The Mistress

Augustus' departure was like the loosening of a prisoner's chains, and Rhea was left with the suffocating pressure of the courtesans' judgement.

The crowd began to approach, like vultures itching to tear out their own portion of rotting flesh.

Her saviour stepped forward before they could circle, George – who she had not realised was still in the room – a hulking beast that successfully scared away the colourful birds.

"It has been a long trip and Miss Wellman requires rest. Take her to her room," he instructed her ladies-in-waiting with no room in his voice for Apollonia's mounting refusal.

"I assume that will be the usual suite then?" The blonde woman asked with an innocent tilt of her head and a sharp grin.

"Usual?" Rhea repeated with brows furrowed in confusion, looking up to George for answers.

She was met with the hard clench of his jaw and a glare so frightening she could feel Apollonia's fear before she saw it on the woman's face.