The evening before his knighthood, Rowan Ramsay found himself in unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable territory. The older knights, roaring with laughter and ale, had slung their arms around his shoulders and marched him straight to the brothel, jesting about how a true knight should have more than just a sword at his side. He knew it was meant as a joke—he had been the subject of their good-natured torment since his first day as a squire—but still, his face burned with embarrassment as he was ushered into a dimly lit room. The air carried the sweet scent of expensive perfume mixed with the faint aroma of pipe smoke, creating an atmosphere that felt both foreign and overwhelming to the young squire.

Seated on the lavish bed was a woman unlike any he had ever met—the infamous head of the establishment. She was older than he expected, with sharp, knowing eyes and an amused smirk, clearly aware of the game being played. Her gown was richly colored and revealing, yet she carried herself with a dignity that surprised him. Rowan swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly as he tried to keep his gaze respectful, uncertain of where to look or what to do.

Instead of panicking, he did what came most naturally—he spoke to her as he would any noble lady. "You must be very busy," he blurted out, his voice polite but uncertain. "Do you enjoy your work?" She let out a soft, surprised laugh, tilting her head as she studied the blushing, well-mannered boy before her. Most men who entered this room had a certain hunger in their eyes—Rowan, however, had only nervous curiosity, as if he truly wished to know her as a person rather than a conquest. She found it endearing.