Crown of Blood and Ruin: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 3)
Crown of Blood and Ruin: Chapter 11

“They wear more paint on the lips,” Frey said. He flushed when half the men standing around watching, speared him in sharp looks. “What? I don’t patron the brothels. I liberate them, but I’ve seen plenty of pleasure mates.”

“There are some things better kept private, little brother.” Axel gripped his brother’s shoulder and offered a forced sympathetic look.

“I don’t use brothels,” Frey insisted. “I don’t need them.”

“Right,” Ari muttered and turned back to where Siv finished painting my face.

“Bleeding fools.” Frey shook Axel off and slammed his fist into his brother’s shoulder, moving to the back of the crowd, enduring a few chuckles at his expense.

A group of us remained in our camp beyond the hills of a northern township called Bordell. The wretched little place was tucked on the outskirts of the kingdom, in the crosswinds of the pass that would lead travelers to the wastes of Old Timoran. Here, even the brownest, driest grass struggled to grow. Trees were naked, like the bones of a corpse, and every corner reeked of piss and dried skin.

The Guild of Shade would surround the brothel, near enough we could call for help should anything go awry inside, but far enough they wouldn’t be suspicious. Some of the inner council—those who’d served in distinguished homes or had lived a more distinguished life—would enter as patrons.

Crispin and a few of his men had once been serfs for noblemen. They’d be the eyes outside the brothel, and it added a bit of relief knowing Frey and Axel would be inside with us.

“I still think you should let me inside,” Ari insisted. “I was once a king after all.”

“Your face was seen too much among those who know Elise,” Brant said.

He kept rubbing his head like it ached but insisted he could not make sense of the magic in his blood tonight. Junie had named him an Alver like her, one who could predict or see visions. I didn’t let on how Brant’s uneasiness added to my own. If something weighed heavy on him, odds were there was danger to be found here tonight.

“We can’t risk anyone recognizing you, Ari,” Tor added.

“I am an illusionist.”

“And will be kept busy enough concealing all the damn fae ears,” Stieg insisted, flicking the sharp points of Casper’s ears.

Ari muttered under his breath but turned away. There was a part of me that shared his disappointment. If Valen could not be at our sides, Ari, Halvar, or Tor were the ones I’d want in his place. But they would not be inside the brothel. They’d remain with the king.

I trusted most of the council but could not shake the unease that continued to ripple over my skin every time too many of them were near.

But at least we had Frey and his brother; they would be loyal.

Valen had been reluctantly convinced to remain by the trees. His temper when it came to his queen reared too fiercely and with too much of his former bloodlust. He was more a liability should he come inside the brothel.

Valen frowned in the back, arms folded over his chest. I gave him a significant look, warning him to stand back. To trust me.

His frown carved deeper lines into his face.

The king had said very little since Halvar and Tor returned from the barter. I’d officially been sold as a pleasure mate to the Bordell brothel. Kari and Siv along with me.

“They did not think my price was fair, but I would not sell my love for anything less,” Halvar had teased Kari.

I’d learned as much about the first knight that he hid much of his disquiet behind witty words and laughter. Still, the way he remained close to Kari I suspected he had the same worries as our king.

“We’re out of time,” Casper insisted. “The meet is within the hour.”

Valen cursed under his breath and cut his way through the group, taking my hand. “I don’t like this.”

“We’re only going to be with the mates.” I flattened a palm over his chest. “And once we replace out what they know, we’ll leave. Be ready to catch us.”

He kissed me, uncaring who was around.

“No cutting out eyes,” I whispered, touching his cheek.

“No promises.” Valen gave a curt nod to Casper who’d drive us to the meet with the Mistress of the House.

Mattis took Siv’s face between his palms, whispering against her lips, careful not to disturb the disguise, then pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It took longer for Halvar to release Kari. He, on the other hand, cared little if her red lips smeared, and devoured her mouth until she laughed and had to shove him away.

“Try not to kill them all,” he called after her. “We may need to question some.”

“That man will ruin me,” she said as we walked away.

“But it will be enjoyable as he does it,” I returned.

Kari grinned, gifting herself a last look. “Very.”

In the back of the cart, I held Siv’s hand on one side, and Kari’s on the other. The wheels seemed to fumble over every notch in the road; each divot bounced us around until my back ached.

“There will be a dominant pleasure mate,” Kari said. “They survive by being popular. Don’t speak to the leader. They will not be helpful; they’ll view us as competition. Go for frightened little pups. Understood?”

Both Siv and I nodded at once.

At the base of the hillside a black coach, lined in three burly men in waistcoats, awaited our arrival.

The center man stroked his long beard and fiddled with a strand of bone beads braided along the ends. He held up a hand for Casper.

“Mistress DeMark will inspect the trade here.”

Casper grunted. He moved like a man with stones in his boots and too many cricks in his back. Better to look feeble and roughly made around folk as this. Dignified traders didn’t spare serfs and warm bodies to brothels tucked in the slums of the kingdom.

With a breathy rasp, he uncoupled the back of the cart, and whistled at the three of us to move.

“Apologies, My Queen,” he whispered as I stumbled out the back of the wagon.

I ignored him and lifted my chin to face the underbelly of my former home.

Until Siv jutted her elbow between my ribs.

“Head down,” she hissed. “You’re nothing here.”

I obeyed, watching the sludge squish between the thin leather straps serving as tattered shoes. When one of the brothel’s men grabbed my arm too forcefully, instinct demanded I shirk him off, perhaps ram the dagger hidden on my thigh through his belly. But I froze. Complied. Truth be told when the door of the brothel coach groaned open, it didn’t take much to tremble with a bit of fear.

The rustle of satin. The reek of too many roses. A smoke-eaten voice. “Let us see what you have purchased, Mikal.”

A woman’s touch—in my experience—had always been gentler than most men. Not the Mistress of Bordell. Her spindly fingers dug into my chin, lifting my gaze. The mistress had red painted cheeks and too much kohl surrounding her sharp, icy blue eyes. Her hair was ratted and piled in old, musty-looking curls atop her head.

She boasted a fine dress, but on a closer inspection there were clear signs that seams had been restitched more than once, and she attempted to hide snags in the fine satin with false gemstones and bone beads.

“Skinny,” she said. “But good teeth and no pocks.”

She went on to inspect Siv and Kari. Siv had her dark hair inspected for sores on her head, Kari was named broad and too strong, to be reserved for large patrons to manhandle.

Halvar would tear out their throats. No mistake, Kari would, should he take too long.

“Good enough,” said the mistress. “Load them. We have appointments.”

Without a backward glance at Casper, we were tossed into the spacious coach and commanded to remain silent.

My heart raced, stirring my blood. I dug my fingernails into the meat of my palms, desperate to hide my disquiet.

We were surrounded by those who loved us.

Valen would swallow the brothel whole should anything go wrong.

This was for Herja. For Etta.

The house came into view. A ramshackle building made of wood and wattle. A tilted roof covered the numerous rooms and great hall where patrons gathered. The coach rounded a long dirt drive and rumbled past the house toward a stable where a few lanterns cast gilded shades over stacks of straw and ragged goats.

“Get out,” the mistress barked. She clacked a wooden rod she pulled from the edge of her seat against my ankle.

I bit down on my cheek to keep from giving her the satisfaction of crying out at the sting and stumbled out of the coach first. Two of the men who’d come to the meet opened the wide doors of the stable, and the third ushered us inside.

The walls were thin and brittle. Too many gaps in the laths welcomed in a harsh north wind. Musty air and dust clogged the back of my throat. At the back of the stable was another room. One man tapped the door, waited two breaths, then opened it to a lighted room with too much flowery perfume.

More than the old stalls, the reek of sweet and rose turned my stomach.

Girls and boys of all designs huddled in a makeshift dressing room of sorts. Tall, plump, bony, broad. The mates who’d seen too much in too short of time slipped into the muted colors of the Bordell Brothel. Their skirts, trousers, and tunics reminded me of a storm rolling in over the sea. Gray and black with a stripe of blue tagging them as property of the mistress.

“In you go,” the man said in a grunt. He nudged Siv between the shoulder blades, waiting until the three of us stepped over the threshold. A few of the pleasure mates glanced our way but said nothing. “Get your coats on. You’ll be viewed within the hour. Should your company be required, you’ll be taken to the main house. No fuss, no protesting.”

And with that, he left. Not another word, simply a door slammed behind him.

“Look at this,” a tall woman facing a cloudy mirror said to her reflection. “Looks like old Mistress DeMark is wasting shim again. I give them two nights.”

“At least a week for the strong one,” said a boy, probably not much younger than me. He was slender, but the curves of muscle on his arms hinted at strength buried underneath the drab tunic he wore.

Together they laughed and returned to preparing for the night.

“Remember,” Kari whispered, “the pups.”

Heart racing, I nodded. My eyes skipped over the two who’d addressed us and studied the others.

Most mates were uninterested. A few took us in, eyes narrowed as if we’d crossed an enemy line. But some cast nervous glances over a shoulder.

One by one, we separated. I drifted through a few pleasure mates whose faces seemed locked in permanent scowls until I reached a girl with golden hair tied in a nest on her head.

She avoided my gaze. Her entire skinny body curled away from me as if she’d rather turn into mist than look my way. Tonight, she wouldn’t have a choice. I cleared my throat and pointed to the kohl rub in her hand. “May I use some when you’re finished?”

Her body shuddered and with a trembling hand, passed the kohl over. “Done.”

“Thank you.” I pretended to line my eyes for a few heartbeats, studying her jerky, stiff movements. She was young, but the weight of life curled her shoulders and sagged in dark pillows beneath her eyes. “How long have you been here?”

The girl flicked her eyes up, regarding me with suspicion before turning back to the stockings she held in her hands. “Lost track.”

She had no interest in talking. Then again, none of the mates had any interest in talking. If Herja were trapped in a place like this, she needed us. Think. Make this work. If we did not signal in time, Valen would make himself known in bloody ways.

“I’ve never been to this side of the kingdom,” I whispered, dabbing some of the kohl around my eyes. “In truth, I thought I’d be taken to one of the exclusive houses. Traders kept talking about places where only the noble folk go.”

I was reaching, but if Kari’s theories were true, Herja would be kept out of sight to the common folk.

The girl wrinkled her brow. “What’s so special about you?”

“Nothing. Just what I heard. Guess they changed their minds.” I closed the top on the kohl and handed the jar back. “You ever see any of those houses?”

She blew out her lips. “What’s so special about me that I’d see those?”

“I wasn’t sure they existed.”

The girl shrugged. “Castle Ravenspire has exclusive houses. From what I hear, mates eat better. Even get to wear what they want.”

This was all ugly, but I needed to adopt an indifference the same as all the mates. A way to survive perhaps. I forced a laugh. “Hells, what would a girl need to do to get in there?” A grin teased the girl’s mouth. She shook her head, more at ease, but didn’t answer. She needed a bit more of a push. “You ever know anyone who got out of a place like this and made it to the top?”

“Why you asking so many questions?” she snapped. “Did I look like I needed to gossip?”

“Sorry.” I cowered as if she’d bitten me. “I’m new to all this. Had to be sold when my master’s house burned by all the uprisings from the Night Prince.”

Another stretch, but I never pretended to be good at lying.

Still, I must’ve said something right because her eyes widened; her voice lowered to a low rasp. “He’s real?”

Did folk not believe Valen was real? He’d made his name known in front of all the nobility of Ravenspire. He’d been leaving his mark across the kingdom for months since. I leaned in closer. “He’s real.”

A bit of light brightened in her eyes. “I hear things, but they tell us s’not true.”

“It’s true. I saw the armies. He’s going to bring down Ravenspire; he cares about the lesser folk, places like this.”

She snorted. “No one cares about places like this.”

I needed to give her some hope. Squaring my shoulders, I took a different route. “I keep asking about special houses because word has it the Night Prince plans to take one. A special one, with a special pleasure mate. I guess I hoped I’d be there when he came.” Less hope. Be despondent. I let out a long sigh. “Probably doesn’t exist. Such a place, I mean.”

Silence packed between us. Only the sounds of the rest of the pleasure mates readying for their night in the hells surrounded us. Low murmurs rose. Maybe Siv or Kari were having better luck, but I didn’t want to risk looking and breaking this weak connection.

At long last, the girl stepped against my shoulder. She lifted her chin, voice softer than a summer breeze. “It exists.”

“What does? A royal brothel?”

She shook her head. “No. A prize mate. A challenge hidden away that draws the wealthiest of folk from across the kingdoms. They call her the Silent Valkyrie.”

“A gods’ warrior?” How many times had Valen made it clear his sister was deadly with a blade? “Why?”

The girl cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. “To win her you must defeat her. She is a bringer of death. As in Valkyrie sagas, this mate is so formidable she has the power to choose who she will kill and who will take her. Folk pay to win. From what I’ve heard, few ever do.”

“Where is she?” Before I could think, my fingers gripped her arms. I didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but if ever there were a whisper that Herja Ferus might be alive, this Silent Valkyrie had to be it.

The girl retreated, shirking me away.

“Sorry.” I held up my hands. “But if we can get to this place, the Night Prince will come. We could be free.”

“Free.” She laughed with a touch of bitterness. “Freedom doesn’t exist. Not here.”

“With the Night Prince folk will be equal.”

She shook her head, clearly unsure if she should trust me. “Even if it were true, the Valkyrie is not kept at a pleasure house. She is a prize; one kept under guard at an estate.”

“An estate?”

“You think such a game would be wasted by giving power to a mistress? No. Rumor says she’s the property of a high noble. Perhaps the king himself. I don’t know. All I know is the appeal of defeating a woman of the gods has added to a thick purse somewhere.”

A scuffle in the back of the room drew us to turn. My fists clenched. The woman who first addressed us, shoved Kari against the wall. Two young men gripped her arms.

“Who are you?” the pleasure mate snapped. “You’ve asked too many questions. If you think you can come on your first night and take control, then you are sorely mistaken. This is my house.”

Survival. She wants to survive. She’ll devour anyone who gets in her way.

“Wait.” I held up my hands, stopping her from striking Kari in the face. “We’re not here to take anything from you. We’re not here for that.”

The pleasure mate cut me with an icy glare. “You speak as if you have a choice.”

Kari and Siv shook their heads at me, but I could not let these folk stay here. This woman, she behaved like this was her home, but it was based on fear. On desperation. She could be free. They all could.

At my word they would be. Was I queen by name alone, or by action?

“You can leave here tonight,” I said, voice rough. “We can free you all.”

The woman laughed. “They’re mad, and they’ll get us all flayed.”

She made a move for the doors, doubtless to signal for a guard. Murmurs followed her. They were turning on us. Even the girl who’d told me about the Valkyrie backed away.

I would not fail here.

“Listen to me. We have come with the King of Etta, the Night Prince.”

A few gasps met his name, but most looked at me like I’d lost my mind completely.

“We’ve come in search of something, but he is out there,” I said, pointing to one wall. “If you stay with us, you all can escape this place tonight.”

“She’s lying. A test from the mistress to prove our loyalty,” said the tall woman.

“No. Let the mistress bleed for all I care. Do not signal the guards. Let us call our people and we will take you with us to Ruskig.”

“Believe her,” Siv said. “She is Elise Lysander, former niece of the dead Timoran king, now the Queen of Etta.”

Silence had a way of rattling the nerves, of deafening the ears. No one moved. No one bleeding breathed.

The woman, who I took as the head mate, shook her head. “Mad. You’re mad.”

She said the words, but there was less venom in her tone. Buried somewhere in each word lived the slightest bit of hope.

“No king would send his queen to a pleasure house,” said the boy who’d laughed at us at the beginning.

Siv and Kari grinned.

“Then you do not know Elise, nor the devotion of Valen Ferus to keep his queen satisfied,” said Kari.

“Valen Ferus,” the girl behind me whispered.

“He’s here, and we need to replace this Valkyrie. We believe she is important,” I said, unwilling to give up too much of our plan. “Do you know what manor she is kept in?”

The girl started to shake her head, but all thought, all words died when the door slammed open. One of the mistress’s guards stood in the doorway, grinning viciously. “We have an early request.”

All the pleasure mates stiffened. A few closed their eyes, muttering prayers. But when the man’s gaze turned to me, my insides froze.

He raised a finger, pointing. “You. Timoran. You’ve earned your first patron.”