His Wolfless Bride

CHAPTER 13: Doubts and Fear

Neon lights flicker and beam all throughout the bustling, paved roads of the capital’s redlight district. The pungent odor of smoke from cigarettes pirouettes in all corners. Women with heavy cosmetics on their faces in seductive dresses colonize the array of brothels on both sides of the road. Some lecherous men mold their bodies around them while others are just standing, smoking or drinking.

The scene discomposes me. Just imagining myself becoming one of these women makes me wanna back out.

I shake my head at the thought. I can’t be discouraged just like that. I’m doing this for Captain Haile. It’s not that I’m really gonna have s**x with Prince Giannis. I just need to have some time alone with him, so I can kill him.

The closer I get to my destination, the more questions, which I didn’t think about before, arise in my head.

If I’m given a customer, will the brothel keeper allow me to refuse him? She should, right? It’s just fair that I get to choose who I wanna sleep with. Now, if the brothel keeper doesn’t allow that, I may as well kill that customer, then hide his corpse somewhere where it can’t be easily found. Problem solved! Time to move on to my other concern - what if Prince Giannis picks another p.rostitute other than me? So far, the only strategy I can put together is to wait for them to fall asleep, then I’ll sneak into their room and kill him. If the p.rostitute witnesses my crime, then I’ll kill her too. Another problem is solved!

I sigh, slumping my shoulders. My growing anxiety ruffles my confidence and blankets my strategies with doubts. Fingers crossed, my decisions and actions won’t cause me nightmares afterwards.

I stop at the front of the biggest brothel there is, then anxiously stare at the big, bright neon light attached to the front part of its colonnaded facade. My legs tremble when my shoe connects to its porch’s hard-tiled floor, then my throat dries when I lift another foot.

“Excuse me. How may I help you?” a woman, whose b.reasts are almost exposed, asks.

“Uhm…” I pause to swallow the itchiness in my throat. “I’ll apply as a p.rostitute. Are you the owner here?”

The woman blows her gum, then pops it while her eyes roam through my face and my body. Her gaze stops at my low-heeled shoes, so I follow her line of sight and realize that the nicest pair of shoes I have, which I haven’t used in a while, is already a little worn-out. The right one even has a tiny hole in its toe cap.

To take her attention away from my shoes, I ask, “So, when can I work here?”

“You’re not hired yet,” she responds. “By the way, I’m Alice. I’m a senior worker here. If you wanna meet the owner, you can follow me.”

“Thank you! My name is Marguerite.”

“Sure.”

Alice ushers me to a door located at the side of the brothel. My head keeps turning as we enter a well-lit, but narrow hallway. Each side of the hallway is embellished with racks of aesthetic and expensive-looking bottles of alcohol. I’m assuming that they are only for a display coz the area doesn’t appear to be an actual storage.

At the end of the hallway is another door. Alice knocks on it first, then asks,

“Madame, there’s someone who’d like to see you.”

Behind the closed door, a husky voice that seems to be of an old woman’s, responds, “It’s already late. Tell that nuisance to come back when the sun is up.”

What?! I have to wait? What am I gonna do tonight? Count all the crickets in the garbage dumps? No! I have to have this job tonight!

“Hello! My name is Marguerite and I badly need a job tonight.”

Alice gawks at me for my insistence, to which I respond with a brittle smile.

There’s silence, short but tense. Soon, that silence is disturbed by a screeching noise of the opening door. A lady peeks through the gap between the jamb and the door. She’s short and seems to be in her late thirties. She scratches her neck with her long nails, then says,

“Come in and lock the door.”

Her voice identifies her as whom Alice referred to as ‘madame’. The madame plonks down on an oversized leather chair, crosses her short legs, then abrasively demands,

“Remove your clothes. Show me what you got.”

That’s not a surprise, but I’m not expecting it either. My hand tightens around the straps of my bags as my sight roves to nowhere.

“If you can’t, then don’t waste my time,” she says.

“I-uh… I’ll do it.”

The words come out of me before I realize it. But having no option, but to obey what I’m told to do, I don’t regret saying what I said. I drop my bag on the carpet, then begin to take off Captain Haile's coat. My fingers keep twitching every time a button on the coat is opened up and when I reach the last button, my hands shudder. I slide the coat onto the carpet, and let my left hand yank up the low neckline of my dress while my right hand yanks down its short skirt. Discomfort hares through me, triggering heat to flash on my cheeks.

“You can leave now,” the madame says.

I squint my eyes and ask, “What does that mean?”

“You’re unqualified,” she adds.

Panic squirms.

“But why? I can learn,” I say.

“Everyone can learn, but not everyone can be fixed,” she counters, pointing at my body.

I’m confused at first, but when I examine myself, her reason for declining me a job registers in my head. My arms and legs are covered with scars, some are small and already fading, but there are still a couple that are quite reddish in color. My scars aren’t the only problem. Until now, the bruises on some parts of my skin are still visible and if I gently press a finger on them, they throb.

“Our customers, even the pettiest ones, wouldn’t want a scarred woman,” the madame says.

I get that, but I need to be here. This is the only place I can find Prince Giannis unless I creep into the castle, which is a much more difficult option.

The madame jerks her head at Alice and before Alice can grab my arm, I move away.

“If you can’t hire me as a p.rostitute, then at least give me a job… any job. I can cook. I can clean. I can do whatever you want.”

“Cool. I want you to leave,” she says, shooing me using her hand.

I close my eyes and bolt down my stance that I won’t beg. I drop my knees to the carpet and clasp my hands together, then say, “I’m begging you. Please, I need to have a job here.”

It’s not the first time I've begged for something, but I always do my very best to avoid being in a situation where I have to do it. It irks me coz it’s robbing me of the only thing I have left in me - my pride.

“Madame,” Alice begins, “Actually, we are short of helpers. Why don't you give her the job? Fire her if she doesn't do it well.”

I rub my palms against each other as hope is slinking back into me.

The madame considers Alice's suggestions for a few seconds. She stares, then rolls her eyes at me.

“Fine! Give her a uniform and a quick lecture about what her job is.”

A barbed thorn is pulled out of my chest. I didn’t get the job I first intended to have, but I’m staying here. It’s a bumpy start, but I’m still on track.

"Thank you! I'll do my best!" I say.

After a quick lesson with Alice about my role, my salary and the brothels’ rules, I change into a helper’s uniform - a brown, long-sleeve, robe-like dress, secured and adorned by a wide-knotted belt. It’s comfy and looks and smells way better than my clothes back home.

According to Alice, my job is to take and deliver orders from the customers who’ve already checked in inside the chambers on the upper floor, which means, I can effortlessly get in and out of the chambers whenever I get the chance to. My gratitude is outpouring. It’s astonishing that my scars and bruises, which caused me so much suffering, have saved and put me in a better situation. Now, my next task is to find Prince Giannis.

When the night arrives at its peak, the brothel grows livelier. Customers almost relentlessly flood the already congested first floor. Everyone has to squeeze their bodies when someone is moving. Most of them don't seem to mind their situation, but there are some who are growling in annoyance. I can even see the desperation of the wolves in their eyes to come out and fight. Lucky for me, I’m assigned only to the kitchen and to the second floor, so I don’t have to deal with their uncomfortable conditions.

It’s already been two hours since I got the post, but there’s no sign of Prince Giannis yet. Claudette says that he conceals his identity whenever he’s here. How will I know when he’ll arrive? Maybe Prince Giannis will not come tonight? Or maybe he’s already here and I missed him somehow?

Another hour has passed and the liveliness of the brothel starts to fall off. The once congested first floor is now almost empty with only spilled beers and smothered cigarettes’ ashes and butts decorating it. Just when the last drunk customer trudges out of the main door, an individual in a long, plushy cape enters that same door. A smirk of relief comes to me. Though that new customer's head is covered by a hoodie while his face by a scary-looking, horned mask, his scent cannot lie to me. That leathery, smokey, woody scent, plus the tingling sensation his presence is furnishing me with… I can’t be wrong. Prince Giannis has finally arrived.

What a lame way to hide himself. I thought that he’s using some kind of complex tactic or something of that sort, but I’m wrong. How can the workers of this brothel not recognize him with this silly costume?

As soon as Prince Giannis ascends to the second floor, I quickly tail him. He's escorted by one of my fellow helpers to the third chamber on the right side of the massive second floor. My heart thuds in anxiety as I prepare myself to do the worst thing I’ll ever be doing.

Since it's my fellow helper who takes and delivers his orders, I can only patiently wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. However, when my impatience starts harassing me after two hours of strategizing my next course of actions while mustering my courage, I climb back upstairs. For a minute or so, I stare at Prince Giannis’ chamber, still and hushed.

Be careful, Marguerite. Nobody, not your fellow helpers, not any p.rostitue, not the madame and absolutely not Prince Giannis, can witness your mission. Otherwise, even if you succeed, you’ll be hanged to death for sure. You have to execute your every move with precision.

When my courage is assembled, I stick my ear to the chambers’ sliding door, and when there’s nothing to hear, but an almost inaudible snoring, I sidle inside. The Prince Ultima is lying on the mattress laid on the tiled floor… all by himself. His only company are the empty bottles of beer and a basket of fruit sitting on a low, rectangular table.

Why is he alone? Where’s his p.rostitute?

I slide the door closed and lower myself down, then noiselessly crawl towards the bathroom at the rear side of the area. My body relaxes a bit after confirming that the bathroom is empty.

Perfect! This is my perfect chance now. I have to move quickly. If not, his p.rostitute might come back soon and ruin my chance.

I crawl back towards the table near the door, then grab a small knife beside a peeled and sliced apple. My hand shakes when I grip the knife’s handle tighter. My blood rushes through my neck when I inch closer to Prince Giannis. With extreme caution, I remove his mask and my heart thuds loudly at his handsome face.

Ignore your fear and doubt. You have to kill this man. You have to save Captain Haile and be happy with him again.

I position the knife’s sharp tip on Prince Giannis’ neck and before I release my next shaky breath, his eyelids fold open.