“It’s a good offer, you should take it. It would be so cool; we’d have the rooms next to each other!” Mystique enthused, all but bouncing with excitement in the chair next to her with a broad grin on her face as she looked from Keliana to Mistress Clematia and back again.

Of all the houses in the city to belong to, Mystique had been from the Purple Kiare. The crème de la crème of the pleasure district, it housed high-class whores and counted minor princes and politicians amongst its clients.

Any half-baked notion she could beg for a cleaning job died as soon as Madam Clem, as she’d introduced herself, entered the room. Keliana wasn’t stupid. In a split second glance the madam had stripped her of the baggy clothing, assessed her, and seen profit. Only then did warmth enter her eyes.

“I still have a few places to check out tomorrow…” she started halfheartedly, even though she’d realized at some point on her trek around the city this afternoon that it was always going to come down to this. She’d end up in a pleasure house, entertaining whoever paid the most coin.

Her heart plummeted. She could have stayed where she was, with only the man she loved having access to her bed, to her body…her lips compressed as she instantly rejected the idea. Twisted though it was, she’d rather do this, rather take men to her bed in a simple business transaction than watch Jareth marry a lover and know each time he left her, he’d go back to his princess.

“Let me add some incentive.” Madam Clem leaned forward and took her hand. Her light brown eyes were earnest and honest. A former courtesan herself, she had a good reputation. “Give me five years and I’ll ensure your earnings are invested enough to give you a new identity, cosmetic work if you want it to change your appearance, and a new life somewhere in the outer rings.”

Keliana met her look for look. Now her heart was out of it, she knew her own worth. She’d been an Imperial Prince’s whore; she was good at what she did.

“Two. And that’ll be making you a small fortune as well.”

“Four. Taking on a new girl is a hell of an investment. I want to make sure I get my money’s worth.”

Damn, she was good. Keliana hid her smile, heartache firmly buried beneath it all, to slide into the familiar bartering game.

“Three. And I have certain requirements I’ll need met.”

“Done.” Clematia grinned, triumph lighting her features.

Keliana lifted an eyebrow and handed her mug off to Mystique, who appeared fit to burst with excitement, her blond curls dancing around her shoulders as she looked from one to the other.

“You haven’t asked what I want yet.”

“It doesn’t matter; I’ll get you whatever you need to help you settle in. Now, let’s get you up to your room and settled in. We have plans to make…you’ll debut this weekend.”

Madam Clem clapped her hands together with relish, anticipation and determination virtually radiating from her slender frame.

“An auction…the Imperial Prince’s lead courtesan and her first night since the prince…it will be the event of the season. Blow the other houses out of the water.”

She grinned and swept Keliana to her feet.

“After this, there will be no other houses!”

* * *

The remainder of the week passed in a whirl for Keliana. Within an hour of accepting Madam Clematia’s offer, she had been installed in the pick of the penthouse suites, the corner one just down the hall from Mystique’s room. Unlike the other girls clean, minimalist black and white decor though, Keliana’s rooms had been given a makeover.

The front room was a study in draped gauzes, vases and low tables in the old imperial style dotted amongst low couches swathed in sumptuous fabrics in an imitation of the Imperial harem albeit on a much smaller scale. They were all copies, good copies, but copies nonetheless. Having been among the real thing, she found it easy to tell the difference.

If the outer rooms were a masterpiece then the bedroom, her inner chamber, was the jewel in the crown. A huge low bed took up the center of the room, the window behind it remodeled into an arch with ornate lattice panels. It was merely stage dressing, the panel created in front of the window but it didn’t matter, it looked the part and that was all they needed to create the illusion.

Smoke and mirrors, gilt that shone like gold but was tarnished where it wasn’t on show. Paste jewels and a broken heart hidden behind makeup and silks. Heartache and sex. The life of a courtesan.

One whose first night at the Purple Kiare was about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. A shiver hit her as she sat in her dressing room and looked at the outfit on the hangar opposite. It was red silk. Her lips quirked into a bitter smile as she rose. Of course it was red silk. How could it be anything else?

Wriggling her toes on the low footstool in front of her while she waited for the polish to dry, she twirled the goblet in her hand. Cut crystal of the highest quality it picked up and reflected the colors of the room around her, burnished gold, and bloodred scarlet, muted pink, and the deep tint of midnight satin.

She was just a whore now, not a royal courtesan. Finally she had row upon row of clothes in every color but red. Tonight, her auction, would be the last night she wore the hated color. She glared at the gown in front of her. Tomorrow she’d burn it. With relish.

The crystal of the goblet was cool against her lips as she took another sip. The acrid bite of alcohol—vodka from the taste—mixed with the subtle, dreamy undertones of something else as ice-cubes clinked against the sides. She swallowed, feeling the burn down to her stomach, and rested her head back against the chair to allow a delicious lethargy to creep over her.

The extra taste was Starflower. Woman’s little helper. It had been used from the time mankind scattered over the universe to help women cope with situations that were less than desirable. An unwanted marriage, the loss of a child, a whore who didn’t want to remember who and how many men she had to sleep with before she was free.

It was expensive, but Keliana didn’t care. Taking a deep breath, she knocked back what was left in the glass and stood up. Nor did she care who won the right to bed her tonight, or the night after, or the night after that. If she had to stay jacked up on Starflower for the next three years, she would. Because then her heart wouldn’t bleed for the Colonel she’d loved and lost.

* * *

The Purple Kiare was full by the time Jareth arrived that weekend for the auction. True to her word Madam Clem had put on a show. In fact, the advertising had been all over the city for most of the week. Billing her as “A taste of the old Empire—For one night only: the Starflower of the Prince’s Harem” it didn’t mention Keliana by name. She’d been looking at him from the side of every building, cab, and billboard all week, her face and body veiled and hidden, but dark eyes revealed, a sultry expression in them. A “come to bed” expression that enraged him as much as it turned him on.

He shifted in his seat at the back of the room, easing the uncomfortable ache in his groin. Because this was “his” auction and given his new rank and status in the court, Madam Clem had installed him at the best table in the house. Directly opposite the main stage were the auction would take place and separated from the noise and hubbub of the main floor by a one-way noise and light shield. He’d seen them before in use on the bridge of military vessels, shielding critical systems operatives so they could concentrate. It was an expensive little toy for a civilian installation that was for sure.

The controls sat on the table in front of him, next to a large tumbler of the best Satorian whiskey. When he was ready he could switch it to two-way and allow everyone in the room, including those on stage, to see who he was.

He picked the tumbler up, the large glass reassuringly weighty in his hand, and took a swallow of the amber liquid. It hit his taste buds with a smoky bitterness he savored before it burned a line of fire down to his gut. He’d drunk everything from absolute rotgut down in the barracks, to the best Sethan’s personal drinks cabinet had to offer, so he knew good stuff when he necked it. Smooth as silk until he swallowed, this was definitely the good stuff. The next mouthful he savored as he watched the dancing girls on stage.

Dressed like harem girls, they twirled and twisted seductively on stage to the delight of the men packed onto the main floor. He flicked a glance over their costumes and smiled. Sure they were dressed in red, but the transparent gauze wrapped over their slender bodies did nothing to hide the fullness of their breasts, nor the pierced and jeweled nipples of at least three, and the tiny red thongs were barely decent. The stereotypical male fantasy of a harem girl, willing and ready for a man’s pleasure, rather than an accurate depiction of a real courtesan.

Oh for fuck’s sake, what are you? The fucking historical accuracy nerd or something? They’re just stroke material, the sarcastic voice in his head broke through his thoughts to sneer. He snorted at himself and rolled the bottom edge of the tumbler against the cream brocade of the tablecloth as he brooded.

He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankle as he waited. On the stage the dancing girls cleared, to the disappointment of the masses, and the auction began. He had to admit, although she couldn’t sell the star attraction she’d been advertising all week, Madam Clem had still made the most of the opportunity to get the punters through the door and into the bedrooms of her girls.

Jareth watched idly as girls, all dressed similarly to the dancing girls, were brought giggling and waving onto the stage. They were the house’s regular girls, some waving and blowing kisses to their regulars in the crowd as the bidding began furiously. It was all a fantasy, a lighthearted one obviously as the last girl to be “sold” was scooped up from the stage by her new “owner” and twirled around, giggling and kicking in mock fright before he carried her off through to the inner sanctum beyond the red doors at the back of the main room.

Then the lights dropped and all sense of frivolity was chased from the room. Darkness reigned for a second before a spotlight started to illuminate the stage slowly. Soft music filled the room, flutes and harps in an ancient melody that invoked images of sand dunes, shrouded tents and rich fabrics. Incense filtered through the darkness, reaching out with evocative fingers and transporting the room to a different time. On stage, the soft light picked out a single figure swathed in red veils, her back to the audience. Jareth held his breath, every cell in his body instantly alert and on edge.

Keliana. His woman.

“Gentlemen, the next delight we have in store for you defies description, but this poor unworthy man will attempt the feat,” the auctioneer whispered, his tone reverent and soft against the music.

“Long has the harem of the Imperial prince been hidden, the most beautiful women in the systems selected and brought to one place for the prince’s pleasure. They say the women of the harem are so enticing, so hauntingly beautiful that just one glimpse of the women without their veils will render mere mortal men dumbstruck, forced to live out their days in worship of these goddesses amongst mortal women. That only a prince could look upon such perfect specimens and not waste away with need. Those days are gone, the harem now disbanded and lost to the mists of time.”

The music throbbed soulfully, as though mourning the loss of the harem and all that it stood for. Despite himself, Jareth was dragged into the mysticism and the spell the auctioneer was weaving as, on stage, Keliana began to move. Her arms extended out wide, the red cloak she was wrapped in rendered transparent by a soft light somewhere behind her.

She swayed to the music as though a woman dancing for herself might, in sheer soft joy at the music that wound around the room like a lover’s caress. Each movement, every line and curve of her curvaceous body visible through the red fabric.

Jareth bit back a curse as heat slammed through him. His cock, half-hard all week at the thought of tonight, was hard and aching in a second. Each heartbeat, each surge of his blood took him closer to madness as he watched her on stage. Anger fed possessiveness. She was his and she’d tried to run. Thrown back what he offered.

“But tonight, direct from the harem of the Imperial Prince himself for your delight and delectation, the Lady Kiare!”

He ground his teeth as she swayed again and nodded to the auctioneer to start the bidding. Tonight she’d learn what being owned really felt like.

* * *

Lady Kiare. Where did they get this shit?

Keliana snorted to herself as she danced, amused beyond belief by the auctioneer’s prattle. Did he really believe all the crap he was spouting? Half the women in the old prince’s harem had been chosen for the size of their assets, but the prince really hadn’t given two hoots about what they looked like.

Swaying to the music she lost herself in the rhythm for a moment, the Starflower she’d taken letting her mind drift off. For long seconds she wasn’t on a stage, she was somewhere else…someone else. A woman dancing for her naked lover as he lounged on a bed, waiting for her.

She danced because she wanted to. To attract his attention and to make him want her. More than want her. To make him burn with need for her and only her. Arched back, tilted hips, head to one side, her need and love made into a dance form as she teased and tempted. She wanted his attention, basked in it. Waited for him to raise his hand and beckon her, but when he did, she’d say no, tease some more and make him get off the bed and come to fetch her.

The music changed, the volume turned down, and her fantasy was broken. Back on the stage, the muttering of the crowd brought her back to reality with a bump. She was in the Purple Kiare, her first night with the house to be sold to the highest bidder.

Steeling herself, she turned, wrapping the semisheer red cloak around her. Beneath it she was all but naked, just a length of red gauze around her waist, held in place with a knot at her hip and the rest falling down around her legs like a skirt. Under the cloak her body was painted and dusted with gold and her nipples surrounded by delicate jeweled shields. With each move they rubbed against the silken fabric, stimulated by the Starflower and the movement. Her feet were bare in keeping with the costume and a tiny thong covered her pussy, the strap leaving the globes of her ass bare under the swirling satin of the cloak.

Dressed to be fucked. She hid her shiver as the bidding started. She felt more naked in this get-up than if she’d actually walked onto the stage in her birthday suit.

The bids were rapid, like the gunfire from projectile weapons in the historical movies she liked to watch on the holo-vids. Stories from a time before the princedoms, when humanity was just populating the stars to gain a foothold in the galaxy. A time they called the wild west of space travel but she’d never really understood why, not that it mattered much. It certainly hadn’t marred her enjoyment of the films.

“A thousand…a thousand four…who’ll give me five? Come on gentlemen, she’s untouched since her prince, surely that’s got to be worth a measly sixteen hundred parinells. She’ll be yours for the entire night,” the auctioneer wheedled, trying to drive the bidding up. He was good, she’d give him that. The house would easily triple their normal takings for the night.

“Thousand four-fifty,” a voice piped up from the darkness to the left of the room. She didn’t look that way, trying to keep her gaze fixed on the darkness at the back of the room where the private boxes were. The center one was always reserved for the guest of honor, but appeared to be empty tonight, the alcove dark. A sigh of relief rattled from her lungs.

At least there was less chance of someone from the court seeing her final downfall, or god forbid, the three youths Jareth had saved her from at the ball. That would just add insult to injury and be a night she’d want to obliterate from her memory entirely.

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Fifteen fifty!”

As though the floodgates had been opened, the bids came in fast and furious, forcing the auctioneer to cut his chatter just to keep up. The price was driven higher and higher, until she felt faint at the sheer amount of money being bid just for one night with her. Easily the price of a couple of girls’ fresh of the auction blocks in the flesh markets. New girls, ones who hadn’t spent years in a harem, so why they’d want her, she didn’t know. She shifted on stage, looking down at the ridiculous garment they’d put her in. Perhaps it was the red silk, or maybe the nipple rings, just visible through the sheer fabric. Illusion and deceit. Shiny gold and tarnished gilt.

“Twenty thousand.”

The room fell silent. Even the auctioneer caught his breath at the bid.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

The light in the main box snapped on and Keliana’s blood roared in her ears. Jareth sat at the table, the light twinkling off the heavy tumbler in his hand as he twirled the base against the tablecloth. His face was set, unreadable.

“Twenty thousand parinells,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “For the night. All night.”

A shiver hit her spine as a soft gasp of awe circled the room. No one had ever paid so much for one night with a whore.

“I have twenty. Thousand. Parinells.” The auctioneer managed in stunned tones. “Any advance on twenty thousand?”

The room was silent. No one moved, not even Keliana. Her gaze was riveted to the man in the main box as he rose, leaving the tumbler on the table. Despite his new royal status he was dressed as the soldier she knew him to be, the black on black uniform devoid of any insignia, but instantly recognizable as he stalked toward the stage.

He was fury and danger personified. A shiver marched over her skin at the look on his face as he approached. She clamped her jaw tight against it and lifted her eyes to his defiantly. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. He’d only bought her for the night, he didn’t own her. Not anymore.

That thought hit her again and the real meaning filtered through her Starflower-infused brain. He’d bought her for the night. Fuck. Heat blistered over her skin like wildfire, aided and abetted by the drug in her system.

Her pussy clenched hard, that shiver changing to one of awareness as she remembered their time together back at the palace. He was an excellent lover. Considerate, gentle—even when he was a little rough. The best she’d ever had, bringing her to fulfillment time and time again before he gave into his own body’s needs.

He stopped in front of her, blue-black eyes sweeping over her in assessment. They were hard, the thin outer ring of blue ice-cold and her heart ached for the warmth that had been there before when he looked at her. Before she’d run from him.

“Take off the cloak.”

She blinked in surprise and instinctively tightened her arms, pulling what little concealment the sheer cloak offered tighter around herself.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“You will be,” he promised softly so only she could hear, his voice a low study in retribution and threat. “Take it off. I want to see what I’ve bought. Take it off or I have no issues with stripping it off you here and now. Perhaps even taking you back to that booth and giving everyone a show as I fuck you over the table.”

Her gasp echoed between them and understanding dawned at the hard look in his eyes. He wanted to humiliate her for running, for leaving him. Force her to display herself to the men in the room although he’d already purchased the right to her tonight. Heat swept her in a prickly wave as she dropped her arms and let go of the edges of the cloak.

Pretend to be somewhere else, she told herself, trying to grasp the fantasy of dancing for the man on the bed. The lover in her dreams who watched a girl who wasn’t her.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Eyes unfocused she forced her chin up and turned, automatically lifting her arms and arching her back to display herself better for the crowd. In her mind the room was quiet except for the soft breeze through the windows, the floor cold beneath her feet but that didn’t matter. His gaze was hot, warming her through as he beckoned her toward the bed again. She lifted her gaze, color on her cheeks as she sought a glimpse of his face for the first time.

“You’ll do. Come on.”

The fantasy shattered as a large hand captured her wrist and yanked her forward. She stumbled, half falling off the stage, but his hard grip on her wrist kept her upright as he dragged her toward the doors at the back of the room. Pale faces in the darkness of the room flitted past her field of vision, but she didn’t have time to do more than glance.

Not that it mattered; here no one would help her. Not even Madam Clem, who opened the door for them to pass. Her lips curved in a small smile of comfort and reassurance, but Keliana knew better than to think she would intervene unless Jareth was in danger of physically abusing her. Which wouldn’t happen. As angry as he was, his fingers biting deep into her wrist as he pulled her to stand on the circular plate of the grav-lift, she didn’t need to worry about him using his fists on her.

Another shiver stole over her skin, her exposed nipples puckering within the jeweled shields as though begging for his attention. It made no difference. He didn’t spare her a glance, standing as still as the statue they were no doubt constructing in honor of his ascension to prince. She slid him a glance from under her lashes. Only his jaw moved, a tiny muscle pulsing in the corner to betray his mood.

The door in front of them slid open with a soft whoosh and he stepped forward. Knowing by now that it was walk or be dragged, she hurried to keep up, trying to casually wrap her free arm over her exposed breasts as she went.

“No!” He caught her movement and reached out to rip her covering arm away. “Whores don’t get to cover up from their masters.”

Tears threatened, hot and sharp, at the back of her eyes and stealing her breath as he shoved her into the room ahead of him. The outer room passed in a blur as he hustled her through to the bedroom. Heat and shame hit her. She’d been a whore for years, but she’d never been dressed as one before. Right now, she’d give anything to slide into the red silks she’d run from rather than face him dressed like this.

“Pl…” She turned, the plea dying on her lips as she saw the black expression on his face. Lust and dark desire warred with anger as he tore the front of his uniform jacket open and shucked the garment. It dropped unheeded to his feet, the close fit tank he wore underneath following a second later.

“Dance,” he invited softly, his soft whisper not one of suggestion or compromise. Her heart stuttered in her chest. It was an order, pure and simple, as he worked his belt.

“Now. I won’t tell you again.”

The buckle snapped loose, making her jump. Fear spiraled through her as the leather slid from around his waist and she hurried to obey. Trying to recall the seductive music from downstairs she swayed jerkily to the imagined beat. Had she been wrong…would he actually beat her for leaving him?

“Jare—”

He cut her off with a snap of the belt. “Your highness. I like my whores to remember their place.”

Pain lanced through her, catching her breath and making it difficult to breath. There was no trace of the gentle, passionate lover she knew. This was a different man, one who planned on treating her like the whore he’d named her. Turning abruptly, she hid her face as a hot tear broke free to slide down her cheek. Using another turn and sway of her hips, she swiped it away and tried to recapture the misty fog of earlier. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not now, not ever again.