Lachlan was aware that he was in the minority of Glynn’s residents with his unwillingness to set a foot across the threshold of the Blues Palace. To do so felt like condoning the Clovennian takeover, and he would rather throw his coins into the garbage than see them end up in the pockets of a man like Antoine Valentine.
He blinked once at Reagan’s point, slow and unphased by the prospect of the Palace and its workers taking an unwitting hit. “They are patrons only in the most basic sense of the word, paying for what they amount to a carnival attraction rather than a worthwhile human being. The concept of a bedmate is a joke to them, and they would be better off without the Cloves in the long run.” He nodded once when Fiona addressed the group, in firm agreement with her stance. “Better that they suffer only in the short term. If we all stand idly by, there will be no more bedmates. Only whores for them to imprison for offering services they believe are worthy of condemnation.” The caste laws had already been abolished, and it would not be long before something as good and natural as sex was looked at as something cheap and shameful. Then what would be next? Banning the Braddon?