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Four

Charon left the House of Onyx, seeking the pale afternoon sunlight.

The dark wallpaper inside the house was too stifling, the walls too narrow.

He thought he could feel Yves’ footsteps from the third floor alone.

Charon crossed the street to one of the public eating houses lining the Pleasure District, and he leaned against the bar while a group of courtesans from the House of Silver waited in line ahead of him.

“She just left,” one of them said. “No warning. A note on her bed and everything. Debt half-paid. They’ll have to send the bill to her family if she doesn’t show up soon.”

“I know it’s hard,” another courtesan said, “but you can’t just give up.”

“Well, we can’t all be Yves.”

The other courtesans groaned.

“Oh, let’s find a husband!” the first courtesan said. “Don’t worry, I’ll just pick from the wealthiest fucking clients in Duciel!”

“He isn’t even that interesting. What’s his angle, being a brat? You can find brats anywhere.”

“He’s shameless, honey, that’s what it is. Some of us have standards, and he doesn’t. People are drawn to that.”

“Well, I think…” The speaker trailed off as the group slowly realized Charon was standing behind them. Looks of panic shot through them, and Charon held their gazes, refusing to let them look away.

“I think Yves is clever and ambitious.” A tall man with dark brown hair and an expensive blue jacket stopped before them, a hand in one pocket.

He smiled pleasantly at Charon, but his eyes were sharp and discerning.

“They’re both good qualities to have in a husband, I’d say.

You must be Charon. Lord Theobold Marteau, at your service. ”

The courtesans from the House of Silver eyed Lord Marteau hungrily as Charon took his hand. “I received your card.”

“And didn’t reply. Not that I blame you.

You can never be too careful. People are descending on the House of Onyx like a pack of vultures these days.

” Lord Marteau looked around Charon at the kitchen behind him.

“This is hardly suitable for a man of your caliber. I have tea waiting at home, if you’re so inclined. ”

Charon was not inclined to go anywhere with a man who looked like his every movement was a careful pose for an audience’s benefit, but he was curious to know what Lord Marteau wanted.

He was one of Yves’ wealthier suitors, and his family holdings were near one of Staria’s harbors bordering Diabolos.

Rumor had it that he’d tried his hand at piracy for a time—a trend among young nobles who lived by the sea—but he’d returned home as soon as it proved less profitable than renting land to farmers.

He still dressed like a would-be pirate, with bold, elaborate designs on his jacket and gold rings glittering on his fingers.

The jewels and frippery might lure Yves in for a time, but if Lord Marteau had no other appeal, he’d have no chance at claiming Yves’ hand.

“I accept,” Charon said. The courtesans watching him started whispering as soon as Charon stepped away, and Lord Marteau smiled back at them.

“Like hens, aren’t they?” He gestured to a large black carriage waiting by the street—another deliberate choice. Most dominant nobles entered carriages first, but by waiting, Lord Marteau was signaling that he viewed Charon as an equal.

“Does the gossip in the pleasure houses cause trouble?” Lord Marteau asked as he entered the carriage. He tapped the door after he closed it, and the driver urged the horses forward. “You’d think it would sow resentment if courtesans are allowed to speak to those from other houses.”

Allowed, Charon thought. For all that Marteau tried to seem friendly and easygoing, some noble biases were hard to overcome. “Restricting them would be worse.”

“I’m sure. I wondered if that might be why Yves seems so eager to leave. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live in one house with all those people.” He flashed Charon a warm smile. “I was an only child, you see.”

The Marteau home in Duciel was only a block from Sabre de Valois’ estate, and it was as bright and gaudy as its lord.

The curtains were all red, gold, and silver, the garden was a riot of color, and the shutters and doors were all open as servants hung washing out to dry and pruned flowers.

Lord Marteau stepped out of the carriage and waved one of the servants over.

“Hello, Jaz. I’ll have a guest in the Emerald Parlor for tea today, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“No, it’s no trouble.” Jaz looked up and away, the sign of a liar. Tea in a noble house likely involved more than a few minutes with a kettle and a look into the larder. Charon nodded to her as she passed, but she already had her head down.

“I admit I have invited you here for selfish reasons,” Lord Marteau said, waltzing through the open front door as servants scampered around him. “You see, I plan on marrying Yves soon.”

“If Yves agrees,” Charon said.

“Oh, he will.” Lord Marteau opened the door to a truly hideous parlor.

The walls were lined with a sickly green wallpaper, and the couches had been dyed to match.

Lord Marteau arranged himself on a gold and green armchair and adjusted his jacket as though he were sitting for a portrait.

“It’s your future that interests me. Yves says that you may also be retiring. ”

Charon didn’t bother to sit down. “I’ll be leaving Staria by the end of spring. It’s unlikely that I’ll return.”

“Oh, but that won’t do. Allow me to encourage you to reconsider.

” Lord Marteau paused as Jaz and another maid rushed in to arrange tea, heads bowed.

The second maid trembled as she set a tray next to Lord Marteau, and Lord Marteau leaned down and touched her by the collar.

She went still and tense as a frightened rabbit, and while Charon couldn’t hear what Lord Marteau said to her, he could feel the weight of his dominance.

It was familiar in a way Charon couldn’t place, and it was entirely at odds with the comforting smile on Lord Marteau’s face.

The maid scuttled away, and Lord Marteau turned back to Charon.

“As you may have noticed, a number of Yves’ suitors are a touch excitable.

More than one duel has been declared, and while I may have grown up in pirate country, I can’t wield a sword to save my life.

However, a little bird may have told me that Lord Laurent uses your services as a guard now and then.

I may have an opportunity for you to use those skills. ”

“I’ve already made plans for my departure,” Charon said.

While it was true that Charon had helped remove troublesome clients from the House of Onyx in the past, this sounded more like grunt work, and he wasn’t interested in intimidating Yves’ suitors for the sake of a man who thought he was entitled to Yves’ attention.

“Money is no object,” Lord Marteau said, “if that is your concern. And if you serve me well, I may have more work for you on my family lands. Yves would be happy to see an old friend when he returns with me.”

“I must refuse.”

“I can secure you boarding in my town house while you?—”

Charon turned to leave. A maid in the doorway gasped softly as the chair creaked behind him, and Charon heard the slam of a hand on leather.

“You will not refuse , ” Lord Marteau started to say, and Charon could feel his dominance pushing against his own, like a current from an inlet trying to move an ocean. “It is unwise to reject such a generous offer.”

“It is unwise to try to use your dominance on someone who lives next to the man you want to marry,” Charon said, and he strode out the door.

He heard Lord Marteau try to hurry after him, but he kept his gaze fixed.

He passed the bright, cheery garden and walked back to the House, barely registering the sounds of Duciel moving around him as people prepared for nightfall.

He didn’t even pay notice to Oleander, who was outside tearfully begging Laurent to let them spare an extra room for the cat.

He went straight to the work shed behind the house, pulling out the leather strips he’d reserved to make a travel bag.

He put all his energy into shaping the leather, trying not to let his irritation boil over as he thought of the flippant way Lord Marteau had assumed he would win Yves.

Plenty of nobles saw courtesans as objects they could buy and discard, and while Charon had thought he’d come to terms with it by now, he could feel the anger simmering under his skin as he worked.

Sabre de Valois was the one to find him that night. Laurent’s husband emerged in the dark garden while Charon stitched straps of his bag together. Sabre had a sturdier build than Laurent, though he was still slight compared to Charon, his long red-brown hair falling unbound over his shoulders.

“I saw you from the window,” he said, and pulled up a chair. “You looked like you might need company.”

Charon didn’t answer.

“Laurent’s been checking for gray hairs lately, thanks to Yves.

The next test is the hedge maze, but the one Laurent is worried about is a ball.

A masquerade. You’d be surprised how difficult it is to arrange a ball with most of the nobility back from their country estates.

I offered to let Laurent take it out on me, but he said it might hurt . ”

“He must be tense,” Charon said. Sabre was a notorious masochist, and it was unclear if he had a limit for pain. That was dangerous for a dom, particularly a sadist. If a submissive couldn’t be trusted to say no when the pain turned to the point of harm, it was the dominant’s job to refuse them.

“He thinks it won’t really end in a wedding,” Sabre said, “just an expensive retirement party. Yves has weeded out most of his suitors by now, and I doubt they’ll pass the test at the ball. It’s odd, though. I always thought Yves hated that kind of thing.”