Chapter 2
Josée took Serge with her and stepped into the garden, where the prostitutes were lounging in the sun.
The moment Serge caught sight of the women in their loosely draped outfits, his shoulders stiffened. Josée leaned in and whispered with a wry smile, “They’re all good people. Sure, they show a lot of skin, but don’t worry—they won’t bite.”
On weekends, the women would leave behind the brothel, Lirondelle—nestled in the heart of the royal capital, Torunier—and escape to the countryside estate of Château Fournier for a brief respite. But when the week began anew, so did their return to the hard reality called “the brothel.”
As Josée walked ahead, the household staff began setting up lunch in a shaded corner of the garden.
“Oh, Josée.”
The first to call out was Lisette, the oldest and plumpest of the women—a striking redhead with a warm presence. Once a struggling actress, she’d recently taken up studying to become a playwright, having recognized the limits of her current career.
“And you’ve brought a handsome one with you.”
Josée offered a polite smile. “Let me introduce you. This is Serge de Baradur-sama, of the House of Nobles.”
“Ooh, a noble! Josée, bringing a man home? I never thought I’d see the day…”
“It’s not like that,” Josée said quickly, shaking her head. “This is work-related. And I’d appreciate it if you all kept this confidential, but... Serge-sama is looking for any information about Frédéric-sama. I was hoping—does anyone here know him well?”
Michelle, the sultry-voiced woman with a glass of wine already in hand, raised her arm unceremoniously.
“I do! I entertained him in the guillotine room just the other day.”
Serge blinked in disbelief. “Guillotine room…?”
Michelle’s voice, roughened by years of alcohol and cigarettes, still somehow held a unique charm. She claimed to be a singer by trade—and when she sang with that scorched throat of hers, it conjured a haunting, melancholic beauty that made her a favorite on the streets. Her black hair was always piled high like a tower, and she wore outfits so revealing they flirted with indecency.
She grinned mischievously at Serge’s reaction.
“Frédéric-sama’s a regular, and he’s got... very specific tastes. He loves guillotines. Likes putting girls under them to play executioner. Don’t worry—it’s a fake one, custom-made with no blade. But the sound of the plank dropping? That’s real. And not knowing when it’ll fall? That’s the fun part. The poor girl underneath gets stripped down while she’s pretending to be dead—”
“......”
“Oh? Already scared stiff? Adorable.”
Next, a tall, willowy woman raised her hand—Anaïs.
“I’ve actually put Frédéric-sama under the guillotine myself.”
Anaïs was over thirty, yet she had the air of an innocent youth. With her short-cropped blonde hair and slender, androgynous frame, she was often mistaken for a boy. But that ambiguity made her all the more alluring, attracting both men and women. She was a popular dancer at a cabaret in the capital’s central district.
Michelle gaped. “Seriously? You’re into that too?”
“Oh, yeah. Frédéric-sama asked me to whip his ass.☆”
“I prefer being the one doing the whipping, though. Being restrained at the neck and arms? That’s rough.”
Serge stared into the distance, visibly overwhelmed. Josée leaned in again and whispered, “......Did any of that help?”
“......Not even a little.”
“Our guillotine’s a special commission,” Josée explained. “A carpenter friend made it, modeled after the real thing. Most countries have banned and destroyed the originals, so you can’t find replicas anywhere else. Our guillotine room is literally one-of-a-kind. People come from all over just to experience it.”
To outsiders, the white castle filled with beautiful women might have looked like paradise.
But in truth, it was a refuge carved out of hell.
Lunch was finally ready, and the group moved to take their seats in the garden.
“Ahhh... I wish I could stay here forever,” Michelle sighed, taking a lazy sip of wine. Josée turned toward her, serious.
“No, Michelle. You’re not the type to settle down in a place like this. If you study writing, literature—even just a little—you’ll attract better clients. You could make it on your own, away from Lirondelle. You still have what it takes to become a high-class courtesan.”
“But studying’s such a pain…” Michelle groaned.
“That’s why I said I’d help you.”
“You’re really weird for a brothel owner, you know that?” Michelle said, half-laughing. “Most would just trap their girls in debt so they can’t leave. That’s how the business works. But you... you’re trying to polish us up and send us out?”
Josée gave a casual shrug. “My goal isn’t to squeeze money out of women. It’s to reduce the number of girls crushed by the world just because they’re powerless or uneducated.”
Michelle and Anaïs exchanged glances, their expressions sobering.
“Well... given your background, I guess that makes sense,” Anaïs murmured.
“But studying’s impossible. It’s too late now…”
Lisette, who had recently started dipping her toes into academics, scoffed. “You just have to put in the time. I’ve started writing letters lately. Still messy, but I’ve managed to reach out to Baron Vitry—he’s a patron of our theater troupe.”
“What?! Really?” Michelle gasped.
Lisette nodded proudly. “So, you two better get moving. Let’s see who can leave the brothel first!”
As she giggled, the other two women feigned jealousy, sucking on their fingers like spoiled children.
Serge listened quietly, fascinated. Josée glanced his way.
“Everyone wants a better life, no matter where they come from.”
Finally meeting her gaze, Serge nodded, speaking with conviction. “That’s why I can’t stand people who turn a blind eye to the poor. And the ones who step on others to climb higher... I hate them even more. Especially those who’d take lives to get what they want—”
Moved by her words, he suddenly turned to Josée.
“Josée-sama, what made you choose this life? To throw yourself into the underworld?”
Josée fell silent. Her lips pressed together, unwilling to answer. Instead, the women spoke up for her.
“She didn’t choose it,” Michelle said plainly, downing the rest of her wine. “She was sold. Kidnapped by slavers and trafficked to Lirondelle.”
“But,” she continued, “she spoke three languages and could read and write. Marlène—the madam back then—decided it’d be a waste to make her a prostitute. So she adopted her. That’s why Josée’s not like the rest of us.”
Lisette nodded. “That’s all we know. She never talks about her life before she was sold. If anyone digs too deep, she shuts them out. So, Mr. Politician... maybe don’t go snooping. Just look at who she is now.”
Anaïs chuckled. “After Marlène passed, it took time for Josée to be officially recognized as Lirondelle’s heir. But I think she’ll go even further. Maybe she’ll follow your path and get into politics, Serge-sama.”
A girl in a little black dress, ruling over a white castle.
Serge looked at her again, surprised at how composed—how grown-up—she seemed.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he murmured, sincerity in his voice.
Josée smiled softly, as if his words had finally lifted something from her.
“That’s right, Serge-sama. Next week, I’ll give you a tour of Lirondelle. If we’re going to share information, it’ll help if you know the layout, right?”
Just then, the food arrived.
“Yes, please,” Serge said. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Especially the guillotine room. That’s our star attraction.”
“Y-yeah…”
A servant poured wine into his glass, but Serge didn’t touch it.
Josée noticed and tilted her head, teasing.
“Serge-sama, won’t you have some wine?”
He flinched, paling slightly. Josée raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully.
“......Is there a reason you won’t drink?”