I have a sense of déjà vu when Kallias shows up in my rooms holding a dress. It was not long ago when Leandros was the one offering me a dress to enjoy a night of fun with him.

Only tonight is far more likely to be a night of danger and deception.

I hold out the garment so I can get a proper look at it. “Do I want to know where you got this?”

“It’s clean, if that’s what you’re worried about. Freshly washed.” “There’s more to it than I would have thought.”

“I need your arms covered,” he explains. Without his shadows, we are at the highest risk of touching. Though I’m sure he will wear his own gloves, there can’t be any mistakes.

“It won’t be a problem,” I say. “With this low neckline, no one will be looking at my arms.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Kallias waits outside for me while I lace up what little there is of the bodice. I can’t wear boots to hide my knife, so I find a way to tie the sheath into one of my garters. Since I can’t very well be seen leaving my quarters like this, I don a scarlet cape over the top of everything. With the way it clasps about my throat, the sides cover my cleavage and shoulders. No one will think anything of the absence of petticoats. I’m known to wear all kinds of oddities.

When I find Kallias, he’s holding a red rose, the thorns already having been plucked from the stem. I hold out my hand for it.

“It’s not for you,” he says.

“But I’m supposed to wear a flower to mark myself.”

“And that would put you in danger. I’ll give the flower to some girl at the club to draw our contact out. Then we’ll question him properly once we have the upper hand. I have men already canvassing the area. Dressed as civilians. Some are already stationed at the club discreetly.”

“And what if your own men are in on the attempts made against your life?”

“Then I suppose we’d best hope they can’t see through our disguises.” He pulls out a blond wig for me, curled ringlets bouncing every which way. Kallias helps me to secure the whole mess over the top of my head, tucking all the strands of my dark hair beneath it.

For himself, a light brown wig and a slight beard, which he attaches with some sort of adhesive.

“How do I look?” he asks.

Actually, he looks a lot like Leandros now. The hair color and beard length are the same, though I doubt he would appreciate such a comment.

“Less kingly,” I offer. “Good. Then let’s be off.”

 

 

DAWSON‘S IS LOCATED SMACK–DAB in the middle of the city. It’s the largest building in the entire block, as well as the loudest.

“Damn,” Kallias says from the horse next to me. “I just realized we can’t go in together.”

“Why not?”

“A man doesn’t take his mistress to a place like this. He goes here for a break from his mistress.”

“What about his wife?” I ask.

“He needs a mistress for a break from his wife.” “What about your parents?”

“That’s a different case entirely. The men in my family don’t give up their power for anything less than the most all-consuming love. Something that they’re willing to give their lives for.”

His words make my mouth go dry, and I can’t quite meet his eyes. “Then I suppose we’d better head in so we can better protect yours,”

I say. “What should I do?”

“I don’t want to separate.”

“You just said we have to. We’ll draw too much attention if we enter together.”

He thinks a moment, not bothering to climb down from his horse yet. “There should be other entrances in the back. We just need to get you in. Try to get to the gaming room. I will find you from there. But if anything happens, if any man tries to … grab you or do anything at all—you

leave. You get out. And I will do this on my own. I should do it on my own anyway.”

“Too late,” I say. “Friends don’t let friends go to gentleman’s clubs alone when someone is trying to kill them.”

He doesn’t bother to laugh at the lame joke.

I slide down from my horse. Catching myself on my feet, I hand the reins to Kallias before he can utter another word of protest.

I feel my way around to the side of the building. Music and laughter spill out through an open window when I reach the back, the light helping me to find a door.

There’s nothing left but to use my talents of manipulation to get myself where I need to be.

I pull the unlocked door open, my eyes blinking at the sudden onslaught of light. Taking a few hesitant steps into the room, I try to make sense of where I am. Tubs of water. Stacks of used mugs. A strong scent of stew.

Kitchens.

A young girl—perhaps ten or so—looks up from where she’s scrubbing at pots in one of the tubs of hot water, her hands red and raw from the task.

“Oh,” she says upon my sudden entrance. She flicks her head back in an attempt to get an errant strand of thick black hair out of her eyes. Her hair doesn’t look as though it’s ever been brushed in its life. A relief. She doesn’t work here as a prostitute. She’s merely a kitchen girl.

“Sorry,” I say. “I think I came in the wrong way. I’m a new hire. Can you point me to the gaming room?”

“That door. Down the hallway. Up the stairs. Second door.” Her hands never cease their scrubbing.

As I exit the room, another girl is entering, and we collide. The fall sends my cape sprawling open, and the older woman gets a good look at me. A good look at more of me than has ever been seen in public.

“Who are you?” The new voice is stern and exhausted. She’s broader than I am, which I tell myself is why she was able keep her feet and I wasn’t.

“New hire,” I say as I catch my feet.

“I don’t think so. I do the hiring for the working girls.”

Damn. New tactic. “I need the money. Thought if I came ready to work, you might have need of me.”

She steps up to me and unclasps my cloak. It falls to the ground in a tangled heap.

“You’re wearing gloves? Honey, the men here aren’t worried about getting dirty.” She pinches my fingers as she slides each one off and pockets them. She examines me as she walks in a circle about me. “You know your way around a bedroom?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t have much for a man to hold on to up top. Open your mouth.”

A bit startled by the question, I do so. It is the only reason I’m able to let slide the insult to my décolletage.

“You’ve got nice teeth. That’s a rarity around here. All right. You’re in luck. I’m short a girl tonight. I can’t give you regular work. But I’ll give you a quarter necos if you finish out the week.”

“A quarter necos!” I shout back without thinking, forgetting myself for a moment.

“Fine. A half. Just because of the teeth. But if I get one complaint about you, you’re out.”

I have to remind myself that I’m not posing as a noblewoman tonight. I’m a poor working girl.

“Done,” I say.

“Take this. You’ll save me a trip.” She hands me a tray full of mugs spilling over with ale. Then Madam Dawson gives me the same instructions up to the gaming room. “Let the men have a good look at you. Most of them are regulars, so they already know where the rooms are. They can show you where to go to receive your services.”

I take the proffered drinks and push at the swinging door with my hip, so very glad to be out of that room. I couldn’t believe all the things Madam Dawson said in front of the little girl. Though if she works here, she’s probably heard much worse.

Even without the directions, I’m sure I could have found the right room. Music from fiddles and other stringed instruments pours down the stairs, along with the tinkling of coins hitting tabletops. Cigar smoke clogs the air.

As soon as I walk in, I hold back the urge to cough. How the hell am I supposed to find Kallias in this?

How did I let the king talk me into bringing him to a place like this?

Round tables are spread throughout the room. Girls dance atop a stage to the fiddle music. More girls wearing significantly less than I am walk around or sit perched on men’s laps. I walk past a couple tucked into a corner, the man sucking on the neck of the prostitute.

After a minute more, he grabs her by the hand and hauls her past me.

To wherever the rooms are.

Cards and dice seem to be the games of choice. I walk around the outskirts of the spacious room, trying to catch sight of Kallias. It takes me a moment to remember I’m not looking for a dark head of hair but a light one. A wig. And he won’t have his shadows to aid me.

Devils, anything could happen to him in here.

At least all the firearms are checked at the doors. But it’s hardly difficult to hide a knife under one’s clothing. Even when wearing as little as I am.

A man suddenly runs up to me, and I panic before remembering I’m holding a tray of ale. He grabs a glass and peers at my exposed cleavage the entire time.

“Hm,” he says, slapping my rump before turning back the way he came.

I freeze for a moment, battling with the noblewoman I am and the light-skirt I’m pretending to be tonight.

No one touches me without permission.

But being here. In this dress. That is permission. It’s the job.

Oh, but my fingers itch for the ruby-handled knife strapped to my thigh. I could so easily drive it into his turned back.

“I don’t recognize you,” a voice thick with drink says, pulling me from my thoughts.

A man with a bloated belly from too many nights indulging in drink looks me up and down.

“I’m new,” I manage to say, while finding my feet to resume my trek around the room’s edges.

“And fast. Get back here.”

A tug on my skirts nearly has me dropping the tray. Checking my irritation, I spin and hold out the tray. “Drink?”

“No. I need someone to keep me company at my table. I’ve made it a point to sample every lady Madam Dawson has under her employ.”

“I’m only a fill-in,” I say around the disgust crawling up my throat. “Come here,” he says more forcefully.

Oh gods.

“This one’s already spoken for,” a new voice says, and my shoulders sink with relief.

Kallias.

He has his eyes on the horrible man propositioning me. “Shove off,” the drunk man says. “I found her first.”

In just a few steps, Kallias grabs the tray from my hands and thrusts it upon the other man. “You’re welcome to fight me for her once you’re sober, but I think you know better than to try now.”

With one gloved hand clamped firmly along my bare arm, Kallias leads me to a table, weaving through men and girls as we go.

“Just give her back to me once you’re done!” the other man shouts after us.

I gag.

“Easy now,” Kallias says.

And before I can register anything else, Kallias is lowering himself into a chair, and I’m in his lap.

Just the knowledge of this has my neck heating.

“Never did see a blushing light-skirt,” a man on the other side of the table says. “Must be new on the job. Good on you, Remes. Your turn, by the way.”

One hand slides against my abdomen while the other picks up a hand of cards. I’m unfamiliar with the game, but Kallias must know it. He throws some necos onto the growing pile on the table and sets down a card before the man next to him takes a turn. There’s five of them at the table. I don’t recognize any of them. I suspect none are nobles currently living at the palace.

I feel warm breath against my ear as Kallias whispers, “Are you all right?”

I turn so I can look up at him, careful not to let my face get too close to his. “Yes.”

He presses his lips to my ear, where my wig keeps his face from touching me skin to skin. To the men around the table, we must look like we’re whispering flirtations.

I try to hide the shiver that goes down my spine from the contact, but I’m certain Kallias can feel it.

“What happened to your gloves?” he asks.

“The madam said they weren’t appropriate for my line of work.” “We’ll have to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Good. Now laugh like I just said something naughty.”

His words catch me off guard, but I let my eyes drift down to half- hooded before giving him a short laugh filled with promise. I slap his shoulder playfully for good measure.

“Remes, your turn again.”

Kallias takes less than five seconds to look at his cards and throw down a new one.

“It’s like you’re not even trying,” the man across the table says, before throwing down his own card. The other three people groan as he sweeps the pile of money toward himself. “If it’s the lady distracting you, then she has my deepest thanks.”

“Just deal another hand,” Kallias says. He lets the hand on my abdomen drift up to my side, before letting a gloved finger trail down my bare arm.

I wonder if the men across the table can see the goose bumps rising on my flesh as clearly as I can.

For gods’ sake, it’s only his glove. I shouldn’t be turning into a liquid heap.

But, as if he’s found a new game he likes far better, Kallias doesn’t glance at his cards. His gaze holds mine as he lets his fingers trail up the side of my neck, across my collarbone, a little lower. Watching my face for any reaction at all. As if he’s asking a question and waiting for my expression to tell him the answer.

And damn him, but my breathing hitches, the muscles in my legs tightening. His answering smile is that of a predator, masculine pride at its finest.

Oh, but two can play at that game.

I sit a little higher up on his lap, let one hand travel up his chest from lower abdomen to his shoulder, letting my fingers reach under his waistcoat, so there’s less fabric between our skin.

A low sound comes out of Kallias’s throat. He tries to hide it behind a cough.

“Just take her upstairs and get a room already,” another man at the table says.

“No!” the first one shouts back. “She’s our ticket to winning everything in his wallet.”

Kallias reaches for the new hand of cards, but I beat him to it, grabbing the deck and holding them up where he can also see. I let my head rest back in the space between his neck and shoulder, my wig protecting us from any contact.

But with my free hand, I grip the side of his thigh and squeeze.

He pitches forward slightly, his chest barreling into my back. But then I realize it was no doing of mine.

“Sorry!” a girl with a fresh tray of ale says. She rights herself from behind Kallias, only having spilt a little bit of the dark liquid down the

sides of the cups before moving on.

She’s wearing my rose in her hair, I note. I wonder when Kallias gave it to her. And how he convinced her to wear it. Now that she’s in the room with us, Kallias tries to be subtle as he follows her every movement. Waiting to see if our contact—whomever he or she might be

—will approach her.

I turn toward Kallias again. “Did you touch me?” I whisper, worried that the klutz pushed us too close together.

For some reason, Kallias doesn’t seem worried. He holds a gloved finger under the table. I watch as a swirl of shadow appears around it.

“No,” he says.

The fear receding, I breathe onto his neck as I say, “Oh, good.”

And, as if that breath of air were too much, he scoots me down his lap a bit toward his knees.

“Are you going to go or what?” the irritated man to our left asks.

“I think I’m done,” Kallias says, his voice deeper than it was a moment ago. With one arm slung around my waist, he stands and leads me toward the edge of the room. He steps past a partitioned-off area, where cushioned seats line against the wall. He gently sets me down before sitting beside me, our legs just touching.

“I’d hoped to blend into the room, but it’s too hard to watch our girl,” he says. “We have a better vantage point here.”

“Well, we can’t just sit here. We stand out too much. You don’t take a whore to the cushions just to talk to her.”

He reaches down, grabs my legs, and throws them over his lap. One hand goes under my skirts to trace against my calves.

“More convincing?” he asks. I swallow. “Yes.”

And as I sit there with my legs in the lap of the king, one thing becomes abundantly clear.

I can’t believe how much I want him to touch me. I want to rip off those cursed gloves and burn them in a fire, bury the ashes in a hole deeper than the one in which I dumped Hektor.

I want to know what his lips feel like. I want to know what kind of kisser he is. What kind of lover. A selfish, pampered royal? Or a man willing to give pleasure as well as receive it?

Kallias grabs my knees and scoots me closer, my skirts rising up to show off my stockings. He brings his face within inches of mine. “I want to know what you’re thinking about right now.”

“You couldn’t handle it.”

His fingers tighten subtly, and his face draws even closer. Were he any other man in the world, I would have closed that distance weeks ago. As the king, he has to be the one to decide to take this risk. It makes him so vulnerable.

My face retreats an inch, before I realize what I’m doing. I don’t want him to be vulnerable. I—

“Careful,” I manage.

Kallias lets out a breath of air as he leans himself back into the cushions, his hand under my skirts making more progress north.

What am I doing? Did I just retreat from him?

My mind is a tornado of thoughts, but I drop them all as we see a man approach our girl with the rose.

But it is a false alarm. He grabs a drink before moving on.

 

 

Torture.

Being in these cushioned seats is absolute torture. Touching but not touching.

Kallias and I stay seated for about half an hour. Altering our positions. Trying to be convincing. But who in the world would take so long on the cushions with a whore without taking her upstairs?

I have my face turned into his neck, trying to look as though I’m nuzzling into him, playing with his ear.

My entire body is alive with heat. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. The lavender-mint smell of him is everywhere. I can’t believe I haven’t grown used to it yet.

“Hey! You’ve had enough time to sample her. Either take my new girl upstairs or hand her over to someone else. I’m not running a charity here.”

I crane my neck to find Madam Dawson with her hands on her hips. “We were just on our way,” Kallias says. He scoops me up and sets

me on the floor as he stands.

“What now?” I ask as we make our way toward the exit. “We—”

I lose my footing before I even realize what’s happening. My body makes painful contact with the floor, Kallias landing on top of me. Our heads bang together in a painful clash.

There’s murmuring in the gaming room. Guests lean out of their chairs to investigate. So many people are surrounding us, the space suddenly feeling crowded.

A dampness reaches me. Dropped food or drink or something soaking into my skirts. And then Kallias’s weight leaves me. Several people are helping me up, brushing food off my skirts.

“Are you all right?” another of Dawson’s girls asks. “Yes,” I say.

I look around, trying to figure out who barreled into us, but several of Dawson’s girls have gone to the floor to clean up the mess, including the little one from the kitchen, who appears to have shown up to clear off empty dishes from tables.

What the devils?

Kallias practically pushes me toward the exit. We squeeze past more of Dawson’s patrons before finally getting out into the empty hallway.

“Are you all right?” I ask, placing a hand over my throbbing hip. But Kallias is staring down at his gloved hands.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I can’t call on my shadows.”