursed lips of mild approval as the madam inspected the dress that she’d chosen tonight from the collective wardrobe. Black fabric draped over her breasts, flowing into a deep green at her stomach. Criss-crossing fabric at her hips, exposing her peachy freckled skin, blended into the floaty, slitted skirt, ending in a light green at the bottom. The dress brought out the flecks of green in her eyes, and it was more versatile to fit her hips.
Her dark auburn hair trailed loosely in waves down her back. Several of the women styled their hair in braids or pinned up in simple chignons, but she had been last in the shared bathing room. She had barely enough time to brush out her hair, dabon some lip colour and pinch her freckled cheeks. Then, she was being ushered into the Red Room to meet their mysterious client.
Eleanor ignored her stomach rumbling as she leaned against the red velvet padded bar. As usual, she’d not grabbed any stale bread or a sliver of pie from the kitchen. All the ladies at The Ladies Grace were precariously thin but thankfully not starving, unlike others in the capital. Despite having enough food, she never felt truly satisfied, a constant feeling of hunger that had become commonplace for her over the years.
An impatient cough from the entrance prompted Madam Grace to welcome a short, thin man. Madam Grace’s painted red lips accentuated that wolfish smile of hers and the Red Room. In the muted light, her blonde hair was a stark contrast, and Eleanor suspected it wasn’t natural. The man slicked back his oily black hair as he was introduced to each of the ladies one by one.
He didn’t seem to be taken aback by the many lovely looking, scantily clad ladies, instead he was scrutinising them as if they were cattle at an auction. She resented the client’s leering stares, but as with all things, time had grown her accustomed to it.
It sickened her to think how far her kind had fallen. Once, women had been equal to men. They could as easily draw a sword in defence of their home as any man. All it'd taken was one moment in their realm’s history and it'd all come falling down. Now, women are viewed as inferior, men valuing them only as a pretty accessory or an empty hole to fill.
Eleanor kept her eyes on the thin, oily man as he circled the room. Every time he inspected the woman before him, his gaze travelled obscenely from head to toe, occasionally prompting them to spin around for him. His head shake signalled the woman’s departure from the room.
She noticed with silent smug satisfaction that he’d rejected the Bellas: Annabella and Mirabella. A flicker of annoyance crossed the madam's face, her lips tightening slightly as she dismissed them. They were the clients' and Madam Grace's favourites, so their dismissal left everyone stunned.
Eleanor was torn between wanting to be rejected and intrigued by this man’s interest in these ladies. And what could make him reject the madam’s favourites? Normally, men were throwing themselves over them with their ample bosoms, curved hips, long lashes, and sumptuous mouths that looked like they could make a cock come within seconds.
As the reedy-looking man came closer, her belly dipped. He was wearing a flax-coloured jerkin that exposed long white sleeves, but that wasn’t what made her forget her empty stomach all together. It was the gold stitching on the right chest of his sleeveless jacket in the shape of a crown.
The king’s crest.
Eleanor blinked as she realised she’d missed Madam Grace’s introduction of her and unconsciously gave the smile that she’d practiced and reserved solely for the clients. He was shorter than her and, oddly enough, a ruddy nose sat on his sharp, thin face. She tried to ignore the uneasy leer she felt he was giving her. His smile unsettled her, and she felt something unpleasant lurked beneath. As she stood there for his inspection, she noticed the small signs of his aging he’d tried in vain to conceal. The dye he’d applied liberally to his shoulder-length hair had seeped its way ever so slightly onto his skin at his temples.
“Eleanor will do nicely,” he said to Madam Grace, in an imperious voice. She gave her predatory, red-lipped smile and moved onto Iris to introduce him to the Petals of The Ladies Grace, perched on the red velvet covered bar stools.
Eleanor blinked in surprise at his acceptance. Her attractiveness explained Madam Grace’s reason for putting herinto her debt to work for her, but to select her over the Bellas was…bewildering.
Madam Grace escorted the man’s tour of the room, and then they spoke privately near the doorway. He nodded, then left.
Eleanor looked around at the ladies he’d chosen. The Petals were still perched on the bar stools, while the quiet dark brunette, Veronica, and Lucy sat in the cluster of chairs. Eleanor had learned Lucy was the one of the loudest during meals and with her clients. The woman often came across as brazen and she was usually the instigator in many arguments amongst the Bellas, making life rowdy and entertaining. However, she was a fierce protector of the younger ones who ended up here.
“Ladies,” declared Madam Grace, whose smile had become less guarded and hungrier, something Eleanor hadn’t thought possible of the madam. “You have the great privilege of being selected to be this Season’s courtesans.”
