“Tenryo, going twice.”
I was sure my stomach would empty, that I would spew all over the stage and anyone nearby. Momoko would be horrified. I would be punished or banished or worse. The gods had abandoned me to a fate worse than—
“Last call—”
“Twentyryo.”
The voice cut through the room like a blade, clear and commanding, carrying an authority that made every head turn, even that of the merchant whose eyes had not left my body since I’d entered the room.
Including mine.
I strained to see past the crowd, searching for the source. Murmurs rose as two men stepped forward from the back and recognition rippled through the crowd.
Iknewthese men.
I would know them anywhere.
Prince Haru and his lover, Esumi.
Haru wore robes of deep purple silk, his topknot ringed in a golden collar in the style of the Imperial palace. Esumi wore simpler but still elegant garb, his bearing that of a warrior despite his civilian dress. His every movement conserved energy, prepared for a strike. His eyes darted from face to face, from belt to belt, searching for threats, always seeking, always protecting. When his gaze fell back to the Prince, it softened like butter melting over rice.
They moved through the crowd with easy confidence as people stepped aside, creating a path. Whispers rippled through the room.
“The Prince . . .”
“What is he doing here?”
“Twentyryo. . .”
Haru and Esumi reached the front and stopped, looking up at me on the stage.
My heart raced.
Our eyes locked.
Did Haru recognize me? From Tooi, from that brief visit to our village? Did he remember the boy who had blushed and stammered when he spoke of love? Did he see that boy in what I had become?
Momoko recovered from her surprise with practiced grace. “Prince Haru honors us with his presence and his generous bid.” She looked around the room. “Do I hear higher than twentyryo?”
The obese merchant looked like he wanted to counter-bid. His mouth opened, but his companion whispered something urgent in his ear and he closed it again, then shook his head.
One did not outbid royalty. Not without consequences.
“Twentyryofrom the Prince, going once,” Momoko said.
No one spoke.
“Going twice.”
Silence.
“Sold.” She brought her fan down in a decisive gesture. “To Prince Haru and his honored companion. This auction is closed.”
The crowd erupted again—this time in whispers and speculation rather than crude appreciation.
What did it mean that the Prince had bid? Why such an extraordinary sum? What game was being played? Who was this slave to warrant such a royal sum?
I barely heard them. I was transfixed, still staring at Haru, at the man who had once sat in my home and told me not to waitfor life to grant permission, the man who had spoken of love as something to seize rather than something to wait for.
