Inside, it’s definitely more of a flea market feel. It’s loud. It’s cramped. There are tables everywhere, countless vendors and patrons fighting for their space. Torches and candles light the area, so many that the smoke burns my eyes as the redcap shoves me forward.
I’m not being carried by a troll right now but, make no mistake, that’s not a good thing. Before we left the small, red tent, the redcap clasped a thin golden chain around my wrists. It’s attached to a lead that he’s proudly holding up. He wants everyone to notice me as we walk through the market, like he’s showing off the prized show dog before it goes up for sale.
I try to tug on it once, just to see if its unbreakable or not. I didn’t even pull all that hard, but the gold chain constricts to the point of pain. Tiny links dig into my skin. I know instinctively that, if I do that again, it’ll squeeze so tightly that my freaking hands will pop off.
After that, I don’t so much as wiggle. The chain loosens a bit, but the fear remains. I’m a good doggy because I fucking have to be.
Even if I’m fantasizing about strangling the redcap with the chain…
When we arrive at the stage that serves as the auction block, he marches me right up the stairs. There’s a crowd of way too many surrounding the makeshift structure. Many of them are wearing cloaks, and while most of the crowd are on the shorter side, I pick up on a few taller patrons that must be fae. The ones that are too proud to be covered up by anything are obviously Unseelie which is understandable since, this time, the Faerie Market has set up shop in the Winter Court.
Between the array of cloaks and the flickering torches surrounding the stage throwing shadows on the faces in the crowd, I can’t pick up any other details once I’m led to the middle of the stage. Well. No. That’s not entirely true. I notice one thing, most likely because my stomach sinks all the way down to my boots when I see it.
There. In the middle of the crowd, one of the cloaked figures is outlined by a soft yellow light that seeps out from under the material. It has to be a Seelie.
How much do I want to bet that that’s the same Seelie vassal that bid on me the last time around? The snooty Light Fae who works for Lord Veron?
I struggle to catch my breath. In the back of my mind, I vaguely understand that the redcap has moved in front of me, telling the crowd that he’s starting the bidding price at a hundred gold coins for a tame human, but even as the crowd goes crazy, I keep my eyes focused on the Seelie.
I’m not surprised when he’s the first one to raise the bid, though I start to feel sick.
I don’t want to be sold. I don’t want to be bought by someone who thinks that I’ll ever be anything close to “tame”. But, most importantly, I don’t want to have to go back to Veron.
I’d sooner find myself thrown into jail again than return to the gilded cage of the Seelie noble’s palace.
“I have two hundred,” announces the redcap. “Do I hear two-fifty?”
“Two fifty,” cries out a female voice. For one heartbeat, I think that maybe this might be okay—could that possibly be Morgan?—before the faceless woman in the crowd goes on to add, “Maybe if I bring him home a human, my mate will let me have a good night’s sleep for a change!”
Nasty laughter rings out and I give an involuntary jerk away from the edge of the stage. I completely forgot about the golden chain looped around my wrists until they tighten again, biting so hard that it actually breaks skin this time.
“Oh.”
“Look at her. She’s so excited for her new lord, she can hardly contain herself. But be sure. She’s well-behaved and”—I can sense the redcap’s glare even as he side-eyes me from his podium—“the human will not speak out of turn again. Now, do I have three hundred?”
The hooded stranger lifts his hand. A trail of golden iridescence follows in its wake as he draws the crowd’s attention toward him. “Finish this now, auctioneer, and I’ll pay seven hundred gold coins.”
Everything goes quiet. At first, I think it’s me, but when the sudden silence is broken up by whispers, then murmurs, I realize that everyone is shocked at his bid.
Me, too. Seven hundred? That’s almost two hundred more coins than Veron paid the last time I was on the block. Looks like the redcap was right—and I’m in deep, deep shit.
“Sold!” he crows, slapping his spindly fingers against his thigh. “Come forward, my dark lord, and claim your human.”
Wait— dark lord?
Huh?
I blink, sure that the lights surrounding the stage have to be messing with me or something. What else would explain the golden glow seeping out from under his cloak? Because, up until the redcap called him that, I was convinced it was a Seelie who placed the winning bid. So consumed with the idea that he had to be Veron’s vassal, I never even thought he’d be Unseelie.
Only… it seems as if everyone else believes he is.
9
The crowd parts as he moves toward the stage. The quiet fades, first a hum, then a noticeable whisper. The buzzing in my own skull dulls to a soft roar as I try to tune it out, listening to the awed murmurs of the audience. More than a few are talking about the Unseelie noble, the Cursed master who paid so much for a branded human. They definitely think he’s a member of the Winter Court.
And, through a worried squint, I definitely see the bronzed skin on the slender hand peeking out from the front of his cloak. From the way it’s angled, the position low near his waist, it looks like he’s resting his palm against the butt of a weapon.
I don’t know how I feel about that as he strides toward the block.