Chapter Two: Charming Words

Truthfully, there was little as far as things to fetch. Reuben had done his three-fold preparations for the night already—rose oil on his neck and wrists to attract, base oil to loosen himself for penetration, salve oil rubbed up and down the line of his spine to soothe the inevitable pains and aches.

But a little extra preparation never hurt. Reuben tied a small pouch to his beaded belt, stowing two additional items to bring along. First, an extra vial of base oil, in case the client had none and asked for something that would physically injure him without it. Second, a tiny bottle of voleris—a potent, shimmering silver potion that had made the Starlet Eye Bordello famous in the last hundred years—in the instance that the client demanded something Reuben couldn’t mentally bear otherwise.

Only a few tasks remained. First, as he crossed the wide, lavish room to his personal vanity, Reuben checked in the mirror that the waves of his hair remained perfectly situated, as well as the gold dust at the inner and outer corners of his eyes, accenting the gold ring of his otherwise-brown irises. But nothing had had time to get smudged. Quickly Reuben pinned a sheer, beaded veil in place over his head and face so he wouldn’t get stopped by any Zaldian cleric. Last, he grabbed his mother’s ring from the deepest recesses of the vanity drawer.

After sliding the simple band onto his pinky finger, there was nothing else to do but be brave for the sake of gold. For the hope of freedom.

Reuben picked up his violin case, blew out a breath, and turned to leave.

An autumn crow knows, always where to go / A swan needn’t wait, till dancing for its mate, he sang silently to himself while heading back down, lyrics of one of his mother’s favorite folk songs from the heartlands north of Sazzera. It still held some childish comfort after all these years: The phoenix can feel—

Reuben paused at the turn in the wrap-around stairway, noting the infernal woman waiting for him at the base of the stairs. But he forced himself to keep walking. She had her face turned towards the crowd, though it was impossible to know what, if anything, her pupil-less eyes gazed at before she noticed his halted approach.

Reuben gave her a delicate bow, immediately set on repairing her first impression of him. “A gilded blessing to meet you, saer,” he started in a soft, humble voice. “I had no idea I was jeopardizing my own prospects for the night, stepping in front of you like that. My sincerest apologies. Getting in my own way as usual, it seems,” he finished with a small laugh, giving her one of his shy, gentle smiles from under the sheer veil. “You can call me Reubielocks. Or Reubie for short, as you’d like.”

She made an uncomfortable “Hm” sound, this time with no seeming annoyance at least.

Unphased, Reuben continued after a short beat in a slightly more flirtatious tone, “Let me know if I can make it up to you, while you lead me to your master?”

The woman’s neutral expression stiffened at that. She opened her mouth—then shut it, shaking her head and suddenly walking towards the bordello’s main doors. Simply expecting Reuben to follow, it seemed.

Reuben quelled a frown and trailed behind her, adjusting his veil before sending nods and smiles at the bordello patrons crowded around.

The streets around the main ring’s piazza were nearly as packed as the brothel, Reuben noted as he finally made it out. It was a good job his escort towered above most, or else he would have already lost her to the rapid current of pedestrians. Some sort of event, or new celebration, or political happenings that Reuben wasn’t aware of, shut away as he so often was, had to be the culprit. Which also meant he had no chance to question her.

At least, not until they moved west, through stone archways and a labyrinth of lanes, down enough steps to be farther from the main square. By then he’d managed to stay at her heels, and tried his best to ignore the blatantly judgemental looks thrown his way by the people they passed in favor of questioning, “So, may I ask what it’s been like for you, working for this master? Are they a stricter sort?”

The woman frowned tightly and looked at the ground, walking a bit faster.

Not that Reuben minded a fast pace on principle. The official reason for the veil, according to the Gospel of Zald, was to be a shield for clerics, children, and other innocents—though anyone could be influenced to sin just by looking into the eyes of an adulterer, a whore, or a deviant, it was said. In practice, of course, the veil just seemed to be a way of branding them for scorn or forced attention.

Only once had someone thrown a rotting vegetable at Reuben before, but he’d rather not experience it a second time just prior to this important appointment. The smell was terribly hard to get out of one’s clothing.

Reuben waited until they’d turned down a smaller, quieter lane before trying again. “Do you know any Dijheri hand gestures?” he asked around slightly-labored breaths, hoping this might be a way to communicate with her. “I’m not fluent, but I have a friend who’s taught me enough of the basics, and if you’d be more comfortable—”

The woman came to a stop just then, however. Reuben barely avoided running into her on the uneven, unkempt stonework of the older street before he noticed what she had: a sentry guard, patrolling ahead near the main stair that led down to the Hollows. The poorest section of the city, which Reuben only snuck out to visit outside of work hours when he was unveiled and in common attire.

She looked worried for a moment, but only the one, before her face hardened and she took an abrupt left, long legs striding even faster. Reuben had to jog to keep the pace. And no matter the amount of training he did to accommodate his weak spine, the small amount of lean strength Reuben could claim did little for his endurance—not to mention the harsh impact of the stone already putting an ache in his back. He couldn’t match her speed for long.

“Wait!” he called between pants, when all but her tail had disappeared around one of the narrow, winding switchbacks of stairs and streets that made up their alternate path downwards.

She came back into view with a disgruntled expression, though that faded the moment she took in his state.

Reuben tried to hide how fast his chest was moving, adjusting his veil and giving her a weak smile. “A moment, saer,” he huffed, glancing around them. “I don’t like sentry guards either, I just—need to catch my breath.”

It’d been a while since he’d snuck down to this part of the city. Built entirely on a mountainside, sentry guards were stationed to regulate who traveled up, not down the city’s tiered levels. But the ones who guarded the Hollows in particular acted suspicious of everyone save those in clear servant garb, and the occasional Zaldian cleric walking to and from it. And, without the correct token, there would be no traveling back up again.

But why would such a rich client want to meet him in the Hollows?

Sazzera’s old lower levels were free of tall, obscuring structures and arguably offered a better view of the mountains around them—currently a ragged line of snow-capped peaks that ringed the purpling horizon, reflecting the night’s first stars with a ghostly sheen. But the old Hollows themselves had little upkeep compared to the tiers above, much less renovation to reach the same architectural splendor. The impoverished had been left to burrow deeper into the mountain, or otherwise collapse right where they worked in the Ravine mines below, with debtors and criminals beside them.

It was a place Reuben could have ended up, if not for Sidarchus’s generosity—and a reminder of just how important his earnings tonight could be, Reuben thought to himself before pushing away from the old limestone wall. 

“Ready,” he said, before he truly was.

The smell of the Hollows greeted him first, once they descended enough stairs. Thyme bush and mountain lilies gave way to the stink of poverty and worse, a sulfuric stench belching from the chasmic Ravine. Soon enough, they were passing through it: a labyrinth of steep staircases winding their way through the jumbled rows of small, square dwellings which layered on top of each other in honeycomb clusters. A life where the floor of a cave house you stood in was very likely the roof of the people below you, and your own roof helped to form the streets of the level above.

Decrepit and dirty; forgotten places filled with forgettable people. Once, a neighborhood Reuben called home.

The few people out at this hour looked to be just returning from their thankless work in the Ravine, all of them soot-smudged, hollow-faced, and raggedly clothed. Most had their eyes down—but the few who kept their chins raised followed Reuben with open, disbelieving stares.

In this case, Reuben didn’t need any music to know the looks he received had more to do with the silk chiffon and decorative beads adorning his body than any self-righteous piety. Perhaps for that reason, he found them much harder to ignore.

To his relief, soon after the woman led him one more level down she stopped, glanced around them, then ducked her head to enter the next arched cave entrance. Reuben hesitated only a moment before walking in after her, squinting in the dark as he took a few careful steps forward.

He smelled the animals stalled in the carved-out room even before his elvish eyes quickly adjusted enough to see them: swine, a mule, a chicken coop. But Reuben had no time to further assess the sight or glean any context before the infernal woman had fetched and lit a lantern, heading deeper into the room’s shadows before crouching through another of many doorways that led further under the mountain.

The second, narrower room seemed like a little living situation, with a bed, cooking area, and table, where Reuben noted strange playing cards had been abandoned in a haphazard pattern. But they passed all of it by to go through the next open doorway, into an even smaller space filled with storage shelves and crates.

Reuben’s delicate sleeve caught on the scratchy side of one of them, nearly ripping it as he gingerly edged through the narrow walkway. And all the while, he couldn’t help but wonder yet again what would make a customer—particularly one with such deep pockets—deign to step foot in this humble place.

“Is this a, uh . . . short detour, of some kind?” Reuben couldn’t help but question once he’d pulled his sleeve free.

Her continuing silence in response felt more ominous, this time.

Then, at the back of the dark storage room, the woman stopped once more. Large wooden shelves stood against the limestone wall in front of them, littered with dusty boxes and things draped in sheets which Reuben couldn’t identify further in this dim. He did spot the small, concealed button on the furniture’s side which his guide reached to press—but took a surprised step backward as the wooden shelves made a sudden groaning, clicking sound, and slowly began to part straight down the middle.

In the space they left, an innocuous, arched wooden door led even further under the city.

Reuben’s mind chose now to remind him of all the superstition and rumors of what infested the deepest parts of the Hollows over the centuries. Criminals, witches who practiced devilcraft, and various monsters of the corrupted, undead, and interplanar variety. Most of it was false—but not all.

Just how private did this customer need to be? And, most worrisome, why?

Reuben didn’t like any of his guesses.

As the woman moved toward the door, he had to ask, “Is it much further?”

She at least acknowledged the question with a shake of her head, before opening the door. Nodding at it while she stepped aside.

Reuben stiffened with surprise, suddenly understanding. “Not much further at all,” he recovered with a forced laugh, trying to peer into the candlelit room beyond before he took a hesitant step forward.

But hesitance wouldn’t do—it wasn’t what anyone paid a whore for.

So Reuben quickly took off his veil, tied it to dangle from the side of his beaded belt, and adjusted his hair one last time. Nothing more, before he made his next few strides slow but confident walking into the unknown.

This room was better lit and larger than the stables and personal quarters before it combined, Reuben noted as he walked in. Its tall limestone walls had been entirely hidden, draped in alternating cream and cobalt-dyed curtains, the space normally cluttered with all the necessities of an impoverished family filled instead with finely-carved oak furniture.

And there, writing at a candlelit desk positioned across from a large, perfectly-made bed, sat a man.

The quill he held paused over the parchment, his posture straightening as he half-turned to face Reuben. Who put on his prettiest, demurest of smiles in response. Reuben immediately set aside his surveillance of the room, eyes flashing over his new customer’s features and demeanor instead. Quickly profiling, as he always did, who exactly he would be entertaining for the rest of the night.

Round ears, dark messy hair, and a standard if rather pale complexion gave the man a human appearance from what Reuben knew, though full humans were so uncommon in this city that he only had Isolde to compare with. A few slight lines on the man’s face marked at least three decades of life, while the purplish circles under his dark green eyes betrayed a deeper sort of exhaustion.

“Welcome, saer,” he said in a low tone that carried a similar weariness, giving Reuben a formal nod as he set down his quill.

Unlike the perfect, expensive furnishings around him, he wore a long, drab leather coat over a white shirt, the coat’s collar high and stiff as if well-made, though its edges were ragged and scuffed with mud. A large metal scabbard peeked from the coat, as if he hadn’t had either the time or care to remove his sword belt before sitting to write. Thick, tensed shoulders and scarred hands promised he knew how to use the weapon. A stiff mouth and hard expression promised that he had used it, more times than he could count.

Handsome, but in an unkempt sort of way, Reuben concluded—much more importantly, still a potential danger.

Reuben heard the woman shutting the door behind him, and knew his chance to turn around and never find out had just ended.

For now he didn’t move any closer. Only bowed briefly and adjusted his stance, taking up as little space in the room as possible. Then Reuben looked down at the ground, idly running fingers through the waved locks of hair that fell down his chest before he started, “The pleasure is certainly mine,” showing none of the wariness he felt. Intentionally widening his smile, as he glanced up through his eyelashes and added, “Though, no need for any formalities with me. They call me Reubielocks, or Reubie if you’d like, my good saer.”

“Reubie,” the man repeated slowly, as if testing the word in his mouth. Then he gave Reuben a stiff, unpracticed smile, replying, “I am rusty in formalities myself.” His dark eyes were scrutinizing as they looked up and down Reuben’s person, a sharp curiosity in his gaze. Whatever he saw—past an elvish whore draped in a lewd ensemble of sheer finery, Reuben thought—he seemed to have little opinion of, one way or the other. “Call me Everic,” he finished, before standing and taking off the long, dirty coat that he then draped over his chair.

The gesture calmed Reuben, at least. He always privately felt it a more comfortable experience, when his customers somewhat matched his own state of dress or undress.

Time would tell if that equality continued for the rest of the night, of course.

Now that he was standing Reuben took the likely-human in further—a bit taller than him and built like a soldier, he was unsurprised to see, though if true he wondered which part of Sazzera’s military this Everic had fought for and if it was still his profession. Nothing but a few skirmishes had occurred in the past few decades, but given the last century of watching the far-off empire of Loeth take over more and more of the heartlands, Sazzeran soldiers were trained as if that could always change.

Besides that, he seemed strangely stiff in demeanor, to a distracting degree. Or better put, still. As if the man had mastered how to breathe without moving a muscle.

Reuben was well-practiced in relaxing people, luckily. He walked further into the room after setting his violin case by the door, stopping only a pace away from Everic to trace a finger along the top of his chair. “It’s been a long time since I was called for out of my own chambers like this,” he murmured, playing at vulnerability now. “I’m afraid I may need a bit of . . . guidance, to best be of service to you, Everic.”

He watched to see how his words affected the man, though Everic’s expression changed frustratingly little. Only his dark brows knit together, before he replied in a serious tone, “And I thank you for coming.” His words stayed short and formal—as if giving a report, not conversing with a prostitute—as he continued, “I appreciate this is not an area of the city most would care to venture down.”

And he had some manners. Reuben gave the man a few points for the gratitude, contrived or not. Perhaps he’d just found himself a quaint, touch-starved recluse, he hoped.

Reuben took a small step closer, grinning more freely as he gestured about them and remarked, “On the contrary, it’s a cozy little oasis you have down here. I admit, when your bodyguard—”

“—friend,” the man corrected rather firmly.

Reuben kept smiling, though he silently knocked off a point for the rude interruption as he recovered, “—of course, saer, forgive me—when your friend led me into the Hollows . . . well, I didn’t know what to imagine. A quick tryst in a back alley, or an assassination, maybe,” he chuckled. Then nodded at the room and furnishings while finishing, “But I daresay, save the lack of natural light, this place seems far more comfortable than my own chambers.”

His client seemed to specifically tense when Reuben looked in the direction of the desk. Everic moved to it quickly, gathering up the half-written parchment and tucking it under some books while asking in a half-distracted voice, “Do you have enemies, then, to fear an assassination attempt from?”

A private customer indeed. But luckily for this man, Reuben had neither aspirations nor stupidity enough to pry into his clients’ lives.

He waved a hand in dismissal, leaning against the chair and angling his body, both to direct his gaze away from the desk and to show his form off better. Then he took a calculated step forward, revealing a bare leg through the high slit of his silk wrap.

Reuben had grown especially good at spotting the telltale signs of lust, over the last few decades. The human paused and watched the display with only small signs of it, but at last they were there: slightly wider eyes before his gaze flicked away; a small tick to his jaw.

“Oh, nothing so dramatic,” Reuben teased, meanwhile. Almost assured now he had found himself a reclusive sword-for-hire with an inheritance of some kind to waste, not another powerful, controlling sadist. “Just the occasional client with enemies. You don’t live such an exciting life, do you, Everic?”

Reuben felt an uncommon amount of satisfaction, when the words finally cracked a true half-smile on Everic’s stern face and their eyes met again. “Me?” he said in a dry voice. “Oh, I try to be as boring as possible.”

An ungraceful, if endearing, dodge of the question, Reuben noted. “Though what is life without a bit of danger,” he mused, playful while also trying to assure the man. If the reason for offering 1,000 gold was to compensate for a more dangerous lifestyle . . . well, there were much worse things Reuben had and would risk. “Too often I’m the most titillating factor in someone’s life,” he chuckled. “It’s always a nice change of pace, to be the mundane thing.”

Some of his clients lived well, just not wealthy enough to dwell in High Ring or take on a full-time concubine. They had little to engage Reuben in conversation about that didn’t involve going to yet another low-born parlor party or trying out a new style of buttons.

It wasn’t always fun to take on a more dangerous client instead, however. Speaking of powerful, murderous sadists: his old customer Waron had been attacked in the bordello once, after Reuben had already been tied to the bedposts. Luckily, Waron was quick to overpower the would-be-assassin. But instead of calling for bordello security or the piazza sentry, he’d taken out his large, dark-hued blade, repeatedly stabbed her abdomen with it, then stalked out without another word. Leaving Reuben tied there with her gutted body on the floor for hours until Isolde checked in on him—while the wound from the woman’s belly bled out a terrifying, necrotic black ichor that ate into the flooring.

It was the only time Reuben had seen a dead body since his mother’s—though it didn’t feature in his nightmares as often as other, worse experiences with that client.

He blinked now, realizing they’d fallen into silence a few moments longer than he’d meant to allow. “Have I run my mouth long enough?” Reuben said with a small laugh. Then he toned his voice into something velvet and entreating, stepping even closer. Reaching a hand to gently stroke over Everic’s remarkably-still chest as he murmured, “Is there something else you’d rather it was busy with?”

Everic’s face immediately hardened, his ribcage finally moving around a visible, sharp inhale. “Did you not read the letter?” he asked, taking a step back. Reuben’s hand was left hovering in the air between them.

Reuben let his arm drop, swallowing down a bolt of frustration. He hadn’t thought this appointment would be easy, of course—but it was shaping up to be a kind of difficult he hadn’t expected. “Oh, was that meant for my eyes, then?” he said, making sure to lower his voice down to something worried and hesitant. “My apologies, saer, if I have come unprepared—”

“And Bev explained nothing further?” Everic pressed, his dark brows pulling low over his eyes.

Reuben tried not to grimace. “Bev, was it? I didn’t have the pleasure. Was she the one meant to give instruction?” He wasn’t aware the infernal woman could or liked to speak at all, frankly, though he kept that part to himself.

“You’re completely uninformed, then,” Everic declared instead of answering, shaking his head. Clearly frustrated as he paced to his desk and back, though at least not with any limbs swinging quite yet.

Reuben blew out a slow, silent breath and tried another time to entreat, “Whatever error has been made, saer, I take full responsibility,” regardless of his complete ignorance. Reuben wondered if he was partially to blame for getting in Bev’s way in line, and that her silence was her repayment for his initial disregard of her. “I would wish to rectify it now, if only you’d allow—”

“Stop, just—stop. Please sit, and I will explain,” Everic interrupted yet again, though the rudeness was counterbalanced somewhat by the “please” and the fact he’d only slightly raised his voice, not shouted. Reuben didn’t think he’d care to ever hear what that sounded like from the imposing man.

Then Reuben realized where Everic was pointing for him to sit, and felt his entire body relax.

He made sure to flash Everic a sweet, pleased smile as he obeyed and moved towards the bed, meanwhile undoing the beaded cord at his waist that had cinched his loose wrap of silk into place. The mattress was soft but firm under him, Reuben noted as he sat, clearly of the same high quality and make as the rest of the furnishings. He found himself wondering a bit further at this man’s current circumstances to have not only such coin on hand, but cantergold, and yet hide away in the lowest parts of the Hollows’ clustered dwellings.

His thoughts shifted away from idle musing, however, when Reuben realized his customer still wasn’t joining him at the bed like he’d expected. Instead, Everic had moved towards the door, and was now pulling out a key from an inner pocket—turning it in the lock with a decisive click.

For the first time since entering the room, Reuben felt true unease. “Worried about an interruption all the way down here?” he said around a hesitant laugh.

The human didn’t grow tight with the anticipatory attention of an attack, at least. And why would anyone pay 500 gold just to get Reuben here and kill him? No whore was so valuable as that, he reasoned with himself.  

Then again, he hadn’t been stupid enough to hope this Everic would pay such a price just for sex. Apparently it was time to find out just what the cost would be.

Reuben might actually need to use the bottle of voleris during this appointment, he thought, if the mere explanation of Everic’s desires was expected to send Reuben running. For now, he just gripped the bedsheets a bit harder and pasted on a smile. “No need to worry, saer. I’m all bought and paid for, whatever you should desire,” he pointed out—even whilst eyeing where he’d placed his violin case near the door, the best conduit for all the strong, defensive magic he knew.

Everic ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it further, and sighed. Muttering to himself, just loud enough for Reuben’s pointed ears to catch, “This had better work, Jophiel.”

Then Reuben’s stomach flooded with a cold dread.

Reuben prided himself in reading people and their intentions well, but he’d made plenty of mistakes along the way. One instance in particular took over: a dark, too-vivid memory drowning his senses, tightening like a chain around his lungs, suddenly holding his entire mind hostage:

“My closest friends call me Jophiel,” the voice whispered, smooth as silk in his ear—later dark and menacing as it spoke in a sharp, arcane-laced tongue, while her body rocked above him—ignoring his protests, pinning his arms, binding his tongue as a strange, searing magic spasmed through his body—

“You’re with her,” he gasped, jumping to his feet.

There were worse things than Waron out there. Especially if she was back in the city.

And apparently one night of terror and torment hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t a common name, but beyond that Reuben had no justification as to why he immediately knew it was the Jophiel he’d once met—just intuition.

But the insidious presence in the crowd tonight . . . it had to have been hers.

Reuben was breathing too loud, too disoriented by the awful flashbacks to manage a few lyrics of the complicated Charming Words spell and immediately get himself out of here. Singing a mundane Friendship song would be easier without his violin, even in his panic—but the charm didn’t last long, and had the tendency to make people even more aggressive once it ended. Reuben knew better than to sing it to a strong, armed man who could easily run him down before he made it out of the tunneled dwelling. And that was assuming he could make it past the hidden door and Everic’s loyal, large infernal friend likely behind it.

His violin was much easier to channel magic through, but Everic stood immediately between it and Reuben now.

No, Reuben would have to disarm the man with much more subtlety—if he could only get his panic restrained.

Everic looked uneasy, yet unsurprised at Reuben’s abrupt reaction. “You know Jophiel,” he replied.

So Everic knew there was a connection. Had this just been some elaborate plot to allow her to experiment on Reuben again after over a year? If so, why him?

Reuben edged along the side of the bed, angling slowly towards the locked door and regulating his breathing before he spoke in a much quieter, entreating tone: “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to know her, saer. Our one evening together was quite enough, I assure you; you seem like a fine person, but I’d rather have nothing to do with her or her friends, so—so I think it best if I leave now, saer, and just get your money returned to you—”

“I’m not her friend—” Everic cut in, and suddenly Reuben couldn’t keep the facade up.

“Who are you, then?” he shot back, all traces of kindness and timidness leached from his tone as he reached the bedpost. It was hard to remember the last time he’d spoken so harshly; Reuben’s own ears rang with the grating, shrill sound of his voice while he demanded further, “It was her at the bordello tonight, I’m sure—why bring me all the way here?“

“This has nothing to do with her,” Everic pressed instead of answering.

“Zaldus wept,” Reuben cursed with a shaky scoff, not believing a word, “if she thinks she can send someone else to finish the job—”

“Wait. Just listen a moment,” Everic interrupted yet again, this time taking an entreating step forward.

Reuben instinctively moved backward, and swallowed down a wince as his back hit the post behind him, a sharper twinge than usual lancing through every nerve of his spine. But that was still the least of his troubles. He knew better than anyone, how much trust it cost to listen—how much power simple words could actually weave.

But Everic didn’t launch into an explanation, or worse, an incantation. He just waited in silence for Reuben to answer. Nor could Reuben’s usually-uncanny intuition sense any ill intent from the man, even now.

“Then explain,” Reuben demanded, entirely abandoning any careful inflection.

The human didn’t seem to be thrown off by the change. “Thank you,” Everic sighed. His shoulders stayed stiff, his spine straight—but the lines on his face softened somewhat, as he took a breath and started, “My name is Everic Payne, and I only arrived quite recently in the city. While I’ve known Jophiel for many years, she would not be involved in this agreement between you and I; she only recommended I hire you. I don’t know what transpired between you two before, but I promise this is nothing personal. Nothing . . . intimate,” he gestured at Reuben’s whole person.

Reuben wondered if initiating some dark rite that sent his body into a minute-long seizure counted as ‘intimate’ or not.

“What plans have you, then?” he asked, no less wary. “Does my willingness factor at all into them?”

If Everic side-stepped the question, Reuben now had Charming Words ready to sing: Mellifluous, diaphanous / Illustrious, euphonious, the beginning lyrics started already in his head. And if that failed, he’d follow it up with a more powerful Suggest incantation before this stranger could take a step closer.

For all that Reuben had been reduced to a simple whore for coin, he wasn’t like his mother in every respect. He wouldn’t go through the pain of that night ever again—no matter how much gold was thrown at him.

But Everic looked upset by the question, as if Reuben shouldn’t need to ask. “Your willingness is required,” the other man answered with a deep frown.

Despite it all, Reuben still felt none of the dark malice he had earlier this night. Begrudgingly, he even found himself starting to calm a bit, hoping Everic might be persuadable to let him go.

Or at least, right up until Everic spoke the next words.

“I don’t want your body . . . well, not in that sense, anyway.” His eyes, suddenly so dark the irises seemed to match the pupils, flickered to stare intently at Reuben’s neck as he finished, “Just your blood.”

 

© 2025 Imogen Pyre

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