I had a jar hidden beneath the floorboards in my room. Not the cleverest spot, but I wasn’t exactly spoiled for options. Vaults and safes were for people with real fortunes. I had something a little more… hopeful.

I pried up the boards, careful not to creak them, and pulled the jar free. It was dusty and heavy. Like it knew it held a lifetime of hopes and dreams. I popped the lid and poured Kaeso’s latest guilt-gift into the pile. Four gold coins hit the rest with a satisfying clink.

If Cypress ever found this stash, I’d be in trouble. A good portion of it had been stolen right from under his greedy nose, thanks to Elise and her knack for distraction. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t ever going to repay the debt. That was the whole point. It was debt as an ongoing punishment, wrapped in the Duke’s idea of justice and passed to a man like Cypress to do the dirty work.

Kaeso’s little tokens didn’t change the game, but they gave me room to breathe. We used them to patch the house, restock the pantry, and keep Mother supplied with the necessary ingredients for her “interrogation teas.” Mostly, though, the coins fed the only dream we had left: Clara’s dowry.

By my last count, I had one hundred thirty-three gold. A small mountain. Not enough to buy her a future, but it was a start.

Clara had suitors. Some of them were decent ones, too. But no one was going to take her without a dowry. And not just any suitor would do. We needed someone with at least a scrap of noble blood. Enough to lift her clear of this mess without dragging our shame behind her.

I sat back on my heels and stared through the dusty glass at the pile of coins. Clara’s escape. Clara’s hope.

And mine?

Hard to say. I wasn’t unhappy exactly. Discontent is different than despair. I hated my situation, sure. I hated Cypress. Hated the Duke. Hated Kaeso some days. Hated my father most days. And some days, even Mother and Clara got a share of it.

But there were moments in the cracks that made it bearable. Elise’s laugh. The way adventurers spun their lies just to get my attention. The weight of a silver coin slipping into my apron from a patron that was feeling generous.

Kaeso was a comfort, even if it was wearing thin. He was sweet, sincere, beautiful. But, Gods, he was nineteen. Like me. Which meant time was running out.

I shoved the thoughts away and reached for fresh underclothes.

I had two outfits for the tavern. One crimson, one blue. The crimson one was silkier, bolder and much shorter. Eye-catching. Perfect for attention, dangerous for stains. The blue was tighter, more conservative, but still hugged my curves in ways that mattered when coin was on the line.

I decided to make a few improvements.

The sewing room was one of the last relics of our better days, and it still worked like a dream. Mother insisted Clara and I learn the craft. Said no respectable woman should rely on someone else to mend her future.

I dragged the mannequin from the closet, yanked the power rod, and tapped the crystal. The air crackled with magic as the mannequin shifted, reshaping until it matched my own figure.

I sighed, looking at it. Thinking of my sister and best friend and how my silhouette differed from theirs.

But it was time to get to work…

Two hours later, I walked into The Wayward Widow with an attitude to match my newly cut dress.

And just like that, the room hushed. Heads turned. Good.

It was the same blue dress, but barely recognizable. I’d lowered the neckline to somewhere between suggestive and scandalous. My freckled skin was on full display, the soft curve of my breasts framed perfectly by the corset’s uplift. Another inch lower, and I’d have needed a license to serve drinks.

The hemline was shorter, the slit up my thigh bolder. Every step promised a little more than the last. I looked like a fantasy, like I was part wench, part noble brat, slumming it for fun.

And I felt powerful.

Cypress gave me a once-over, amusement dripping from every greasy pore. I grabbed my tray before he could open his mouth.

“No,” I said, cutting him off. Fuck him. Fuck his exploitation.

He grunted and turned away. Elise let out a soft chuckle behind me.

“Dress like that,” she said, admiring the stitching, “and you’ll have the whole room handing over coin before they even get their drinks.”

“I’m counting on it,” I said, moving into the crowd. “I need to step up my game.”

She nodded in approval.

Humans always said half-elves were wild. Unpredictable. Lusty. Not because we were. But because they wanted us to be. We were fetishized, plain and simple. Full elves barely had a sex drive.

When you live for thousands of years, the urge to reproduce gets... complicated. One of my tutors tried to explain it once. He said something about balance and restraint? But half-elves? We usually take after our human side when it comes to desire. Add in the ears, the eyes, the skin, and it’s easy to see how people start inventing fantasies. Fine. Let them. Let them ogle. Let them tip more. That jar wasn’t going to fill itself.

And if someone got handsy? I wasn’t slapping them. Not tonight. I’d just turn, hold out my hand, and wait for the coin they owed me for the privilege.

That’s when I saw him.

A stranger. Not one of our regulars. Not someone you see this time of year.

Human, mid-twenties, maybe older. He looked fit, sharp, with dirty blond hair pulled back into a neat tail. He had a high hairline that should’ve made him look old, but somehow didn’t. Neatly trimmed beard. Broad shoulders. Lethal smile.

His clothes were a statement. Leather pants in this heat? Madman. Or someone used to ignoring discomfort. His shirt was cotton, open just enough to show off chest and collarbone. Over it, a plum-colored vest that screamed confidence. A bandolier of daggers crossed his chest like a warning. His sword rested on the table beside him, placed casually like a subtle threat.

He sat in one of the alcoves, alone, sipping whiskey and watching everything. Everyone. Me. I had to circle close to see his eyes. Deep ocean blue and piercing.

Finally, after pretending to work around him, I needed an excuse, I pulled one of the steaming bowls of stew from the bar and dropped it in front of him, smooth as silk.

He raised a golden eyebrow at the free food.

“Not many strangers in Porto Croce this time of year,” I said, leaning over the table.

He glanced up with a crooked smile. His eyes landed on the valley between my tits, and then on my eyes, then the soul behind them. Gods, this man had an intense stare. “Not used to being seen by the same people too many times, love.”

His voice was raspy. Worn. Like someone who’d laughed through smoke or yelled over storms.

“What brings you this far south?”

“Going further,” he said, swirling his drink. “One more stop.”

“Brave man. This heat’s not fit for breathing.”

“A little heat doesn’t bother me.”

He rolled up his sleeve and revealed a bracelet. It was made up of iridescent blue beads that shimmered like starlight. “This helps.”

He slipped it off and handed it to me, just like that.

I slid it on, and the heat vanished. Gone. One moment I was cooking in my skin, and the next, I felt like I’d stepped into a mountain breeze.

I almost lost my balance as my breath hitched.

“My gods,” I whispered.

“Dewstone beads,” he said. “Draw from ambient magic. No power crystal needed.”

I shivered. The sweat along my spine turned to cool relief, and goosebumps rose across my skin.

“How long do they last?”

“Forever, if you take care of them. Let them soak in water overnight, and you’re golden.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second bracelet. Slid it onto his wrist with flair.

“How much does one of these cost?” I asked, already knowing I probably couldn’t afford it.

He grinned. It was slow, wicked, knowing.

“Not much,” he murmured. “Just one night with me.”

My heart skipped. My breath caught. It wasn’t the first time I’d been propositioned. But it was the first time it didn’t feel like a joke.

He stood and offered his hand.

“Travin.”

I took it, too surprised to pretend otherwise. “Jolana.”

“I know.” He winked. “The old guys can’t stop calling your name.”

I scoffed. “Lucky me.”

I started to slide the bracelet off, guilty and unsure.

“Keep it for the night,” he said, hands raised. “No pressure.”

I nodded, retreating before Cypress noticed I wasn’t moving mugs back and forth to the bar.

The bracelet felt like ice on my wrist. Delicious. Dangerous. Heavy.

One night.

That’s all he asked.

He was gorgeous. Strong. I wanted him. But was that enough?

I worked harder than usual, trying to outpace my thoughts. But they circled. Kaeso. The pouch of coins. The jar that was under the floor. My body, my choices, the cost of everything I’d never gotten to choose.

He didn’t bring it up again. Didn’t push. Just let the night unfold.

And that made it worse.

By closing time, I’d earned ten coppers and a silver slipped from one of the regulars. Cypress took his share, drunk and slurring as usual. Elise watched me closely.

“Well?” she asked, lips tilted into a smirk. “Anything to confess?”

“He wants me,” I said softly. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“You said you’d never cross that line.”

I held up my arm. The bracelet glittered, catching the light.

“Is it really that different?” I asked. “Kaeso gives me coins after we’re done. At least this one’s honest about the price.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

I kissed her cheek. “This is for me,” I said. “Just once. I want something that’s mine.”

She gripped my wrist. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” I lied about it this time. Was this careful? Was this wise?

No, of course it wasn’t. But wisdom and playing safe have only landed me in the same place day after day.

She let me go.

I crossed the inn with slow, deliberate steps. Each one heavier than the last.

Travin looked up.

“Well,” I said, lips curving into a smile that matched his. “Still interested?”