Cordelia stretches, clenching both hands into fists. She lets out a soft moan as her muscles relax, her steel-blue eyes trailing to the sprawled out man beside her. She winces, slowly bringing down her arms. Her cheeks burn at the reminder of last night—the coolness of the fresh air on her chest was indication enough that her memory was not recalling a dream—it had been very real. She didn’t regret the actions that transpired, rather, her behaviour—and what she was about to do with her trainer. She covers her hands in shame—she’d have to face everyone this morning. There was no way she could back out of it, either, as the performance was today. It was a small dancing number to draw in a crowd, but it was her first show. If she didn’t perform, she wouldn’t be paid. Cordelia wants to hide under the covers, but the thief’s bare arms wrapping around her waist distracts her.

<Hello Deely.> His low voice purrs. He’s clearly pleased with what happened. He raises a brow when she doesn’t respond. <You look upset.> He inches away from her in suspicion as a frown forms on his face.

<I’m not upset about what happened—with you.> She blushes—it wasn’t like her to be so forward—but recalling how she flung herself at the thief so carnally—maybe it was. <It was my choice, and I will own up to it.>

<You make it sound like it was a bad thing.>

<You of all should understand why my behaviour wasn’t ideal—but, I do remember enjoying myself.> Her face must be beet red by now. <So there’s no need for you to sleep in that chair anymore.>

He tucks her hair behind her ear as he brings her in to kiss him. She jumps when there’s a sharp knock at the door—which the thief grumbles as he throws the sheet off of him, grabbing his trousers before he answers the door. Cordelia tucks herself underneath the sheets to keep herself away from potential peering eyes. She hears the voice of Alteus and Melandra. Cordelia buries herself in the sheets even farther, but it’s obvious they know she’s there. She hears the thief bark at Alteus to leave, that his presence was upsetting her—considering that she wasn’t wearing her chemise at all—that was true.

<Deel, sweetie, we just want to apologize.>

Melandra’s voice, however, put her at ease. It’s not like the bathhouse, she would be the only one here who was exposed. Despite her better judgement, Cordelia lifts the covers from her face, her eyes peeking above the sheets. Her face grows even redder when she sees the smouldering look Alteus has—did that man always have to look so enticing?!

<Deel, I want to explain my side of the story. I thought that you were a bit reserved in the ways of the bedroom. It’s not your fault, for that, I blame your Weltish upbringing—but I have made a grave error. I didn’t mean to impose such a strong blend upon you, and I hope you can forgive me for being insensitive.>

<Although, it did sound like the two of you had a ball. The entire house will be jealous.> Melandra adds—that is not something Deely wants to recall.

Had she really been that vocal?!

<It’s okay, we embrace pleasure here—not condemn it. Although, Branton won’t be performing tonight due to a certain someone’s temper.>

<I was not having that man touch her.> The thief’s growl is a warning. <He knew not to put his hands on her.>

<That he did.> Alteus cuts in, as he claps his hands together. <Which means, we’ll be needing a replacement. I do believe our man Rad can suffice.>

The thief scoffs, <You must be joking.>

<Relax, Branton wasn’t at the forefront—he merely wore a dark garb to keep himself hidden in the background as he lifted dancers. Which means, you better be ready for training.> Alteus brings his focus to Cordelia. <And Deel, please accept my sincerest of apologies.>

Melandra sighs, examining the bottle on the table. <I swore you would have heard me and Branton discuss it yesterday, but then again you did seem rather spacey. Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you in rehearsal.> She pats Cordelia’s shoulder before taking her leave.

The thief’s gaze is troublesome. <I can’t believe he wants me to perform.> He’s disgusted with the prospect, that much is obvious. <All because I punched that bastard in the face.>

<You didn’t need to do that.> Cordelia crosses her arms.

<I didn’t have a choice—that cocky ass-wipe was going to steal you right from under me.>

<And why should that matter?> Cordelia grits her teeth. <I’m free to do as I please.>

<Perhaps… But…> He’s nervous—something Cordelia hadn’t seen since the two had escaped from The Locke Manor. <I understand that you’re a Princess, but …would you really be willing to give all of that—and the luxuries of that life away?>

<It’s been around two weeks since I had my luxuries—a week since we had to abandon them completely—so I suppose I already had resigned to my fate.> Cordelia taps her chin. She really did resign all her comforts.

<Maybe it’s Alteus’ way of life that’s got me screwed up. But one thing’s certain—unless you tell me in your own words that you want to leave—I won’t abandon you.>

Cordelia’s confused what he means, but he changes the subject by lowering the bedsheet that kept Cordelia modest. <Now, as for the nonsensical training I have to look forward to—I’m hoping you can get my mind off of it.>

Cordelia is donned in her costume, her purple sequined top matches the bottom of her long-slit skirt quite amicably. She stands behind the stage, her stomach in knots from nerves. Rehearsal had gone smoothly, and the thief had even offered a smile or two in her direction when he wasn’t frowning at Alteus’ teasings. It helped keep her focused when all her colleagues wanted to discuss what they had heard her partake in the night before—and why Branton was knocked out. Frankly, it wasn’t any of their business—despite how vocal she had been during the experience. Thankfully she donned the feathered mask—it detracted from how red her face had been. She didn’t see the thief around—then again, he was wearing dark clothing. It wasn’t likely that she’d see him.

Her nerves spike when they’re all instructed into position, Cordelia leaning against the wall prop.

This was nothing, she’s been in front of hundreds before. This was no different.

The curtains raise—the lanterns flicker on as the dancers in front of her enter on stage.

Three.

Two.

One.

Cordelia makes her way onto the stage, twirling as instructed. Her amethyst pins shone brilliantly under the lantern lights, the audience’s soft approvals brought her joy. As she makes her way to the instructed prop, she places herself, arching her rear as instructed. In training, it felt ridiculous, but on stage, it gave her confidence. She watches as the hard work of the other dancers pays off as the show continues—it was amazing to witness! She felt pride for her colleagues, their hard work was paying off. Now, it was her turn to twirl again. She did, amicably.

Something that alarms her though—the man lifting her was not the thief—it was a man she hadn’t recognized. She knows something’s wrong when she’s thwarted off stage, her mouth covered immediately as she shuffles in his grasp. Her arms are bound together by the man’s strong grip. The claps of the crowd were heard from the other side of the wall—there was no chance her muffles could be heard. Not until she’s thrown into a small room dazzled with candles and red velvet. This was one of the private rooms—made especially for entertaining clients. She’s thrown to her knees as the door closes—her heart stops as she sees a familiar satchel on the table. The sea blue eyes of the recipient facing her rises to her feet, clapping slowly. There’s no mistaking who this is.

<You put on a wonderful show, Princess. Now allow me to request one of my own.>