Scarlett Desire's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Scarlett Desire wanted one man, and she wanted him rich enough to end the whispering. She stood in the crowded market of Karridale, counting the coins in her palm. Six copper. Not enough for bread and rent both. Her boots leaked. Her coat was three winters old. She had told the man she loved that money meant nothing to her. She had lied. Poverty followed her like a smell, and no amount of longing scrubbed it off. A merchant near her stall bragged about the queen's new decree. The palace was hiring companions for the winter court. Room, board, and a purse of silver each week. Scarlett stopped counting her coins. Silver each week. She could buy warm boots. She could stop lying about what she wanted. She could stand beside her man clean and proud instead of ashamed. She washed her face at a public trough and walked to the palace gates. A guard let her into a hall lined with velvet. There, seated on a low couch, sat Isolde Ravencrest. The queen wore a fur-trimmed robe that hung open at the shoulder, a jeweled crown, and gold rings on bare toes. She looked barely older than a girl, but her dark eyes moved over Scarlett like a buyer sizing a horse. "You came for the silver," Isolde said. Not a question. She sipped from a golden cup. "They all do. Tell me why I should choose you over the hundred others outside." Scarlett's throat went dry. She had rehearsed nothing. "Because I don't want your court," she said. "I want money for one reason. There's a man. I love him poor, but I hate being poor beside him. Pay me, and I'll work harder than any woman who only wants your rings." Isolde set down the cup. For a long moment she studied Scarlett's leaking boots, her old coat, her flushed face. Then she smiled, slow and pleased. "Honesty," the queen said. "Rarer than silver here." She snapped her fingers. A servant brought a heavy purse and pressed it into Scarlett's hands. It sagged with coin. More than a year of scraping. "You'll serve at my side through winter. You'll be rich by spring." Scarlett's hands shook around the purse. She had it. The thing she came for. She was going to be rich. Then Isolde leaned close. Her breath smelled of wine and roses. "One rule," she murmured. "My companions belong to me alone. No lovers. No man waiting in the cold." Her painted nail traced Scarlett's jaw. "Break it, and you leave with nothing. Understood?" Scarlett looked down at the silver that would finally make her worthy of the man she loved. The same silver now forbade her from ever seeing him. She closed her fist around the purse and nodded. She had won the money. She had just lost the reason she wanted it.