A ring of dark metal pierced into his lower lip catching the lanternlight like a shard of dark stone. Although what drew my attention most was his eyes.
Silver, empty, unwavering as they scan the room to see people turning their gaze from him. A sea of bowed heads falling one by one. When those silver eyes met mine, I kept my resolve. Staring into the abyss with no intention of backing down.
The man before me was Rhael Sorenthis. No merchant, no lord seeking the novelty of a human pet. Rhael Sorenthis was the King of Vaetharyn, the ruler of all fae. A King not born to rule but carved into it through slaughter.
“Your Majesty, had I known,” Fion stammered, folding in half so quickly that I thought his spine would snap. Rhael did not respond, instead lifting his hand to silence Fion's unintelligible rambling.
The silence fell so sharp it felt like a blade at my throat. His gaze drifted over the slaves lined up beside me. Some of them were broken little things, with hollow eyes and shaking limbs.
When his gaze fell to me once more, I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. His cold silver eyes looked me up and down, as if measuring how long it would take for me to break.
I didn't speak, instead I shifted my stance. Lifting my head despite the iron biting into my wrists. My eyes met his own, a daring move that could get me killed. But I would rather die knowing I did not bow, not now, not ever.
“What is your name?” he asked. His voice stayed low, smooth. Void of any emotion.
“Elara, my King. She is-” Fion began, trying to gain some measure of authority. But I could hear the quiver of fear nestled inside the words.
“I asked her,” the King interrupted. The words were quiet but still managed to cut the room in two.
I almost smiled, internally wanting to turn to him and laugh. Someone finally saw Fion’s ass licking for what it was. A ruse.
“Elara Varyn.” I replied, my heart thrumming dangerously against my chest.
It felt strange to speak my name aloud. In six years not one master had asked for it. Slaves were seen as inventory, stock. Nameless and broken to be discarded when our purpose was done.
I watched as Rhael repeated my name. Rolling the syllables over his tongue. Testing the weight of them. His gaze travelled up and down my body, not leering, more as if he was simply calculating my existence.
“I will take her,” he said, finally acknowledging Fion’s existence.
The words fell like a verdict. Shock rippled through the market place, as Fion looked up, blinking, stunned. It took him a full minute before he began scrambling forward, attempting to negotiate what he believed was a worthy price.
I barely heard the numbers, my entire body numb as the coin exchanged hands. Tucked away in a small, red, leather purse which clinked together as it fell into Fion’s waiting palm.
I should have been afraid. Every other slave would have fallen to their knees and begged Fion for mercy. Yet, heat coiled in my belly, not from attraction, but out of intrigue. There was no reason at all for the King of Fae to buyme.
The chains groaned as they were transferred from Fion’s hands to the kings. Fion lingering for just a second too long, as if he wanted to snatch them back, before he let them drop to his side. Fingers tracing the outline of the purse tucked into his pocket.
I barely paid attention as Rhael walked with me trailing behind him. My bare feet scraped once more against the stone as the crowd parted. Every set of eyes lowered to the ground in respect.
Beyond the market I knew where I would go. The obsidian towers of Vaetharyn's throne, a place where I would meet death. Or worse.
Yet as I crossed the threshold of the market and stepped into The King's shadows, I liftedmy head and laughed.
Whatever cruelty Rhael Sorenthis had planned it would not be the same misery as before. It would be different.
Different was the closest thing to hope I had tasted in years.
Chapter Two
The journey back to the palace happened in silence. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it wasn't tense either. It felt like we were two ghosts, just purely existing.
Rhael rode ahead of me, on a stallion so black I was sure I would lose it, if the sky didn’t lighten. I followed behind, sat atop a horse ridden by one of his guards. My wrists remained shackled in the cold iron, my hands tingling and numb.
However, they had not gagged me, that was a positive. At least compared to previous experiences.
No one spared me more than a passing glance, not the guards, nor others who lingered in dark alleyways. Not even the early rising merchants who flattened themselves against stone walls as their King passed.
The market seemed to hold its breath and I was glad. The godforsaken place could suffocate, and I would not spare anyone a second thought. In truth, I wanted to seethe place burn.
