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Madame Quaan halted abruptly, turning to glare into the siren’s face, as if trying to detect insubordination.

The madame’s eyes were sharp and hard, like flint. Riella realized Madame Quaan was trying to intimidate her, which made her want to cackle. She could’ve thrown Madame Quaan through the ceiling if she felt so inclined.

But her mirth quickly subsided when she remembered that humans had more ways to hurt and coerce people than sheer force. The women of the house surely feared Madame Quaan for good reason. Riella would need to keep her wits about her and take nothing for granted.

The other women in the hallway averted their eyes as Riella and Madame Quaan came near, as if not wanting to draw the attention and seemingly inevitable ire of their boss.

“Do you know how to please a man?” demanded Madame Quaan in an imperious tone.

“It’s a man,” blurted out Riella. “How difficult can it be?”

Annoyance soured the madame’s features, but only for a second, after which she sniffed in a manner that could almost be mistaken for amusement.

“Be warned, siren, that if you fail to entertain Count Zemora to his satisfaction, I’ll send in Odeya and Sehild, both of whom are far more delicate in disposition than you are, and therefore less suited to his particular proclivities.”

Riella’s stomach clenched. What did the Count expect of her, exactly? Whatever ghastly perversion he enjoyed, she vowed to protect her new friends from him.

Before she could demand elaboration from the older woman, Madame Quaan stopped at a door and tapped on it. A pair of bodyguards in nondescript brown clothing stood at attention on either side of the door, swords on their hips. They were immobile except for their eyes feasting on the bodies of every woman who passed.

“Yes!” called a man from inside the room.

Madame Quaan stepped back and jerked her head at Riella, indicating she should enter.

For some reason, the siren had not reckoned on going in alone. She thought Madame Quaan would introduce her to the Count. Apparently, she was on her own already.

Bracing herself for strangeness or violence or some ugly combination of both, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

Count Zemora was younger and better-looking than she had expected.

He posed by the vanity, a crystal glass full of amber liquid in his hand and his nose in the air. Dressed in luxurious maroon brocade trousers and jacket, with a white ruffle at the chest, he resembled an exotic, slightly ridiculous bird.

His brown hair was meticulously styled and his pale face was freshly shaven. A rather beaky nose complemented his large brown eyes and prominent cheekbones. He wore heavy gold jewelry beset with gems.

At the sight of Riella, he gasped, his eyes widening and traveling the length of her body. “My dear, I am afraid Madame Quaan lied to me.” He placed his drink on the vanity and moved toward her, slowly and at an angle. “When she said she had a siren for me, I was delighted and intrigued. She declared you pleasing to the eye. But you are, in fact, far more glorious than she led me to believe.”

As he came within striking distance of her, she fought the desire to, in fact, strike him.

Instead, she swept the room with her eyes, trying to formulate a plan. There were no windows, and candles in sconces lit the room. The only furniture was a four-poster bed in pale wood with black silk linens. A flat pewter box sat on the vanity, piquing her interest. The Count was clearly wealthy—he would definitely have coin with him. Was it in the box? His pockets? With his guards?

“What’s your name, my dear?” asked the Count, reaching to touch her hair, which was like spun silk after being washed in fresh water.

Without thinking, she smacked his hand before his fingertips could reach her.

He stared at her in shock, his mouth a perfectly round ‘O’. Riella winced inwardly. The Count was a member of the Royal Court. He’d expect deference and licentiousness from everyone he came into contact with—especially someone he was paying for. It’d taken her exactly fifteen seconds to land herself in trouble.

Would he call for his bodyguards, or Madame Quaan? Riella knew she should apologize, and try to smooth things over. While she was prepared to punch and kick her way out of here, it’d be better to rob the Count and Madame Quaan with relative stealth. Less dangerous for her friends, too, who might get caught up in the violence.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to say sorry. The words refused to leave her mouth. To give an unwarranted apology was too much of a betrayal of herself.

A siren could only take so much. Which was very little at all, it turned out.

Well, he wanted a siren. Everyone knew they were vicious and unforgiving. What had he expected?

Zemora blinked several times, before spluttering in delight.

“Oh, you are lovely. You are too perfect.” He clapped his hands. “Now what?” he asked, looking at her keenly.

Riella blinked in confusion. Was he serious? What now, indeed.