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exposed above the silk of her robe, but I hoped everywhere I touched would absorb the anesthetic gel coating mine.
    “You are my sister, and Harper…” I thought of those coarse ridges marring his once satin skin. “I can name each whip’s mark and what he did to earn every lash. He’s paid enough for our friendship.”
    “It doesn’t matter—”
    I silenced Emma by holding up my hand. “If I accept Archer tonight, he will bring a notary and transfer your indentures to me.” The prospect almost made me giddy. I blamed the drink for making everything seem more agreeable. “You will both belong to me. No one could ever take either of you away. We’ll have to stay here in Rihos, but—”
    “And then what? You will have bedded him. Do you honestly think he’ll stop after one night? He will never be satisfied. How can you sell yourself so cheaply? Where is your pride?”
    “Pride isn’t everything. Not to me.”
    “My pride is all I have.” Her pale cheeks flushed pink. “You are the princess. I am the handmaiden who is one step from being a First Court whore.”
    Tears pricked my eyes, so I stared at the ceiling, counting gilded tiles until my vision cleared.
    “Don’t cry, please. I don’t blame you for this. I’d rather you held my reins than anyone, but—”
    “A slave is still a slave.”
    We’d discussed this moment since we were old enough to understand the circumstances of our births. The complex tangle of lies and blood made Emma a slave while our elder half-sister, Nesvia, was first in line for the throne. She was the only child born to my mother and Emma’s father, and virtually a stranger to us both.
    Since our monarchy was matriarchal, my birth had been acknowledged and my title secured.
    Emma’s mother had been a young serving girl turned courtesan around the time of Nesvia’s birth, when Archer’s choice of marital activities was severely limited. Though Emma shared half Nesvia’s blood, she would forever be in service to the royal house, and because of that, to me.
    “Yes,” she agreed. “A slave is still a slave.”
    A new voice entered our conversation. “And a slave should always know her place, which is not bemoaning her station to her mistress. No matter how indulgent she may be.”
    The rustle of heavy fabric sliding over stones announced my mother’s arrival. She wore turquoise gauze gathered at her shoulder with a silver broach to make a gown. Intricate tattoos covered her exposed skin, wrapping down and around the slender curve of her hip. Her shimmering skin looked dusted by fine diamond glitter. In all likelihood, it was.
    “Madelyn, my dear, you look lovely,” she cooed, stepping around my nude body in a slow half circle.
    Until my skin dried, there was little point in wearing clothing. The gel would only ruin the lavender silk robe draped across the foot of my bed. Mother had also sent the matching pair of slippers with ribbons for my hair as a gift. In return, she expected perfection. And I had to deliver.
    “Thank you, Mother.” My swimming eyes fought to keep track of her languid perusal.
    She clasped her hands eagerly. “Have you accepted any suitors?” She smiled coyly. “I know you haven’t lacked for attention. The males of First Court have had their eyes on you for quite some time. Did their solicitations arrive promptly?”
    “Yes, I have received their mailings.” Bags of queries filled with tokens of esteem and empty promises for pleasure I had no interest in tasting had been arriving steadily for weeks. “But I have decided against accepting their very generous offers.”
    I had, however, accepted another offer. Or I would when next I saw Archer. As much as I abhorred the idea of taking anything from him, agreeing to his demands would yield the greatest return. If I had to sell myself, I would take everything I could get to secure Emma’s and Harper’s futures.
    Her mercurial temper flared in an instant. “Is this about that Evanti?