Page 6 of Maneater

Gadriel was still sleeping soundly.

I glanced toward the sky, dawn was still chimes away. There’s still time, I thought.

He wouldn’t send me away just yet. His arm remained curled around me, holding me close. I shifted slightly, hoping to stir him, but instead, he only tightened his embrace. Carefully, I eased one shoulder free from under his arm and reached for his face, brushing my thumb gently along his cheek.

The touch made him stir. His eyes fluttered open.

“Odessa,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Then his eyes widened, his body tensing as he scanned the room. His gaze dropped to where I lay beside him, and I smiled as realization set in that he’d fallen asleep.

Slowly, his expression softened.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Not long. It’s still nightfall.”

Gadriel rubbed his eyes between a thumb and forefinger. “I see,” he said. “You’re free to return to your chambers now.”

I hesitated, watching him. “Could I have just a few more minutes?”

His eyes softened. “Alright. Just a few more.”

Over time, Gadriel had started sharing things with me after service, details he likely assumed wouldn’t matter.

I doubted he saw the value a consort or courtesan might find in them.

In his eyes, we were passive, agreeable, dolls placed conveniently into his life.

That assumption only deepened my resentment.

But I never shied from testing boundaries.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” I said lightly. “I can see it in your eyes.”

He gave a half-shrug. “Well enough.”

“I still worry about you, Gadriel.”

He sighed. “The royal advisors are getting restless. That’s all.”

“Restless?” I echoed. “In what way?”

Gadriel shook his head. “These are conversations meant for men. It’s not something you’d understand. And it’s not your concern.”

“I could try,” I said, sitting up just slightly, just enough to seem earnest. Interested, but not intrusive.

“Very well.” He studied me with something like pity. “There are political affairs I’ve been tasked with. My father wants me to oversee the next treaty between Hyrall and a distant kingdom. He’ll remain here to handle other urgent matters. The advisors aren’t convinced I can manage it alone.”

“Of course you can,” I said, with quiet reassurance. “You’re the prince of Hyrall. This is what you were born to do.”

Gadriel’s lips thinned. “Change is difficult for them, especially when it comes to a shift in power within the monarchy. And I haven’t proven myself yet.”

“Oh.” I let my voice falter just enough. “I understand.”

He turned to face me more fully, his stare tightening. “You’ve changed so much since I first brought you here.”

Since I was taken , I wanted to say.

“Do you remember our first night together, Odessa?”

“I do.”

Nothing could ever make me forget it.

On the night I was dragged to Castle Hyrall, I was served a hot meal, then stripped and bathed by a terse handmaiden. My hair was combed and trimmed with little care, and any unwanted hair was removed before I was handed a sheer night shift to wear.

None of my questions were answered. My anxiety was ignored.

The handmaiden left me alone in what I assumed was now my quarters.

Not long after, a knock sounded at the door.

A scroll tied with a crimson tassel and a ribbon-wrapped box were delivered in silence.

The scroll outlined the expectations of my new role.

The box held a gold chain, meant to be worn around my waist.

Gilded shackles disguised as a golden accessory.

I read the scroll once. Then again. A third time. When I could no longer delay, I did as instructed. I fastened the chain around my waist and clipped the crimson tassel to the rung by my right hip. Composing myself, I walked to the door and knocked.

A young guard, not much older than me, unlocked it and stood waiting just outside.

My confusion faded quickly when I saw another courtesan step from the chamber across the hall. Then another. And another.

They were all breathtaking.

That was my first reaction when I saw the three other maidens.

Their silk robes shimmered with gemstones that caught the light in dazzling hues.

I looked down at my plain, lackluster shift and felt the blood drain from my face.

The only thing we shared were the gold chains at our waists and the crimson tassels clipped at our hips.

We were led down a long corridor by our assigned guards, though the moment felt less like an escorted affair and more like a marching order.

Still, despite the nerves gnawing at me, I kept my chin high as we approached a set of twin doors.

One by one, we were guided inside. The others entered with ease, their practiced smiles lighting their faces.

I remained neutral, silent.

We stood in stillness for what felt like an eternity, until a deep voice echoed through the room, calling four names.

“Leya.”

“Rosette.”

“Imogen.”

“Odessa.”

The courtesan I assumed to be Leya moved toward the chamber at the end of the hall, followed closely by Rosette, then Imogen, leaving me to trail behind. While the other three walked with purposeful grace and swaying hips, I moved like I was carved from stone.

We entered the chamber in that order, and I hesitated, momentarily stunned by the luxury before me. Gilded moldings, a blazing hearth, and silks richer than anything I’d ever seen, everything shimmered with wealth.

That pause cost me.

By the time I regained my senses, the other courtesans had already dropped into deep curtsies, their heads bowed in practiced deference. I followed their example, but too late.

I glanced up, just once, and met the prince’s eyes.

His expression gave nothing away.

Heat surged into my cheeks as I quickly dropped into my best curtsy, bowing low. The chamber was silent, save for the gentle crackle of firewood. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, loud enough to drown everything else.

It felt like a dream. Not the kind wrapped in softness or wonder, no, this was the kind where your feet wouldn’t move and your voice couldn’t rise. If someone had pinched the soft flesh beneath my arm, I was certain I would’ve woken from the nightmare.

But reality anchored itself the moment the prince gave his command.

Without hesitation, Leya, Rosette, and Imogen moved.

They slipped from their statuesque stillness like dancers freed from glass cases.

Leya glided to the prince’s side, her kisses light as breath against his arm.

Rosette began a slow, sinuous dance, her hands sweeping over her curves as she loosened the ties of her robe.

Imogen, poised and silent, climbed onto the bed with feline precision, her fingers working at the prince’s garments with a fluency earned from repetition.

All the while, I stood motionless, my feet rooted to the floor.

The prince’s hands roamed freely, indulging the courtesans’ practiced touches and brazen expressions.

Imogen had nearly finished undressing him, revealing a physique that was lean, muscular, and unashamedly displayed.

Rosette straddled him, fingers tangled in his tousled auburn hair, her robe slipping from her shoulders.

One of his hands held her waist; the other gripped her backside with an intimacy that was far from performative.

At his feet, Leya had lowered herself, her lips tracing the inside of his thigh.

As Rosette bent to kiss his throat, the prince’s attention snapped to me, his face darkening with disappointment. Then, without warning, he sat upright.

The motion startled Leya, and Rosette let out a small cry as she lost her balance, her robe falling open completely. Seated tall, the prince’s eyes bore down on me.

My throat tightened as I shifted, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Stop.”

The single word cracked through the room. The three courtesans froze, straightening beside the bed like reprimanded statues.

“Leya. Rosette. Imogen. Leave us.”

Their expressions faltered in disbelief.

“Your Highness?” Leya asked, her voice uncertain.

“I said leave.” His voice was sharper now. “You three are dismissed. ”

Still they hesitated, the silence swelling between us.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” they echoed at last, hurriedly gathering their silks and retreating with lowered heads.

The prince of Hyrall rose from his bed and fixed his cold stare on me.

He made no move to conceal himself as he circled the mattress, each step slow.

I kept my eyes low, the floor steadying me more than pride.

Without a word, he pulled on his discarded trousers and fastened them, then crossed the room to a nearby table.

He poured himself a goblet of deep red wine, raised it to his lips, and drained it in a single swallow.

Only then did he turn back to face me.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him tilt his head, watching me closely. His silence stretched heavily, and I braced for a reprimand.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, the words clumsy as they slipped out.

His voice cut through the air. “Your Highness.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You will address me as Your Highness .”

“Oh, right.” I recovered quickly. “Your Highness.”

He gave a quiet click of his tongue, as if disappointed, then spoke with measured disdain. “Given your upbringing, I suppose refinement was too much to expect. The past has a way of clinging.”

My cheeks burned, but I didn’t flinch. His words were meant to sting, and they did.

“But don’t worry,” he added coolly. “It will be corrected.”

I gave a curt nod, jaw tight.

His tone was mild, but calculated. “I don’t want to frighten you, Odessa. That’s never been my aim. I have little patience for women who cower. Those who learn to take pleasure in this arrangement tend to make far more agreeable companions.”

I parted my lips to respond but no words came .

“When I saw you that day on the outskirts,” he continued, “I felt a pull. An urge to know you. To taste what had not yet been touched.”