Running an underground operation filled with magically-enhanced femboys is, surprisingly, not profitable by default.
At least not when they keep spending my gold on enchanted perfume and thigh-highs with real silver threading.
"Cecil," Roderick said, holding up our ledger like it was a cursed tome, "we're broke."
I took the book, stared at the red ink bleeding from its pages, and gave the most reasonable response: "This is clearly a forgery."
"No," he said. "It's your handwriting."
"Oh. Then I was clearly possessed."
We were huddled in the lounge, a candlelit war room of velvet cushions and increasingly expensive wine that I could notafford. Jules was lounging on a loveseat, dressed in nothing but a mesh top and lip gloss.
"You could sell some of your magical accessories," he suggested, sipping a drink I never authorized him to pour.
"I could also sell one of you to a traveling prince," I replied. "But we don't do things that way."
Elian blinked. "We don't?"
"No. We do it better."
That night, I paced the hallway, shirtless, as all good geniuses do. My thoughts were racing.
We needed income. We needed protection. We needed to make Hollow's little purge squads regret ever stepping into our district.
What did I have?
Magic? Too risky to sell.
Weapons? Barely enough.
Femboys?
I paused. Tapped my chin. Smiled.
I had femboys.
And not just any femboys. Mine were handcrafted works of art. Personalized. Stylized. Charm-enhanced and libido-optimized.
If there were ever a time to weaponize beauty, it was now.
The brothel idea was presented with all the dignity of a royal decree.
"I am opening an elite companionship parlor," I said. "A salon of pleasure. A boutique of sin. A cathedral of thighs."
Elian squealed.
Roderick frowned. "We're not selling our bodies."
"Of course not," I said. "We're renting them. At premium rates."
Miko covered his face.
"Think about it," I said. "We control the clientele. We gather secrets. We make coin. We seduce the system itself."
They were hesitant at first. Understandable. But by morning, the ground floor of our townhouse was already being rearranged.
Elian insisted on silk curtains and mirrored walls.
Jules negotiated lighting spells for "maximum gloss."
Roderick said he'd "work the desk." I didn't ask what that meant.
Salem showed up halfway through setup.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching me direct a floating couch into the corner.
"A brothel?" he asked.
"A companionship house," I corrected.
"Is this your big revolution?"
I turned slowly. "My revolution involves subverting oppressive institutions, reprogramming inquisitors with feathered pens, and making people rethink everything they believe about gender, power, and thigh gaps. This is just… the first franchise."
He blinked. "You scare me sometimes."
"Perfect," I said. "That means it's working."
Opening night was… chaotic.
We had no signage. No advertising. No pricing structure.
What we did have was Jules in fishnets greeting nobles at the door with a smile that promised danger and discounts.
The first customer was a merchant baron. Wealthy. Arrogant. Smelled like cinnamon oil and privilege.
He looked around, unimpressed. "This place is new."
I smiled from behind the counter. "So is rebirth."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing," I said. "First time's double price."
Turns out, people will pay obscene amounts for a night with a magical femboy who can also recite poetry and break ribs.
Jules brought in four clients before midnight. Elian had two regulars by dawn. Even Roderick accidentally seduced a visiting alchemist.
I mostly supervised.
Later that night, I wandered into the lounge, and found Elian sprawled across the divan, still flushed from his last client. He looked up, glossy-lipped, eyes half-lidded.
"Boss," he purred, "we're making gold."
"So I've heard." I crossed the room and sat beside him. My fingers found his thigh—warm, silky, trembling ever so slightly.
He tilted his head back, exposing the mark I had left just below his collar earlier that week. My quill had worked fast on him. The transformation had deepened.
"You don't have a client tonight," I murmured.
"No," he whispered, breath hot against my neck. "But I could be yours."
I leaned down, tracing a line from his collarbone to his navel with the tip of my pen. His skin broke into goosebumps. When I kissed the spot just above his hip, he gasped, arching into me.
I took my time.
It was only fair, after all. They'd given me loyalty. Seduction was just another way to say thank you.
But even success tastes bitter when you're this paranoid.
Hollow hadn't retaliated yet. That made me nervous. He had to know about us. The velvet curtains alone screamed heresy.
Salem and I met on the roof at sunrise.
"You're making enemies," he said.
"Good," I replied. "Means they're paying attention."
"You need allies."
"I have my court."
"You need outside allies," he pressed. "Political ones. Guilds. Merchants."
I sighed. "Fine. But I get to pick them by cheekbone symmetry."
Later that week, a cloaked figure arrived at our brothel.
He was tall. Pale. Carried a blade I recognized—blessed silver, used only by Hollow's personal inquisitors.
Roderick stepped forward, but I stopped him.
I walked to the man, pen in hand.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Call me Ash," he said. "I'm not here to fight."
"No?"
"I want in."
I blinked. "In what?"
"In your operation. Your court. Your rebellion. I want to be beautiful."
I stared.
This was either a trap… or the beginning of something bigger.
Either way, I was marking him.
I drew a line along his collarbone.
The feather glowed.
Ash exhaled, knees trembling. I whispered the word, low and sultry. The pen burned with violet light.
His transformation was intense. Muscles refined. Face softened. Eyes glowed gold as his body shimmered into something halfway between art and sin.
He gasped, shuddered, clutched his chest.
Then smiled.
"Thank you."
Behind me, Elian fanned himself. "He's going to make so much money."
I chuckled.
We had a new star.
Business flourished.
But Hollow finally responded.
A letter arrived, sealed in white wax. It smelled like incense and blood.
Inside, a single sentence:
"Your velvet sins will be excised by fire."
Roderick growled.
Jules said "Kinky."
I smiled.
"Looks like the Church wants a war."
Salem stood beside me.
"And what do you want?"
I gazed out the window, watching our newest client be escorted inside by Ash.
"Right now? A kingdom of pleasure," I said. "Built on lace, lust, and just enough violence to keep it interesting."
The pen pulsed in my pocket.
The Velvet Court was rising.
And we were just getting started.