Chapter 45: Beastkin, Bargains and Brothels

Lucien approaches the two minotaur bouncers with the easy, unhurried confidence of a man who has never once been turned away from anywhere in his life, hands in his pockets, grinning up at them like the sheer size difference is a logistical inconvenience rather than a genuine threat.

"This is a proper establishment." The larger one holds up a hand. "No freeloaders."

Lucien pulls out a fistful of gold and lets it catch the light.

"Do you take cash?"

Both minotaurs grin at once, wide and immediate, and swing the door open with a flourish.

"Welcome to Pooky’s Palace of Pleasures." They bellow in unison.

Lucien steps inside, greeted instantly by the thick, warm scent of perfume layered over something considerably more sinful, the room dim and softly lit, velvet drapes swallowing most of the daylight until only pockets of warm, amber glow remain.

A bored-looking bunny-kin woman sits behind a low desk, ears drooping, one foot tapping absently as she flips through a ledger like she’s probably counted every coin in it twice already.

Serenith is already there, perched on the corner of the desk, looking equally bored, swinging one leg with the patience of a woman who arrived long before he did and has had nothing to do since.

Lucien catches sight of the bunny-kin and bites his lip, openly admiring the shape of her.

The soft fur along her arms and legs, the big, floppy ears drooping past her shoulders, the delicate, paw-like curl of her hands against the ledger, the twitch of her nose when she finally looks up. The tuft of candyfloss-like fur just above her butt.

He bites on his knuckles, mumbling something under his breath about beast-kin brothels being the smartest business idea ever.

He approaches, and Serenith leans in to murmur, "Try to keep the place in one piece."

He shoots her a wink. "No promises."

The bunny-kin’s ears snap upright.

She hears him, then properly sees him, and bolts to her feet so fast the ledger nearly slides off the desk.

"Um, did you say something?"

Lucien waves a hand, easy and unbothered. "Nothing. Just admiring the aesthetic." He gestures broadly at the lush, sensual decor surrounding them.

That’s all it takes.

Her whole posture shifts, sliding smoothly into practiced sales mode, chest puffed, smile widening into something professionally inviting.

"Welcome to the Pleasure Palace." she exclaims with a generous bow.

"Pleasure to be here," Lucien says warmly. "Merchant, first time in town. First time in beast-kin territory, actually. Was hoping I could learn a thing or two while I’m out here."

"Then I’d be happy to get you acquainted with one of our girls." Her smile turns distinctly salacious. "I’m sure there’s a great deal they could teach you about the beast-kin way of living."

"I am," Lucien says, grinning wider, "a very eager student."

"Our services aren’t cheap." She hums, tilting her head. "But they’re very much worth it."

Lucien slides a gold coin across the desk without hesitation.

"I’d expect nothing less from an establishment marketing itself as a palace of pleasure. My standards are quite high, though. I do hope you won’t disappoint me."

She rings a small bell, smile sharpening. "Why don’t you come see for yourself."

She leads him through a curtained door into a wide, opulent room, Serenith drifting silently in behind them, arms already crossed in anticipatory judgment. The chamber opens up in a sweep of dark red velvet and gold trim, low couches arranged along the walls, candlelight flickering warm and low across polished floors.

Somewhere above, a soft, stringed melody drifts down from a gallery Lucien can’t quite locate.

As they enter, a slow procession of women begins descending a grand, curved staircase. Scantily dressed, dazzlingly varied, beast-kin of every conceivable shape and species arranged like a living catalogue.

Feline ears twitch atop one, curling horns crown another, feathered wings drape a third like a living cloak. Fur in every shade imaginable. Tails that swish, coil, and flick with obvious, practiced intent.

Each one descends with a different gait, a different smile, a different promise entirely, and by the time the last of them reaches the bottom step, the room has gone thick with perfume and anticipation.

Lucien’s mouth falls open.

"Pinch me, I think I’ve died and ended up in heaven." he says, not looking away for even a second. "And it’s much better than the first one I ended up in."

Serenith rolls her eyes so hard it’s audible. "I hope they tear you apart."

"That," Lucien says, quivering visibly with delight, "is entirely the plan."

The receptionist gestures grandly toward the assembled line, easily twenty women deep, arranged shoulder to shoulder in a loose, welcoming crescent, while Lucien’s gaze sweeps methodically down the row, cataloguing every last one of them with the focused intensity of a man conducting a very thorough audit. He mentally notes hair, height, horn shape, tail length, and, in one memorable case, a very impressive set of retractable claws.

"I had no idea beast-kin could be so... diverse... and so mind-meltingly gorgeous." he murmurs in awe, much to the delight of those present. Tailing swishing tighter, ears perking up.

"You have much to learn, it seems," the receptionist says.

"I am willing and very eager student," Lucien reminds her.

"So, which one would you like?"

He grins, slow and wide, and presses an entire bag of gold directly into her hands.

"I’ll take everyone."

The receptionist blinks, then blinks again, glancing down at the bag of gold in her hands with open astonishment.

Lucien doesn’t wait for a response, already stepping forward to tuck two women neatly under each arm, grinning ear to ear. "Lead the way, ladies."

Serenith’s jaw drops.

She darts forward, hovering directly in his path, wings flared, blocking the doorway entirely. "There is no way you can handle all of them. Especially not without your Demon Lord magic."

"For an angel, you’ve got very little faith." Lucien turns to her, smirking, utterly unbothered by the math involved, two beast-kin women already giggling on either arm and a third trailing a claw playfully around his waist.

He disappears up the steps in a swirl of perfume, laughter, and swishing tails, leaving Serenith alone in the middle of the room with the receptionist, a very large sack of gold, and seventeen unclaimed women who all seem to be waiting patiently for their turn.

Somewhere upstairs, faintly, she can already hear him introducing himself all over again.