“No works for the likes of you. Take it and get out.”

Keliana’s heart fell as the last in a long line of prospective employers took one look at her paperwork and threw it back at her in disgust. She’d started off this morning with high hopes, her step light as she’d left the palace in her new clothes, the red silks left behind her forever. Or so she’d thought.

“Thank you for considering me. I’ll see myself out.” Carefully she gathered up the scattered papers and returned them to her bag, fighting back the sting of tears. So far she’d seen six people looking for casual workers. Nothing fancy, just cleaning staff or menial workers. Cheap unskilled labor, but work she could do and get paid an honest wage for.

Six interviews, all of which had started off well even when she’d admitted she was a free slave. Until she’d handed over her paperwork. Interest had turned to disgust in the blink of an eye and she’d been ordered out.

Nodding a farewell to the woman sat behind the desk eyeing her with a cold look, Keliana slipped out of the door. It could have been worse, the guy before this one had thrown her paperwork back and suggested that he had another role she could fill. She hadn’t waited around for the details, grabbing her papers and running with his crude words ringing in her ears.

Shivering as she stepped onto the street, she wrapped the padded jacket tighter around herself and pulled the collar up against the bitter wind. Although the weather was mild in the day, the lower city didn’t have the weather shielding of the palace and the temperature was dropping quickly.

Trying hard not to let worry worm its way into her heart, she trudged down the street with her pack over her shoulder and ignored the thoughts of Jareth that buzzed around her head like flies. She couldn’t afford to think of him, not at the moment.

Maybe in a couple of years, when she was settled into her new life as a free-woman, she’d unlock the little box in her head where she’d stuffed every memory of their time together. Take them out, dust them off and remember a love she’d thought she had without the pain of knowing it was all an illusion.

Until then the pain in the center of her chest was too new, too raw and she had too much riding on this to collapse into a blubbering heap, bemoaning the fact life hadn’t gone her way. Rolling her shoulder under the pack she turned the corner. There were still a few places on the list she’d pulled from the city information terminal this morning. She just had to hope one of them was hiring without asking too many questions.

* * *

It was no good. No one, absolutely no one would hire a former whore to do so much as scrub a dirty floor or even clean out a stable of Yaxarans, and the six-legged beasts were so filthy even androids complained about the stink.

Three hours into the night phase, Keliana had accepted defeat. Her feet hurt from walking across half the city, she was hungry and exhaustion was beginning to make her feel like she was a hundred, rather than just in her third decade.

Selecting the cleanest sleep-pod hostel she could find, she fed a few darinells into the booth and collected the blue credit slip as it slithered from the slot with a mechanic whir. A quick check of the number on the slip against the numbers on the squat, coffin like containers in front of her drew a groan from her lips.

Crap, street level. On one hand that meant that she wouldn’t have to haul her tired body and pack up one of the spindly ladderlike stairs, but it also meant she’d have every drunkard and asshole out here yanking at her door to see if luck was with them and it was empty or open. She didn’t want to think of what would happen if they found it open.

Her hand sought the knife she’d stolen from the old pack at the bottom of Jareth’s closet. Concealed at her waist in a battered leather sheath, it bore the marks of hard use but was still razor sharp. More than enough to deal with anyone trying anything on. Besides, she’d been a courtesan, trained to please a man in a myriad of exotic and unusual ways, which, from her current point of view, meant she had a multitude of places to stick that knife into to cause pain the like of which her victim had never experienced before.

Ignoring the individuals loitering in the shadows gathered at the sides of the street, she walked along the tatty pods looking for her number. They’d all seen better days. Paint peeled in random flakes to reveal rust on the support struts that supported them in a honeycomb pattern and a white tidemark a few inches near the top of the bottom pod indicated that this area of the city suffered from flooding. She shuddered, not wanting to think about the fate of anyone caught in one during a flood. At least it wasn’t raining.

Sending a quiet prayer up to the Lady that she wasn’t on right on the end of the row, she ignored the small group of men up ahead. Gathered around a fire in an old bin, they were the rough-looking sort she knew instinctively to avoid. Her skin crawled. At least two of them had been watching her since she’d pulled the slip from the booth earlier.

Don’t show fear, don’t show fear. The chant rolled through her head as she counted down the number and made a mental calculation. With each step it became more and more apparent that hers was the pod on the end of the row—right next to the burning bin. Her heart fell, but she kept a vaguely irritated expression on her face.

Appearance and confidence were everything. Better to look pissed off and bored with the whole situation rather than scared out of her wits. The predators down here in the seedier parts of the city were like sharks, a hint of blood in the water and they’d be out in force to circle their prey.

As if to heap more misery on her shoulders a chill wind picked up to whistle down the street between the close-packed buildings. The icy gusts caught the rubbish in the gutters, a combination of leaves, butt-ends, and takeaway containers, which appeared to be the sole source of nutrition for those unfortunate enough to live here long-term. If living was the right word for it. Mere existence would be a better description.

She couldn’t help the small wrinkle of her nose as the blown rubbish skittered around her ankles like an overeager puppy and then away, scattering across the narrow road wedged between the pod-hostel and the rear entrance to a fast food joint that was the obvious origin of at least half the food containers. Trying to breathe through her mouth didn’t help—the defense weak at best, but all she could think of. Obviously whoever programmed the automated street cleaners didn’t pay as much attention to the less salubrious parts of the city. Quick wash and brush up, don’t bother with the polish. Shit didn’t shine.

“Hey there, love. We’re having a party. How about you come and join us?” The coarse voice issued from the group around the fire, as she’d known it would sooner or later. Reaching her pod, which, as she suspected was the one on the very end, she shoved the plasti-strip in the slot and just shook her head in response. She didn’t want to speak, not down here. Her palace accent would give her away in a heartbeat and since those from the upper districts were less than popular down here and she was alone, it was a situation she needed to avoid.

“Hey, I said we’re having a party.”

The voice was closer, but she ignored it in favor of jiggling the strip in the slot, praying it would work. Her world narrowed down to the red light at the side of the hatch, waiting with baited breath for the instant it flickered and turned green so she could haul the hatch open and escape into the meager safety the small extruded plasti-shell pod offered.

The slip rattled in the slot. The light stayed red.

“Fuck.”

She yanked the strip out only to shove it back in again, a small click and the bend of the plastic between her fingers telling her it had hit the back of the small slot. It was the right number, the pod was unoccupied, there shouldn’t be a problem. Fear crawled up her spine to wrap around her chest, tightening around her rib cage so her breath escaped in small pants, hot white puffs on the cold night air.

Heavy footsteps crunched through the debris on the street behind her and a second later a hard hand dropped onto her shoulder to wrench her around, slamming her against the pod with bruising force. Before she could scream or reach for the knife at her waist a hard body pinned her back against the grimy plastic. Hot, fetid breath washed over her as he shoved his face into hers.

“It’s not nice to ignore a man who only wants to show you a good time.” His words were accompanied by the sharp edge of a blade as it kissed her neck.

Fear paralyzed her, freezing her body and reaching cloying fingers into her chest where her heart hammered so hard she thought it would burst. The irony rose to taunt her. She, who had spent so long servicing the needs of a prince, would end up raped and murdered in a filthy backstreet within view of the palace.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Kevin, I am so fed up with your shit. It’s not nice to intimidate and threaten good goddess-fearing folk just because you can’t keep your fucking dick in your pants.” The female voice from somewhere behind the newly named Kevin’s bulky shoulders turned from a drawl to a no nonsense order. “Now, put her down before I put a bolt in your ass.”

Kevin stilled, differing expressions at war on his grime-covered face. Lust as he looked at her, mixed with wariness as the sound of a foot tapping reached them. Slowly he dropped the blade from her throat and backed up.

“Sorry for the misunderstanding, ma’am.” He touched his forelock with a little subservient bow, shot a look of hatred at the woman standing in the middle of the road and fled to the safety of the crowd around the bin.

* * *

An hour later, Keliana sat in a back room of one of the more exclusive pleasure houses in the city, sipping coffee from a delicate china mug and trying not to let her head whirl too much. In a twist of fate her rescuer, a busty young blonde who introduced herself as “Mystique,” had turned out to be a courtesan taking a shortcut through the slums after an assignment. One who, after shooing Kevin off—Keliana hadn’t asked how she even knew the guy’s name—had taken one look at Keliana and bustled her into a hover-cab.

Tired, cold, and shaken after the encounter, she hadn’t put up much of a fight even when hustled through the back door into what looked like a comfortable sitting room full of worn but plush looking armchairs, a holo-screen in the corner playing one of the recent romance vids. Right at the moment the handsome prince was wooing his love interest with a combination of roses and darkly dangerous looks whilst singing an edgy rock song.

She snorted, amused at the overblown gothic costumes, black for him while the female lead looked virtuous and innocent in white. The plot was easy to figure out. Dastardly prince seduces poor innocent princess and leaves her, some contrived plot device later makes him realize he loves her, needs her to ascend the throne or slay the dragon and he professes his undying love. Which the too stupid to live woman believes and falls into his arms.

Personally she’d kick him in the balls and tell him where to get off, but then, her patience with princes, real or imagined, was at an all-time low.

The coffee revived her somewhat, the hot bittersweet beverage prepared just the way she liked. It had the slight smoky aftertaste of a decent satorian whiskey, added without asking, but she wasn’t worried about it. After all, she was here as a guest and places like this were a little too upmarket to slip her a mickey and force her into prostitution.

Just the thought quirked her lips and drew a snigger of amusement from the part of her mind that was still sane rather than consumed with worry or otherwise distracted with not thinking about Jareth. It was either laugh or cry she decided, putting the mug down on the table before the shaking of her hand spilt the dregs of the coffee over her own legs. She could well do without burning herself on top of all her other worries. Like where she was going to sleep tonight and what she was going to do tomorrow.

Weariness and exhaustion beat down on her. What the fuck had she done? Back in the palace it had seemed so easy. Leave, get an honest job, and work for a living. She’d imagined a small apartment somewhere, clean and neat, that was hers as she paid her way. Stood on her own two feet, instead of making a living on her back. Now she was the other side of the fence she could see how stupid that simple dream was.

There was no such thing as an ex-courtesan.

* * *

“And she’s not aware of this at all?”

Jareth watched Keliana on the security feed two floors up in the house manager’s office. The image was from a camera in the corner of the room and showed the courtesan sat in the common room used by the girl’s on their breaks.

Concern warred with anger as he saw her curled up like a frightened kitten. The plush armchair dwarfed her tiny frame, the fact that she wore his clothes, overlarge and baggy, only added to the waiflike image. It was an illusion. He knew there were very womanly curves under the concealment of the clothes, he’d mapped them with his hands and his tongue, and he would again.

“Not at all, your highness. Mystique is very good at keeping her mouth shut when necessary,” the house manager, Madam Clematia, assured him.

A tall, well-endowed woman, Jareth remembered the days when she’d been toast of the lower city, a tart with a heart. These days she ran the Purple Kiare with an iron fist and a warm manner. Her girls adored her and the clients knew they didn’t piss about with one of Madam Clem’s girls. Not if they wanted to survive the next twenty-four hours.

She nodded toward the woman perched on the edge of the desk, doing her best to attract his attention by playing with her hair and crossing and uncrossing her legs constantly. If she didn’t stop it soon, he was going to ask if she had a neurological problem.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive—she was stunning. Tall, busty, and as bold as brass, she oozed sensuality. Just the sort he and half his men would have fought good-naturedly over until he’d pulled rank and taken her for his bed. But that was before he’d set his sights on Keliana and won her. Now she was the only woman he wanted in his bed.

“I’m sure she is.” He turned his attention to the younger woman, favoring her with a tight smile. “Tell me what you know.”

She preened and leaned forward to ensure he got a good look down her cleavage before answering. He could have told her not to bother but as he wanted her cooperation, didn’t bother. Women, even whores, got snits over the smallest thing and the quicker this was sorted, the quicker he got Keliana back in his bed.

“Well, I was on my way home, taking a shortcut…I adore the noodles from Vinnie’s down on Vine street so I was planning on making a stop off there—”

Jareth folded his arms, expression as blank as he could make it as he fought the urge to tell her to get on with it. He wasn’t in the least interested in her dietary habits, other than a vague impulse to tell her she’d be better off staying away from the shit Vinnie served. He’d been there himself, after a night out with the lads in the section. Takeout that pulsed green the next morning was never good.

“Anyway, I came across her being accosted by that weirdo Kevin down by the pod-place behind Hot ’n’ Happy Wings. You know what he’s like, goes for anything with a pulse. Sometimes without.” She grinned and looked from her boss to Jareth, face dropping as she clocked the lack of reaction, and carried on. “I threatened to put a bolt in his ass for his troubles, anyone could see the girl was scared out of her wits and desperate—”

Anger threatened to overwhelm him at the idea of some greasy little bastard putting hands on his Keliana, but Jareth fought it back down until just a muscle ticking in the side of his jaw gave him away.

“Desperate?”

She shrugged. “Figured anyone looking to spend the night in a downtown pod was desperate. Scared was easy to figure out, she’s not hard enough for the streets.”

That he had to agree with. In the palace, she had been used to a life of luxury and plenty, never having to worry where her next meal was coming from or what would happen when the clients stopped knocking on her door.

“I brought her back here, figuring she might be amenable to a bit of work. Our sorta work. Didn’t figure she was a high-nob’s bit of stuff. Clemmy here recognized her and filled me in.” Curiosity shone on the blonde’s face as she looked at the screen again then back at Jareth. “She was really the old Prince’s favorite courtesan?”

He nodded, the movement brusque and sharp. “Now, she’s mine. And I’m not best pleased to find her out on the streets. There was a mix up, shall we say, at the palace. She thinks she’s free, but she isn’t.”

“Well, we’re glad to be of service, your highness. You are, of course, free to take her as soon as you like.” Madam Clematia rose from behind her desk with a smile and her hand outstretched. “I remember when you were a frequent visitor to our humble establishment. Good days and you are always a welcome visitor here. If there’s anything else we can help you with, please, you have only to ask.”

He took her hand, soft and unlined despite her advancing years and shook it firmly. “Actually, there is one little thing you can do for me.”