Free Dark Needs (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 1) by Finley Blake Page A

headmistress told me it’s your favorite, and this is the first morning I’ve been here to share breakfast with you, so I wanted it to be special.” He rose from the bed and approached the table to lift the cover from the tray to reveal bacon, omelets, fried potatoes, and toast. “It’s a shame you’ve been in home every day by yourself and I haven’t spent a proper morning with you since our first night together.”
    “Even more shameful when you consider it’s been over two weeks,” I agreed, still smiling. Setting my feet on the floor, I pushed the covers aside and took a few tentative steps across the room. “This bacon looks perfect. And you have strawberries! How did you even get these?” Farms were strictly controlled under the Regime and produce distributed sparingly to the populace.
    “The DeVille fortune and name extend far.” He watched me gaze in wonder at the selection.
    “Ooh, and whipped cream.” Without any further reservations, I sat down and piled the various delicacies on to my plate. By the time I heaped another serving on the fine china, Icharus was only halfway through his first.
    “Slow down,” he said, pointing at me with his fork. “You’ve got the appetite of a baby elephant. You’re going to get a stomachache.”
    I stopped shoveling food into my mouth and set my fork down, then muttered, “My stomach is used to aching.”
    Icharus looked at me, one perfect brow arched. “They don’t feed you in that school?”
    “They do and the food is very…” I shrugged. “It’s elegant. But, before that, I didn’t have much of anything. Courtesans don’t really bring home money – just a lot of gifts, like jewelry. Of course, my mother sold most of it to pay for us to live.”
    “I thought being a courtesan was something some women aspired to, because of the glamorous lifestyle.”
    Tilting my head, I thought about his question. “It really depends on the situation. For some families with too many daughters, it seems like the only way to keep them well-placed in society. It’s not considered a shameful trade, like working in a shop or another blue-collar job. But it’s really up to the patron to decide how they will reward their courtesan. Most single men take her into their home. The married men do not.”
    “When the headmistress negotiated our contract, she had some fairly strict stipulations drawn up.” Icharus sipped at his juice and watched me.
    “I know and she normally negotiates very strongly for her girls. I’m not sure what happened to my mother – if the headmistress failed her or if it was another situation entirely. Either way, I think the fact that my mother had a child when she was matched may have lowered her overall value to potential patrons.”
    My heart plummeted and I looked down at my plate. The thought that our value was measured based on what a man would pay for us consumed me and the delicious food in my mouth now tasted like ashes.
    Icharus reached across the table and cupped his hand against my face. “Adette, I think you are worth far more than I could ever pay for you. Stay with me and we can change everything.”
    “No, you can’t change the past.” I blinked and a tear slid down my cheek, then along his palm. “You can’t change the fact that my mother and I lived in poverty, despite the fact that she was courtesan to one of the wealthiest men in the city.” I clutched the silverware in my hands and my knife scraped against the plate with a discordant screech.
    “No, that’s not…” He caressed the dampness from my cheek and eye, and continued, “What I mean is, we can keep that from happening to anyone else ever again, especially you.”
    I took a deep breath, my nostrils flaring. “Icharus, it is happening all over our country. While you go sit in some comfortable, temperature-controlled office and dine on the very best food, the rest of us fight to survive. We hope to avoid Regime notice by keeping our heads down, but at the