THE TABLE ERUPTS, ALL THE GIRLS talking at once. Madam Himura has to slam her hands down to shock them into silence. “This is not some housewives’ mahjong party!” she cries, yellow eyes blazing. “Are you forgetting who you are?” She points a taloned finger at the door. “Go! Mistress Tunga is expecting you.” When I start to stand, she gives an exasperated sigh. “Not you, Lei.”

Whispering, the girls file from the room. Aoki looks over her shoulder as she goes, offering me a smile I can’t return. Wren also pauses in the doorway. She looks round. Just like last night when our gazes caught across the stage, there is a radiance in her eyes that pulls something in the pit of my stomach into life.

“Good luck, Lei,” she says. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

I blink after her as she slides the door shut.

“So. The King has finally summoned you.”

Madam Himura’s voice cuts through the quiet. I look down at my lap, where my fingers twine together.

“Mistress Eira predicted it,” she goes on. “Apparently he was quite taken with you at the dance recital last night.” With a rustle of feathers, she comes round the table to kneel beside me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lei-zhi. Being scared of your first time is normal. All girls are.”

I bite my lip. “Is there… is there any way—”

She clicks her beak. “Do not ask the impossible of me. The King’s decision is final.” A clawed hand lands on my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “You’ll feel better once it’s over. You might even grow to enjoy it in time.”

I remember Aoki’s tear-streaked face.

“I doubt it,” I mutter.

Madam Himura snatches back her hand, the callous tone returning to her voice just as quickly as it went. “Whether you enjoy it or not is beside the point. This is your job. And as with all your duties, you will perform to the best of your abilities. Even if your abilities don’t seem much.” She jabs her cane against the floor. “Rika!” she barks at one of the maids. “Take Lei for her ye lesson.”

I frown. “Ye lesson?”

“Night skills,” Madam Himura responds curtly. “To prepare you for tonight.”

She doesn’t say it, but the word is in the air with us, sharp and cutting and cold.

Sex.

I’m finally about to be trained for the most important role of a Paper Girl—and the one I’ve been dreading the most.

Hidden in the southeastern corner of Women’s Court, beyond high walls and set deep within gardens scented with the rich, heady fragrance of jasmine and frangipani, are the buildings where the palace courtesans live. The Night Houses. During her description of the different areas of the palace when we first arrived, Mistress Eira didn’t go into any further detail, telling us only that they are strictly out of bounds unless we’re given explicit permission from her or Madam Himura. Now, pulling up outside the concubines’ home, I wonder why. It’s not as if we’d just be able to saunter in. Along with the steep walls, dozens of soldiers line the deep gate leading into the grounds. Sunlight glances off their leather armor, the elaborate sheaths of the jian crossed at their chests.

Rika, Madam Himura’s maid, helps me down from the carriage. The guards don’t move, but their gazes flick over me. I catch the eye of a tall cheetah-form soldier as we pass. She has a surprisingly sweet face, sandy fur almost as pale as skin, looped black markings around each eye. She gives me a smile, friendly somehow despite the glint of canines.

My eyes shift from her to the demon next to her, then the next. I turn to Rika. “They’re all female!” I say.

She nods. “Male guards aren’t allowed permanent fixtures in Women’s Court.”

“But what about the visitors? Aren’t they men?”

“There’s an entrance on the side that leads directly from City Court for them to use.” Then she adds, almost as an afterthought, “That’s where the house with the male courtesans is, too.”

“Male courtesans? For the female court members, you mean?”

“No, Mistress. They are also for male court members.”

We fall silent. I can’t say I’m that surprised by this news. At our nightly events there have sometimes been male demons who have had other men as their escorts, like the two lion-men last night. But I’ve never seen it the other way round—two female lovers.

We don’t say any more as we head along a winding path through the gardens. It’s peaceful here among the trees, the floor dappled with sunlight. The grounds are lush and wild, with willowy trees and tangled knots of flowering shrubs, vibrant after last night’s storm. Red saga seeds pepper the grass. There’s the trill of birdsong, the rustle and rush of breeze-blown leaves. The violet beams of half hidden pavilions wink from deep in the foliage. As we pass one, movement from inside draws my attention. The view is partially blocked by the swaying leaves of a ginkgo tree, but I make out the form of a naked woman beyond the latticed balcony.

Her long raven hair tumbles to the floor. Two elklike antlers twine elegantly from the crown of her head. Tossing her head back, she shifts, and the brown-haired body of some kind of bear-form demon sits up from under her. His hands grip her shoulders as she moves on top of him. I can’t hear their noises from here, but it’s clear what they’re doing.

My cheeks burn. I look quickly away, hurrying down the path with my eyes fixed on the ground.

After a few more minutes the gardens open onto a square populated with a cluster of low, two-tiered buildings. Moss crawls up their green-and-red walls. Over their open entrances hang banners marked in sweeping calligraphy, each displaying the same character: ye.

A figure emerges from the middle house. “You’re late.”

The woman cocks her head to one side, arms folded across her chest. She’s a dog-form demon, Moon caste, the spotted umber hair flowing over her lithe frame just showing the beginnings of gray. Long legs—a meld of human limbs and dog haunches—show through the split in her maroon robes. Though her ears are floppy, any softness this adds to her appearance is countered by the keen contours of her face and the flint-colored stare she gives us as we approach.

Rika bows. “Our sincerest apologies, Mistress Azami.”

Just as I start to mumble a greeting, the dog-woman strides forward and grabs my arm. “Your job during these lessons is not to talk,” she snaps, yanking me up the steps into the house. “It’s to listen. Only listen. Can you do that? Can you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut for the next few hours?”

I almost trip on the lip of a step. “Y-yes, Mistress.”

“What did I just say? Aiyah, you’re a slow learner, aren’t you? Let’s hope you have some talent between the sheets to make up for it.”

With an irritable click of her tongue, she drags me up a flight of stairs to the upper floor and down a narrow hallway. I get only a quick impression of the building’s interior; low, shadowed corridors, glimpses of moving figures from behind thin rice-paper screens, and sounds, unfamiliar but somehow… not. Heavy groans. A stifled moan.

Mistress Azami raps on one of the doors. “Zelle!” she barks. “Open up! Your Paper Girl is here for her lesson.”

A silky voice answers from inside. “Why don’t you ever ask nicely, Mistress?”

“And why don’t you ever just do as you’re told?” Grumbling, the dog-woman opens the door and shoves me through. “Three hours. The basics. Go.”

She shuts the door with a slam.

I stumble to a stop, hastily smoothing down my clothes. My eyes meet with those of a Paper caste girl just a few years older than me. She’s leaning by the window, dusky light from the half closed shutters painting her slim outline in gold. A slit travels up one side of her indigo skirt, exposing the lean length of her legs.

The girl gives me a lopsided smile. “The famous Nine. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

I flinch at her use of Blue’s nickname for me but force a bow. “I’m honored to learn from you today, Mistress Zelle.”

“Please,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Just Zelle. Mistress makes me feel so old.” With a swish of her robes, she comes forward to kneel on the bamboo-mat floor, gesturing for me to join her. “Don’t you ever got bored of it? All the Mistress this, Madam that. At least in my job I’m not expected to make small talk. Unless, of course, it’s a customer’s preference.” She winks.

I don’t know how to respond to that. Instead I look round her room. It’s so different from my own in Paper House. Paintings and calligraphy scrolls hang on the walls, and the cabinets and side tables are richly detailed, carved from polished teak and mahogany and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. To one side of the room hangs a swath of gauzy fabric, rippling in the breeze coming through the window. The fabric is sheer enough to make out a bed behind it, low and wide, mounds of pillows thrown across its top.

“You’re from Xienzo, yes?” Zelle says, following my gaze. “I guess you haven’t seen one before.”

“A bed?” I shake my head. “We used sleeping mats back home. And in our rooms here.”

She snorts. “Of course you do. They wouldn’t want to encourage you bringing lovers back. Though that doesn’t stop all the girls.”

A crooked grin darts across her lips, and I find myself returning it. There’s something friendly about this girl, with her sparkling eyes and teasing voice.

“So,” she murmurs, gazing at me. “What to teach you…”

“Mistress Azami said the basics?”

Zelle flaps a hand. “Basics are boring. I could tell you how it works, where certain parts need to go, the anatomy and mechanics of it all. But what’s the point? You’ll know all that anyway once it happens. The best sex is natural. Instinctive. It’s about letting go, not running through a list of actions in your mind. That’s why I hate all these formalities and etiquette. They spoil it—the rawness. The passion.” She pauses. “Think of it as a simple case of action and reaction. Touch and response.”

With an impish smile, she leans forward to grasp my hand. As she does so, her collar shifts, exposing the shadow of her cleavage. Zelle doesn’t seem to notice. Pushing back my sleeve, she holds a fingertip to my inner elbow and, her thick-lashed eyes never leaving mine, she traces her finger down my arm.

Slowly. Lightly. Teasingly.

Heat stirs between my legs.

“How does this make you feel?” she asks in a glossy voice, watching me.

I swallow. “I—I guess it’s nice.”

Zelle laughs, though not unkindly. “There’s no lying when it comes to sex, Nine. Your body will always betray you.” Touching my cheek, she murmurs, “Look how deeply you’re blushing.” Her fingers brush my lips. “Your mouth is parted, expectant. Ready to be kissed.” Her palm rests against my breastbone, her skin hot on mine. “Your heartbeat is fast. Excited. What would I find if I slipped my hand between your legs? Would your body betray you there, too?”

I drop my gaze, and Zelle shifts back.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she says, gentler now. “You can be honest with me. Many of us yearn to be touched. To be loved.”

“Well,” I say, glowering, “I don’t yearn for the Demon King.”

It comes out louder and harsher than I meant it to.

“I—I mean,” I go on, “he’s a demon. And I’m not.”

Zelle rubs a lock of her hair between her thumb and finger. “A lot of the girls have trouble understanding that,” she says with a nod. “The attraction between castes. But it isn’t actually as rare as you might expect.”

“It isn’t?”

“Think of it this way. Moon castes came from Paper, according to the old myths of the Mae Scripts, am I right? And Steels are what resulted from the mix of Paper and Moon. So really, Paper, Steel, and Moon aren’t that separate fundamentally. We’re just at various levels on the scales. So we look a little different.” She shrugs. “Fur, feathers—it’s just decoration, really. Our basic makeup and structure are the same.”

Her words remind me of what Mama told me about humans and demons sharing the same blood. And being reminded of my mother leads me to think of that day seven years ago, the day I stopped believing in her words because how could we be the same when demons could do that?

“But if they think they are so superior to us,” I scowl, “why would they even want us in that way?”

Zelle cocks a shoulder. “Part of it is the temptation of the forbidden, I suppose. The excitement of breaking the rules. Especially somewhere like here, the palace, a place full of Moon and Steel castes—maybe the delicate features of human girls have an exotic lure.” Something hardens in her expression. “But mostly, I think, it’s about power. Demon men can take what they want. Our homes. Our lives. Our bodies.” Then, as abruptly as it went, her lighthearted demeanor returns. “And of course, there’s our sheer beauty. I mean, who can resist this?” She flips her hair, shoots me a wink. “Anyway, the real issue is how do we help you feel at ease with the King.”

I shift uncomfortably, remembering last night—the closeness of the King, his thumb tracing my lips, the way he touched me with the intimacy, the sureness of someone who has already known others’ bodies.

Or, perhaps, of someone who is comfortable with taking things as his own.

Revulsion swirls through me, edged with something fire-hot. I want to jump up, scream at Zelle. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it understandable how maybe I wouldn’t want a stranger’s body pressed against mine, especially not a demon whose power has brought so much pain to Ikhara, to families like mine?

Dzarja. It is a betrayal.

Every day I’m here in the palace is a betrayal.

But I swallow my words, unsure of how Zelle would respond. Instead, I make up, “I know nothing about him. We’ve had one conversation. Barely. How am I supposed to be attracted to someone I don’t know?”

“You’re really telling me you’ve never been drawn to someone because of the way they look?” Zelle asks with an arch of her brow. “It’s not shallow, Nine. Attraction is an honest, instinctive part of life. And a person’s appearance is much more than just their features. It’s how they hold themselves. The way they move. The things you can tell about them without words. You’re how old?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” she repeats, something a little wistful in her voice, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few years ago for her. “Such a good age. Still fresh enough that attraction and desire feel new to you, but old enough to understand what to do with them. You must have watched someone by now and wished you could know them. Wondered whether their thoughts might stray to you.”

And all at once my face gets hot—because it’s a perfect description of the way I’ve been feeling about someone.

Wren.

Understanding arrives then the way twilight falls: instantaneously. Just a blink, a skip in time, leaving only the before and the after, and the inescapable ripples of change.

Every lingering glance, every stolen moment watching her out of the corner of my eye clicks into place. How flustered I always feel around her. How jealous I was at the thought of her with a lover. The way watching her dance makes something inside me physically ache. And even though we’ve not spoken that much—Wren still carries herself with that infuriating aloofness that separates her from the group—Zelle is right. I can tell things about her just from the way she behaves. She’s not as unknowable as she might like to think. I’ve noticed the way she relaxes anytime we have a physical-based lesson, as though grateful for the time to move in her own body. The way she hides her nakedness in the bathing courtyard, less out of modesty but more, it seems, as a sense of maintaining the distance she has crafted between herself and the rest of us.

And I’ve noticed the way she’s begun to watch me sometimes, and how—with burning eyes.

Something I haven’t felt for a long time flutters into life in the pit of my belly. Hope. Because, maybe, Wren has already come to her understanding.

Maybe her eyes were showing me what I’m only just realizing now.

Zelle watches me patiently, her lips quirked. “See? Your body doesn’t lie. There is someone.”

Breath quiet, I palm my hands down the fabric of my skirt and answer, tentative, “But… it’s not the King.” I want to add, And it’s not a man, either, but that seems too telling.

“So?” she says. “You’re not expected to be attracted to the person you’re being forced to sleep with. Look at my clients. Most of them are government dogs.” Zelle snorts. “Sometimes literally. But every now and then, someone comes along.…” Her face glimmers with a secret memory, perhaps of kinder, less selfish hands and mouths. “You need to find ways to arouse those feelings even when you’re with someone who repulses you. It might sound impossible, but it’s actually quite simple once you know how. I’ll show you. Take off your clothes,” she commands brusquely.

Instinctively, I clasp the collar of my robes. “W-what?”

“There’s no use being coy, Nine. I work here, remember? I’ve seen it all. Besides, if you can’t undress in front of me, what hope do you have when it comes to the King?”

Her words send a shudder down my spine. Not just because of how she means it, but for the second meaning hidden within, too. Because the answer to her question is easy: none. I have no hope. No hope of being free, no hope of escaping what’s to come tonight.

But if there’s one thing palace life has taught me, it’s how to follow orders. Even if on the inside, you’re raging against them.

Chin low, I pull my sash free. Then, slowly, I draw my cotton robes off my shoulders. I stare down at the floor, feeling as exposed as I look.

“Gods,” Zelle murmurs. “That was about as sensual as a tooth extraction. You’d better watch closely.”

She casts her face to the side, her gaze blurring, unfocused. She undresses from her hanfu leisurely, and I can’t help but be amazed at the transformation in her demeanor. She becomes a woman in love. Every movement is filled with yearning. Desire in the quickening of her breaths as the robes tumble from her body; coyness in the way she catches my eyes before dropping her gaze to the floor. In her parted lips: longing.

Then she grins, and the mirage is broken.

“That was amazing,” I admit.

With a shrug, Zelle glides her robes back on, though there is real pride in her voice. “Of course it was. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the highest-paid courtesan in the palace, would you? Now, get dressed and try it again. Imagine that you’re with the person you desire. You’re undressing in front of them for the first time. How would you feel? How would they feel? Use the thought of their lust to fuel your own.”

I close my eyes and do as she says, dreaming of Wren.

Over the next few hours, Zelle teaches me more techniques for the King’s bedchamber, from ways to be touched she’s heard he likes from previous Paper Girls to exercises for me to practice to become more aware of my own sensuality. Sometimes she looks at me in a way that makes it seem like she can tell what I’m thinking about. Or, more specifically—who.

“Will we have more lessons?” I ask once the lesson is over, gathering up the hem of my robes and starting to my feet.

“Anytime the King calls for you,” Zelle replies. “Though there won’t be that much more to teach you. Like I said, it’s natural, really. You just need practice. But Madam Himura thinks there’s benefit in you all having lessons with me, and I get to take a few hours out from seeing clients.” She smiles up at me. “I’m looking forward to hearing how tonight goes, Nine. I think you’ll do well.”

Heat—and not the good kind—crawls across my skin at the thought of the King’s hands on my body. Everyone talks about our job as though it were totally normal. As though physical intimacy were something to be demanded, not offered or shared. Not with love, the way I’d dreamed of it since I was young, thinking marriage was the sweet kisses my parents shared when they thought I wasn’t looking, the way they sat side by side many nights on the back porch, in silence but somehow making the air feel full of words.

Something narrows in my throat. “I still don’t feel ready.”

“I know I’ve thrown a lot of information at you today,” Zelle says gently. “Just remember that it’s your first time. The King isn’t expecting you to be highly skilled. In fact, he’s probably looking forward to your inexperience. Many men enjoy that, taking a girl’s virginity.”

“Why?” The word comes out bitter. All the bad things in my life have happened because of men’s greed—first when they took Mama, and then when they came back seven years later for me. My voice is rough as I add, “They have all the power, anyway.”

The look Zelle gives me is sharp. “Do they? Yes, they like to think they’re in charge, ordering us around and taking women for their own whenever they fancy. But is that true power? They can take and steal and break all they want, but there is one thing they have no control over. Our emotions,” she says at my nonplussed look. “Our feelings. Our thoughts. None of them will ever be able to control the way we feel. Our minds and hearts are our own. That is our power, Nine. Never forget it.”

There’s an odd calmness to her expression, though something dark surges behind her eyes. Just as I’m about to leave, I pause, glancing back from the doorway. “About my nickname…”

Zelle nods, guessing what I’m about to ask. “I did get it from Blue. But I don’t use it in the same way.”

“How do you use it?”

She flashes her crooked smile. “As a compliment, of course.”