Amara looks at the three of them falling about on the bed, hooting with laughter, and smiles. Perhaps there are some pleasures in the life of a whore, after all.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Paris glowers in the doorway. Ever since Victoria offered him the golden paste and asked if he wanted to gild his arsehole, he has been even less friendly than usual.

“Oh, is laughing forbidden now?” Victoria asks. “I didn’t realize. But I’m afraid a scowl isn’t going to scare the customers away. They can’t see your face from behind.”

Paris moves so fast none of the others have a chance to try and stop him. He punches Victoria hard in the face then swings back to hit her again. Beronice leaps, shrieking, onto his back, clawing at his arms, and he staggers, blow landing wide. Amara and Dido scramble in front of Victoria, holding their hands up, screaming at him to stop. Paris tries to dislodge Beronice, but she’s clinging to his neck, putting pressure on his windpipe. Cressa runs into the room, tugging at Beronice, trying to stop her from strangling Paris, yelling at her to let go.

“What the fuck is going on?”

At the sound of Felix’s voice, the screaming stops, and Beronice drops to the floor like a stone. Paris rubs his neck, gasping.

“I said what the fuck is this?”

“He hit her face!” Amara says, pointing at Victoria. “He hit her in the face!” It is the unbreakable rule at the Wolf Den. Neither Felix nor any of the other men are allowed to mark their faces.

Felix does not have to ask if it’s true. Victoria is cradling her eye, the skin on her cheek bright red. “Let me see.” He crosses swiftly to the bed. Amara and Dido scramble out of the way. Felix takes Victoria’s hand from her face, examining the damage, pressing his finger against her cheekbone. She winces. “Nothing’s broken,” he says, standing up. “It will mend.” He walks over to Paris, shoving him. “What the fuck were you thinking? Not such a big man now, are you? Get the fuck out of here.”

Paris doesn’t wait to be asked again; he lurches from the cell.

“And you,” Felix says, turning back to Victoria who quails against the wall. “Mind your mouth. I know what will have happened. You provoked him. Didn’t you?” She says nothing, and he grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Didn’t you?”

Amara looks at the pots of perfume lined up on Victoria’s windowsill, imagines grabbing one, smashing it on Felix’s head, pictures herself yelling at him to stop. But she does nothing. Just shrinks terrified against the wall, like all the other women.