Cordelia couldn’t believe a full week of strenuous training had passed—her ankles blistered from the shoes she was expected to wear. They wrapped around her ankles, rubbing against her alabaster skin. Her abdomen, arms and thighs sore from the excessive practice she had to endure. It was torture. As for her nights, she and the thief got closer by name, but she wasn’t comfortable addressing him by it. They spent nights chatting about their days—while she had been busy dancing, he had helped Alteus with repairs around the establishment. She didn’t realize he could repair buildings. Why didn’t he take that up as a job instead? Surely it had to be a lot more rewarding than stealing from others, never mind killing them. Eventually, that led to dining together in their bedroom, sharing stories about the strangeness that were their colleagues. It felt strange to be looking forward to their dinners alone together—it was like they were becoming friends.

All was well until night struck. There she’d be, lying alone in her thoughts—what had become of her parents, her father most of all. Had they thought her dead? Serves her mother right for forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want. In fact—she didn’t know what she wanted to do. The thief named Radjerd was kind enough to spare her life, but even he didn’t know what to do. Were they expected to hide out here, forever? She wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted either, to pretend she was married to a man who wouldn’t even lie with her. Cordelia thought she wanted celibacy—but as the nights went on, she grew more frustrated lying next to him. She couldn’t very well ask, he already made his reasoning clear—she was royalty, it wasn’t respectful that he take advantage of her—which she agreed upon—at first. But, what if she wanted to be taken advantage of—no! He did the right thing, eventually opting to sleep on the chair instead. Despite his career path, he was acting like a gentleman—even if her own carnal desires weren’t appreciative of it. Hell, he even stopped kissing her!

The urge for Cordelia to cover her hands with her face is strong, but she can’t. She was in the bathhouse, readying herself for her final soak before bed. Taking two deep breaths, she slips out of her two-piece purple costume. She unclips the amethyst jewels that decorated her hair, placing them on her folded top. A brief chill hits her when her skin is bare—which, Cordelia never thought she’d get used to. It was easier when everyone else was in the nude. Soon, she wouldn’t give it a second thought.

Her trainer, Branton was in the bath, chatting with Melandra—who became one of her allies during training. Cordelia was grateful for the woman’s support, although, she didn’t understand why her rear had to appear perkier as she danced—that had been her one-way ticket to back pain. Thankfully, that had calmed down as the Melandra taught her stretches before practice.

But one thing she’s not sure she’ll ever get used to—men and women bathing in the same room.

The man’s amber eyes perk up as he sees Cordelia, waving her over. He was well toned—which Cordelia wasn’t surprised about in the slightest—these dancers would need to be fit in order to perform half of their move sets. His usually styled charcoal hair is frayed from the moisture of the room, but it somehow outlined his handsome, clean-shaven face. His skin reminded her of cinnamon, and he smelled just as sweet. She didn’t like to admit it, but any time he had helped her keep her form, a pleasurable twinge would erupt in her gut. Melandra warmly smiles. Her dark hair was worn down, like a raven spreading its wings… She’s gorgeous.

Hell, all St. Antillans were gorgeous.

<I hope I didn’t work you too hard today.> Branton’s calm smile encourages her to flush as he eases out his hand. <I’m impressed with how quickly you’re improving.>

Cordelia takes it without a second thought. She appreciates how gentleman-like he is.

<Yes, Deel is our shining background star.> Melandra muses enthusiastically as she drapes an arm around Cordelia. Given how many times she’s been handled in the last week, she didn’t mind being touched—it was just their way.

<It’s a shame your husband isn’t around to see you dance—you are a marvel to behold.>

<Just because Radjerd’s not around doesn’t mean you can steal her under his nose.>

<And leave a treasure like this behind? The man’s a fool.> His amber eyes sparkle when he compares her to the wares that’d be locked away in underground caves. She can’t help but let out a soft giggle. The way the thief’s been evading her lately, it wouldn’t be so wrong to divide her attention—after all, she wasn’t really married.

<He hasn’t left her behind—he’s working with my husband getting the place in tip-top condition.>

<And the bath house? Why hasn’t he joined us here?>

<Well, you have me there.> Melandra scratches her head. Her attention turns to Cordelia. <Did you two have a quarrel?>

<No, he’s always been asleep, or with Alteus— or so he tells me.> She smiles wide—a little too wide, for the woman raises a suspicious brow.

<Forgive my nosiness, it’s none of my business—or yours.> She stares daggers at the man. He shrugs as a response.

<Do you think Alteus will give us the Ruby Nectar like he did last time?>

<Considering how half the house was in song, I doubt it. The roseberry wine is reserved for our highest clientele, despite how controversial it can be. We’re the only place that sells it this west of The Sands.>

<I don’t see why it’s controversial at all, it only enhances your desires, it doesn’t fabricate them.>

<Some don’t want their desires revealed in high doses, especially if they become borderline forceful. The effects are too overbearing for the inexperienced unless they take it in small doses. Our clients know what they’re doing, so there’s no harm in the drink’s presence.>

<I suppose that’s true.> His gaze falls to Cordelia.

Following his stare, Melandra speaks. <As for you, Deel, do you feel you’re ready for tomorrow’s performance?>

Cordelia whips her head in the direction of the woman, unsure of what she had just said. Her thoughts were on the thief named Radjerd.

<As long as I’m not at the forefront, which I’m not, I will be fine.> Cordelia sinks her shoulders beneath the water, her peripheral hinting that her trainer hasn’t taken his warm amber eyes off of her. It makes her slightly uncomfortable.

Melandra assumes her discomfort is stage fright. <You’re more of a show-piece than anything—you have that regal look to you. I don’t understand why on earth you’d want to cover your pretty face, but I suppose we all have our insecurities.> Cordelia was wearing a mask donning bright yellow feathers, leaving her nose and lips revealed. She had pushed for a mask once she saw some of the stage performers wearing one—she didn’t need anyone in the audience recognizing her face. <All you have to do is smile, and pose as Branton had shown you. You dance will be decorative, enhancing the more skilled performers before you.>

<Yes, that’s reassuring.> Cordelia nods, her stomach now catching up with her racing mind. She damn hopes no one in that audience will recognize her.

After her bath, she bids both Branton and Melandra farewell, heading to her room. Cordelia notices something peculiar—a wine bottle with two fancy glasses rests on the table with a shred of paper in between. She looks at the wine bottle placed on the table—what she’d give for a drink. There was a note, but it's written in St. Antillan—she couldn’t read the language well, but she digs in. Grabbing one of the crystal wine glasses, she grabs the bottle and pours the liquid in the glass—the sound sending shivers through her ears. It’s been a long time since she had that sensation in her gut. She takes one whiff of the liquid—it smells sweet, almost rose like.

Cordelia presses the rim of the glass to her lips, taking a small sip—ooh! She’s in love with the taste. She pours herself another glass—and another. She decides to stop when she feels the effects—it had been a while since she had drunk quality wine, so she had to limit herself to amount that she had she poured. Cordelia leans against the bed, as relaxation sets in. Her eyes lean shut, only awoken by the sound of the thief entering the doorway.

The door opens, Cordelia's wide-eyed as he wears nothing but a towel. His loose hair frames his face, almost in curls. She can see the water drip, lining the curvature of his torso. So he did bathe elsewhere… She doesn’t realize that she’s biting her lip, or, that she grips the skirt of her chemise. Just looking at him sent her senses into overdrive.