Candlelight flickered in the storeroom.
Roslin kept her voice very low, as though sharing some shameful secret.
"I heard my sisters say that what men most love to hear isn't sweet talk, but the sounds a woman makes in bed because of them..."
"Your voice should sound tearful. You have to make him feel as though he's destroying something precious..."
"The harder he goes, the more pitiful, helpless, and seductive you should sound..."
"It makes them feel incredibly powerful, like a king who can conquer anything."
Miranda listened quietly.
There was no shyness in her ash-gray eyes, only concentration.
Like the most diligent apprentice, she etched every word of this bewildering "knowledge" into her mind.
So the highest art of hunting wasn't making prey die in terror.
It was making prey moan for the hunter's pleasure amid the ultimate agony of being destroyed.
Ramsay liked screams.
But this Lynn... what did he like to hear?
"And... scent."
Roslin's voice grew even quieter, her cheeks crimson.
"They use a balm from the Summer Isles and dab it behind their ears, on their wrists, and... and on their inner thighs."
"The scent is very faint, but when a man comes close, it stirs his most primal desires."
"Like a beast in heat catching the scent of a female."
"As it happens, I have some I haven't had a chance to use yet. I can give it to you."
After that, Roslin could not bring herself to say another word.
Her cheeks felt scorching hot, as though they might catch fire.
She was just a poor little maid. Why did she have to know so much?
Enough already!
Miranda, however, felt no discomfort.
She simply nodded, committing each piece of information to memory.
Scent, sounds, posture, eyes...
Suddenly, she felt that all her