The brothel was alive with the sound of trunks scraping across wooden floors and luggage being hauled toward the waiting carriages outside.
Younger girls hurried about, fastening clasps and tying ribbons, while the older women assisted the flower maidens of the current batch in selecting the finest accessories for their arrival at the palace.
"What about this necklace?" a girl no older than fifteen asked, holding up a strand of luminous pearls.
"Oh my, that is exquisite!" a woman of twenty-four replied with an eager smile.
Zarah's gaze lingered on the pearls.
The Madam only brought out such treasures when a batch was leaving — jewels too costly to remain within reach for long.
For a brief moment, the younger candidates and the unchosen women were permitted to touch them. To admire them. To imagine.
They would laugh, run their fingers over gold and pearl, and pretend — just for an evening — that such things might one day belong to them.
Tomorrow, the jewels would leave.
And so would the illusion.
Zarah looked away.
There was a cruelty in that kindness.
"I don't think this would suit the dress I was given," Iris said, turning the pearl necklace over in her hands. The large beads felt clunky against her fingers. "What do you think, Zar?"
Zarah glanced up. "No, it would not complement the navy," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps that silver pendant instead?"
She reached for it—
—but Celine snatched it first.
"I think it looks better on me," she declared.
Zarah exhaled slowly. Of course.
She considered letting it pass, but Iris spoke before she could.
Iris pinched the bridge of her nose. "Your dress is yellow. Silver will wash you out."
Celine stiffened. "And what, exactly, would look good on me?"
Without hesitation, Iris picked up a ruby necklace and held it toward her. "This."
Celine studied it, something unreadable flickering across her face. After a moment, she took the rubies and tossed the silver pendant's box toward Zarah.
"Careful! Those are delicate," one of the older women scolded.
Celine ignored her and walked away.
"Honestly, what is wrong with her?" a younger girl muttered under her breath.
"She simply feels too much," Melody said smoothly as she approached, perching herself on the edge of the table. "You know how she is. Her outbursts are not entirely within her control. It is… difficult for her."
Zarah and Iris exchanged a look.
Melody's voice was honeyed — sympathetic on the surface.
But something in it felt faintly indulgent. Almost patronizing.
"I sometimes wonder," Zarah said, passing the silver pendant back to Iris, "whether Celine's outbursts come from a lack of self-control… or from being indulged."
Melody lifted a brow. "Indulged?" she echoed lightly. "What do you mean by that, Zarah?"
Iris held up a sapphire pendant toward Zarah, who studied it a moment before answering.
"I mean," Zarah said calmly, "that excusing someone's behavior does not teach them to correct it. It only teaches them that it will be forgiven."
Melody's smile thinned, her fingers tightening around the jewelry box.
"Well, someone must consider the poor girl's side," she said coolly. "She is so volatile she may truly harm someone one day. Avoiding those with difficulties is hardly the mark of a good person."
"We do not avoid Celine," Iris corrected evenly.
"We limit our interactions," Zarah added. Her gaze did not waver. "From the way you speak, it seems you stand beside her less out of care… and more to appear compassionate."
Melody inhaled sharply, a hand rising to her chest. "Zarah. How could you say such a thing? I merely meant that Celine struggles with unresolved issues. That makes her unpredictable."
Iris bit back a scoff.
Unpredictable.
Melody spoke as though Celine were something unstable — something to be managed. If such words reached the Madam's ears, even in a small batch, Celine could easily be held back. And Celine was not unstable. She was insecure.
Zarah exhaled softly. "You mistake me," she said. "I am only suggesting that constant excuse breeds dependence. It does not correct behavior — it feeds it."
Melody gave a closed-eyed smile. "We all have our own ways of caring for our dearest friends, do we not?"
Zarah almost responded.
But she knew better.
And she knew, too, that if Melody truly considered Celine a friend, she would not speak of her as though she were unstable.
"To each their own," Zarah replied, her smile tight.
The air in the room grew heavy.
No one spoke.
The other girls exchanged glances, well aware of how these exchanges between Melody and Zarah usually ended — not in shouting, but in silence thick enough to choke on.
Zarah returned her attention to the sapphire pendant, and Iris quietly held up a pair of earrings to match.
Across the table, Melody selected a pink diamond necklace and its matching earrings, examining them as though nothing had occurred.
Gradually, conversation resumed.
Softly at first.
Then, as if by mutual agreement, the room slipped back into its rhythm of silk, gemstones, and careful laughter.
A while later, Jennifer entered with Julie trailing behind her. Julie carried a stack of ledgers nearly too high for her arms; she handed them over one by one as Jennifer signed and returned them without pause.
"Girls," Jennifer said calmly, addressing the three flower maidens in the room as her eyes swept over them. "Come to the dormitory bedroom. The Madam will speak with you before you depart tomorrow." She paused. "Where is Celine? Bring her as well."
At the mention of the Madam, Zarah's hand tightened in her skirts.
Beside her, Iris's gaze faltered — just briefly — before she forced her expression back into place.
Jennifer left as briskly as she had arrived.
Every year, before the flower maidens were sent away, the Madam summoned them privately and offered her "advice."
Zarah rose with a quiet exhale, smoothing her skirt.
Iris carefully set aside the chosen jewels and stood as well.
Melody gathered her diamond set and moved to fetch Celine.
The other brothel girls had to get up and help with packing the last of dresses into trunks.
Zarah and Iris walked toward the bedroom together. As they did, Iris gave Zarah's shoulder a small, grounding squeeze.
Seeing the Madam always made Zarah's toes curl inside her shoes.
The burns had long since healed.
But the scars still itched whenever she drew near.
The four girls stood with their backs straight and their chins lifted as the Madam entered, Jennifer following half a step behind her.
The moment she crossed the threshold, they dipped into a curt bow.
Zarah kept her eyes fixed on the floor.
Each click of the Madam's heels against the wood echoed through her like the crack of a whip across her back all those years ago.
"Rise," the Madam commanded.
She seated herself in the chair that had been placed in the room before the girls had even arrived — brought in the moment she announced she would see them.
The girls raised their heads but kept their eyes lowered in practiced respect.
The Madam observed them in silence, assessing posture, stillness, composure.
"Good," she said at last. "Despite the unusually small size of this batch, it seems you have not forgotten your etiquette."
Her gaze lingered on Zarah and Iris.
It did not need to sharpen.
The message was already clear.
A chill crept up their spines.
"Now listen well, girls," the Madam began, her voice smooth as silk drawn over steel. "The palace is a minefield of politics. Impulsive acts — no matter how carefully you believe them planned — may not end with punishments from me alone. They may end in public disgrace."
She paused.
"Or execution."
As she spoke, she adjusted the large amethyst ring on her finger, turning it slowly as though contemplating something trivial.
"So," she continued, "there will be no stunts. No attempts at escape. Not even the indulgence of such thoughts."
Her gaze shifted.
It settled on Zarah.
"Do I make myself clear, Zarah?"
Her tone did not rise.
It did not need to.
Zarah nodded stiffly, her body rigid beneath the weight of that stare.
Iris did not turn her head. No matter how badly she wished to look at Zarah, cracking in front of the Madam would be far too dangerous.
Beside them, Celine felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. She was not foolish enough to attempt escape.
Melody remained composed.
Zarah and Iris were distractions.
Her focus was elsewhere.
On Ines.
The Madam exhaled and finally looked away from Zarah.
Her gaze settled on Melody instead, and a wide smile spread across her face.
"And here she is," she said warmly, "my noble-blooded golden rose."
Melody inclined her head modestly.
"The palace paid a small fortune for you," the Madam continued. "It is fortunate the merchant who sold you to me did not know which noble house you belonged to. Otherwise, the palace might have made inquiries."
Her attention shifted back to the others, and she resumed reinforcing the importance of etiquette, composure, obedience.
Zarah kept her expression neutral.
Golden rose.
If the Madam knew the truth — that Melody was placed by the Grand Duke to eliminate Ines — or that the noble blood Melody believed ran in her veins did not belong to her at all…
Zarah wondered whether that smile would remain.