Ch 6.3

Chloe knelt in the vast hall of the Tranquil Pavilion, small and trembling in the middle of polished marble.

Her knees pressed together. Hands balled into fists.
Her lips puffed in stubborn anger.
Her eyes were swollen from barely contained tears.

She looked like she wanted to throw a tantrum, scream, or bolt for the door—but the threat of Ben being harmed chained her to the floor more effectively than iron.

The old guildmaster, Onteko, stood before her—pipe in one hand, tail flicking lazily behind her—as she inspected Chloe the way a merchant inspects fragile cargo.

“Hm.”
She huffed a thin ribbon of scented smoke.
“She’s frail. No notable bosom. Looks like she’ll snap after a few rounds. That’s not ideal. Customers will complain… and that will tarnish our brand.”

Chloe’s cheeks puffed so hard she looked ready to explode.
But she swallowed her outrage, trembling as she forced herself still.
She couldn’t risk Ben being punished for her actions.

Most of the room’s attention drifted to Aisha—the catwoman who had tricked them into entering the building. Her expression remained unreadable, but the weight of Chloe’s glare was unmistakable.

Onteko finally turned toward Aisha.

“Aisha. You’ll take charge of this one. Let her shadow you—observe your services, learn how the Pavilion operates. Once she understands the basics, she’ll serve only the gentlest customers. The ones unlikely to break her.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I leave the details to your judgment.”

“Yes, Madam,” Aisha replied with a bow.

Two beastwomen stepped forward, gripping Chloe by the arms.

“Come with us.”

Chloe puffed her cheeks again, glaring at Aisha with watery defiance—but she allowed herself to be guided away, heels dragging as she disappeared down the corridor.

Onteko exhaled a lazy coil of smoke and began ascending the stairs, her cane tapping softly against the marble.
Aisha followed a step behind, her posture straight, mask unreadable.

“So,” Onteko muttered without looking back, “how are Meriath and the others faring?”

Aisha hesitated—a fraction of a second too long.

“Meriath is stable,” she said at last. “The helpers are working tirelessly to remove the needles. It’s slow work. Some were lodged deep.”
She lowered her voice. “We had to pluck the feathers that were in the way. It will take time for them to grow back.”

Onteko stopped mid-step.

Her ears twitched.

“…Damn it.”

She turned her head just enough for one sharp eye to fix on Aisha.
“Without those feathers, her value drops by nearly eighty percent. She was our best draw for avian patrons.”

Aisha stiffened.

“When she recovers, lower her price to match the others,” Onteko continued flatly. “Have her work twice as much. She’ll earn back what she lost.”

Aisha’s eyes widened beneath her mask.
“Madam… Meriath was injured protecting Gina and Fina. She put herself between them and the attack.”

Onteko’s gaze hardened.

“Those two?” she scoffed. “Lousy workers. Together, they don’t bring in half of what Meriath earns alone.”
Her tail lashed once. “She shouldn’t have risked herself for them.”

Aisha’s tail flicked sharply, betraying her shock.
“But madam, she was protecting her sisters—”

“If you had done your job properly and restrained that human brat,” Onteko snapped, turning fully now, “we wouldn’t be discussing losses.”

The words cut cleanly.

Aisha bowed her head and said nothing.

Onteko clicked her tongue and resumed climbing.
“Hmph. Speaking of nuisances—those new guests. Are they still rotting in our cabins?”

“Yes,” Aisha replied. “They’ve been eating, drinking, and charging everything to the Diplomat Party’s tab. They also request services nightly.”
She frowned. “I doubt they’ll leave before the Warlords’ Summit.”

Onteko’s brows twitched.

“Church dogs,” she muttered. “Bleeding us dry because they think diplomacy makes them untouchable.”
Smoke spilt from her lips. “If not for that paper-thin tension between us and the church, I’d have them slaughtered and fed to the beasts.”

Aisha inclined her head but said nothing.

“For now, indulge them,” Onteko continued. “Do not give them a reason to start trouble. If the church aligns with the tribes, we cannot afford to be their enemy.”

She waved a dismissive hand.

“Get the girls ready for night duty. Force potions if you must. Dress them up—clients are waiting. The hall will be repaired by nightfall.”

Reaching the upper landing, Onteko stretched her back, joints cracking beneath her robes.

“Tch… what a damned nuisance.”

She flicked the ash from her pipe and disappeared into her quarters, leaving only the fading scent of smoke behind.

Aisha remained standing in the hall, silent, her hands clenched just tightly enough to tremble.

Builders from neighbouring guilds swarmed the Pavilion, hammers ringing as shattered marble was reset and splintered railings replaced. Dust hung in the air, quickly masked by incense and perfume as the Tranquil Pavilion prepared to open its doors once more.

Behind the scenes, the lesser beastgirls worked without pause. In the kitchens, hands moved over chopping boards and steaming pots; in the washrooms, soaked linens were wrung and scrubbed raw. Floors were swept, stains erased, traces of the earlier violence buried beneath layers of polish and fragrance. By the time the sun dipped low, no outsider would ever guess blood had been spilt here.

The newer, prettier girls were assigned to the front—smiles practised, steps light. They escorted guests through candlelit halls, poured drinks, refreshed cups, and tended to the courtesans’ hair and makeup. They hovered like attentive shadows, learning the rhythms of the Pavilion while keeping patrons fed, flattered, and comfortably distracted.

And then there were the courtesans.

They emerged as the lamps were lit—radiant, composed, dangerous in their beauty. Laughter followed them like music, their voices easing tension from weary shoulders even before a single touch was exchanged. They did not simply entertain; they consumed fatigue, fear, and desire alike, leaving their customers lighter in spirit and emptier in purse.

They were the Pavilion’s divas—the heart and soul of the establishment.

Nobles, merchants, and adventurers crossed leagues of forest and sea to bask in their attention. Fortunes were lost between silk sheets and whispered promises. Some patrons, drained of coin and reason, returned again and again until nothing remained—only rumours when they vanished, swallowed quietly by the Pavilion’s fatal allure.

By nightfall, the Tranquil Pavilion shone once more—perfect, pristine, and hungry.

Business resumed as if nothing had happened.

The Pavilion sprawled across a vast estate: three marble towers riddled with corridors and private chambers, all interconnected like a living organism. At its heart lay the inner court, divided cleanly in two—rows of modest cabins for worker girls on one side, and on the other, a manicured garden surrounded by guest houses reserved for favoured patrons.

Not long ago, a group of shipmates had been housed here, enjoying the Pavilion’s hospitality far beyond what courtesy alone should allow.

A woman in a traditional kimono strode along the garden path, a lacquered tray balanced in her hands—booze sloshing, meat still steaming. Her face was swollen, one cheek bruised dark beneath makeup hastily applied. Her jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like she might crack a tooth.

Shit. Why am I doing this?
Why the hell am I delivering food instead of the servants? Just because I bruised my face—what is that hag thinking?

The woman was Kazyak—one of the transmutant sisters who had clashed head-on with Benjamin earlier that day. The memory still burned. Worse than the pain was the humiliation.

She reached the cabin and pushed the door open.

Warm light spilt out. Music hummed softly beneath layers of laughter.

Inside, five human men lounged with six beastgirls, bodies pressed together in lazy indulgence. Some girls sat in laps, others lay half-hidden beneath sheets. Clothes littered the floor. The air was thick—booze, sweat, perfume, heat. A closed room drunk on excess.

It was a familiar sight.

Still, it made Kazyak’s lip curl.

“Oh, she’s finally here,” one of the men said, rising from the bed. A beastgirl slid off him, exhausted, barely registering his movement.

He was tall, broad, scarred—and completely naked as he stepped toward her without the slightest hint of shame.
“We were waiting for you,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you join us?”

Kazyak didn’t blink.
“I don’t entertain humans,” she replied coldly. “Especially church dogs like you.”

The man laughed. “Harsh words. I’m just part of the escort crew for the diplomat. What does it matter if I’m human? Flesh is flesh. Yours and mine work the same.”

He leered openly, making no effort to hide his intent.

Kazyak’s expression hardened.
“I’d rather fuck a cactus,” she said flatly. “You asked for food and booze. That’s all you’re getting.”

She stepped forward to set the tray down.

Instead, the man caught her wrist.

“Come now,” he said lightly, tightening his grip. “I like the feisty ones. Drop the pride and try bedding a human. I promise I’m just as good as any beast you’ve had.”

He pulled her closer by the waist.

The tray slipped from her hands, clattering as food and drink spilt across the floor.

Kazyak’s claws snapped free.

She went for his throat.

But he was faster than she expected—his grip locked around her wrist, stopping her strike inches from his neck.

Her eyes widened. This one is strong…

The man indeed was stronger than most humans. Enough to hold her in place.

The man leaned close, voice low.
“Careful. Attacking me could be seen as an attack on the Church. You really want to start a war?”

Laughter erupted from the other men.

The beastgirls inside shifted uneasily.

Kazyak glared at him.
“I thought you said you were just an escort.”

“Escort, believer—same thing in the end,” he replied smoothly. “Hurt me, and you hurt the Church. So think carefully.”

His lips curled.
“Now drop the attitude. Strip. Let’s settle this properly.”

Kazyak stared at him for a long moment.

Then she spoke evenly.
“It seems I dropped your food. I’ll bring another plate.”

He smirked. “Forget the food. Just let me have you once—”

“Let go,” she said.

Her voice dropped, rough and unnatural.

Her eyes burned crimson.

The air around her shifted—thick, dangerous.

Even the man felt it. His grin faltered as he released her and took a step back.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. Just bring my booze. Or I complain to your boss.”

He turned and grabbed a beastgirl from another man’s lap.
“You. Come with me.”

“Hey, Captain! She’s mine!” someone protested.

“Not anymore,” the captain snapped, dragging her away. “I’ll use her instead.”

Kazyak didn’t look back.

She stepped out of the cabin, her form settling, claws retracting—but her fury burned unchecked.

“I swear,” she growled under her breath, fists trembling,
“One day… I’ll kill every last one of those humans.”