"There you are" Madame Rubin voice snapped Eveline from her trance. Eveline turned and looked, she couldn't help but remember the past.
Madame Rubin did not pull girls from the slums out of mercy.
Eveline learned that on the night she was taken from the streets, knees scraped raw, dress torn thin, her sister already cold while her mother wandered somewhere between grief and madness, whispering to people who were no longer there. Madame Rubin had crouched in front of her then, elegant even in the filth, and lifted Eveline's chin with two fingers.
"Can you learn?" she had asked.
Eveline had nodded vigorously. The lady was who looked down at her was so beautiful and gave her a smile, nobody gave her a smile, everyone chased her away, calling her dirty and filthy. "Will you take me away from here?" her small voice asked, "yes, I will take you to a place far better than here, there's food and water and you will have lots of new sisters," "What about her," Madame Rubin glanced at the corpse that had already decayed, the smell still lingered in the air though it was a little far from them, "she will have a proper burial, I promise. "
That was how she lived.
Years later, she sat in Madame Rubin's house, spine straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, listening to the silence that ruled the hours before dawn. Candlelight brushed her skin, catching on the sharp line of her cheekbones, the dark fall of her hair, the quiet confidence etched into her posture. Beauty had come easily to her, too easily, but it was discipline that kept her alive.
The house itself was deliberate. Not lavish, not poor. Madame Rubin had once been married to a brothel master, and acquired all the necessary skills in business. When her husband died, she kept the knowledge and discarded the grief.
And she kept Eveline. "You should sleep," Madame Rubin said now, pouring wine she would barely touch. "Fatigue makes women careless."
Eveline didn't turn from the window. "Carelessness makes men underestimate you."
Madame Rubin smiled faintly. It was never a warm smile.
Outside, the street lay too quiet. Eveline trusted quiet even less than noise. Silence had a way of gathering teeth. Madame Rubin crossed the room and placed a folded parchment on the table.
"A messenger came," Madame Rubin said lightly. "And?" Eveline turned.
The wax seal caught the candlelight, gold, pressed clean and deliberate. Not a merchant's impatience. Not a lover's flourish. Not a client's demand.
"This isn't business," Eveline said.
"No," Madame Rubin replied. "Business leaves fingerprints."
She turned the parchment once, then broke the seal herself. Madame Rubin always opened dangerous things first.
She read in silence. Then she laughed. Her voice low and dangerous. "Well," she said at last. "How quickly you've become interesting. Eveline took the parchment. The paper was thick, expensive. No signature. No name. Just an invitation. A masquerade ball in the palace,, her name among the the list.
"This is a trap," Eveline said.
"Of course it is," Madame Rubin replied calmly. "Everything worth entering is."
"I won't go." Madame Rubin lifted a brow. "You will."
Eveline's jaw tightened. "I didn't survive the streets to die in silk and lies."
"You survived the streets," Madame Rubin said coolly, "but don't forget why you ended up there in the first place."The words landed deeper than Eveline liked.Memories couldn't help but resurface, her mother's hollow eyes, her sister's hand slipping from hers, the ache of hunger so sharp it stole breath. "Who sent it?" Eveline asked. Madame Rubin's lips curved faintly. "If I knew, I'd already be negotiating." "And if I refuse?" Madame Rubin met her gaze. "Then someone will come asking why a woman like you believes she can say no."
Silence stretched, thick as velvet. "Prepare me," Eveline said.
Madame Rubin rose immediately.
The dressing took time. Madame Rubin chose a gown of deep wine-red, cut to follow Eveline's body without flaunting it, elegance edged with danger. When Eveline stood, the fabric clung to her hips, skimmed her waist, hinted at her curves.
Madame Rubin brushed Eveline's hair herself, fingers steady, practiced. "Do not try to become noble," she said. "They despise imitation."
"I won't," Eveline replied softly. "I'll let them want me instead."
Madame Rubin paused, studying her reflection. "Careful," she murmured. "Want is a weapon. It cuts both ways."
When Madame Rubin stepped away, Eveline changed one thing, replacing the jeweled clasp at her throat with a thin chain she had kept hidden for years. A reminder of where she began. Of who she refused to forget.
Madame Rubin noticed her reaction and said nothing, she could never truly understand her little protégé.
The gathering was held in the palace, this wasn't Eveline's first time here, she had come before to perform her dances, but stepping in as a guest, this was her first.
Men couldn't help but approach, but she softly declined each one. Women assessed her, their jealousy evident in their eyes. The whole situation felt awkward for Eveline, though she didn't show it. As she wandered through the ballroom, she couldn't help but overhear some rumors,
"The queen attends alone now, seems the king had abandoned her, pity indeed."
"She favors women's company."
"The third prince has returned once more"
Eveline's pulse quickened.
Then she felt him, before she saw him.
The man from the brothel stood near the far wall, unmasked, dressed in dark finery that clung to broad shoulders and a dangerous ease. He looked carved rather than dressed, sharp jaw, steady mouth, heat curled low in Eveline's stomach, unwanted and undeniable. His gaze found hers. It lingered, her face couldn't help but heat up.
A woman beside her inhaled softly. "Do you know who that is?"
Eveline didn't answer.
A man bowed as he passed him. Another followed.
Power bending instinctively. And then the whisper reached her ear, barely breathed, "The king's third son."
Eveline's breath caught, her pulse roared. The trap snapped shut.