Altair Aurellion. I could never forget him or his name even if I wanted to.
The crowd settles into an expectant silence, and the auctioneer clears his throat.
“All right, we have four hundred fifty gold. Anyone else? Four hundred fifty going once, four hundred fifty going twice...”
The blond dragon – wyvern, I correct myself – lifts his auction paddle.
“Five hundred,” he says, his voice smooth and cold.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he cocks an eyebrow and smirks at me. I cross my arms over my chest and look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my attention.
The bidding continues, the troll shouting numbers with increasing desperation, but the wyvern matches him every time. An orc joins in, then a giant with skin like ice. I realize they’re bidding because the wyvern is bidding. His presence makes me seem more valuable, more desirable, and the price climbs higher and higher, until it reaches eight hundred gold.
I can’t believe this is happening.
It feels like a mad dream that’s about to turn into a nightmare. Because there’s no way that Altair Aurellion is standing at a bride market bidding for me.
Me, the daughter of his family’s servants, who lived in his palace as a child. After all this time, after everything that happened, he can’t do this. I haven’t seen him since I was six and he was ten – the same age as my brother, Brandon. I haven’t seen him since Brandon died and my family was forced to leave the palace. Though I’ve thought about him often, with rage and hurt burning in my heart.
He must be insane.
“Eight hundred going once,” the auctioneer calls out. “Eight hundred going twice...”
He looks around the crowd and waits, but no one outbids Altair. The troll has gone quiet, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The auctioneer turns to me with an expectant expression.
“Let’s see what the lady chooses.”
I look Altair directly in the eyes.
“No,” I say.
The crowd gasps in unison, a wave of shock rippling through the field.
The auctioneer blinks at me. “Are you sure, miss? This is the highest anyone has ever bid since I started in this career.”
“I am sure,” I say. “My answer is no.”
The troll puffs up his chest again, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.
Altair takes a step forward and looks at me with those cold blue eyes.
“No?” he asks.
“No,” I repeat. “Not in a million years.”
He smirks, and there’s something mischievous and cruel in his expression.
“Nine hundred!” he declares.
The crowd gasps again, and the auctioneer grips his small table so tightly his knuckles turn white.
“No,” I say defiantly.
“One thousand gold,” Altair says calmly.
I feel myself wavering.
Could I actually do this? The price is ridiculous. Absurd. It could cover my father’s debt and help Alana quit the brothel. She and her sisters would be safe, cushioned for life, and they wouldn’t have to work or lift a finger. They could get their mother out of that house, leave their drunk and abusive father, and never have to worry about money again. Alana would take care of my father, and I would go back to the palace where it all happened.
