“I’ll buy you.”
I address her and not the auctioneer, because she’s doing this. She’s the one selling herself.
The monsters near me step wide as I walk slowly toward the front. Up in the galleries, males pull back from the railings. The auctioneer reminds the hall that the bride holds final choice, and from his tone, he expects her to refuse me.
Everyone expects her to say no. Even me.
Esme looks at me. Her eyes go to my tail first, then to the stinger. The fear on her face is plain, even from this distance.
“Sold,” she says.
I’m stunned. I swallow heavily and nod. She nods back, and then we’re both moving toward the back of the stage as the room erupts. We meet at the desk where the contracts are handled. The whispers behind us don’t stop.
“She’s Elmsley’s daughter. High bred, noble. Why would she sell herself like this?”
“Bad news.”
“Something bad is going to happen. Watch for it.”
They may be right.
Esme’s servant joins us, standing just to her side. The clerk pulls a fresh contract from his stack.
“Names,” he says. “Buyer first.”
“Osric Aren of Haara.”
He writes it down.
“The bride?”
“Esme Elmsley.” Her voice stays level.
“The companion?”
“Darina,” the girl answers.
“Family name?”
“None,” the girl says. “Just Darina.”
The servant is a pretty girl, younger than her mistress and shorter, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I note that much and stop looking, because Esme stands close enough to touch, and I can barely tear my eyes from her. I never thought human women would interest me. I would’ve said so to anyone who asked. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, human or otherwise.
She keeps her eyes on the clerk, on the contract, and on her own hands… Never looks at me. It’s off-putting, but I don’t hold it against her. Whatever drove a noble’s daughter to the bride market can’t be small. All humans fear me. Some monsters fear me too. She still said yes when she had every right to refuse. When we’re alone, away from this city and her family, I hope we can talk. I hope it will be different then.
“Four hundred credits for the lot,” the clerk says.
I count the credits onto the desk, four hundred out of savings I put aside for a life I didn’t plan to share with anyone. He checks them twice, stamps a receipt, and turns the contract toward me. “Buyer signs first, then the bride.”
I reach for the pen.
“There’s been a misunderstanding.”
Esme goes rigid beside me. I recognize the man walking up to the desk without ever having seen him before. Aldric Elmsley is polished and calm. His wife rushes to his side with her hands pressed together. Two peacekeepers follow them.
“Mr. Aren, is it?”
He must have heard me give my name to the clerk.