Chapter Three – Tressa
Chapter Three
Tressa
I stand on the auction block in my deep blue velvet dress, and I can’t stop shaking.
The early morning sun beats down on the open field outside the city walls.
Every monster in the crowd has their eyes locked on me.
More than half of them are leering, their gazes crawling over my body like insects I can’t brush away.
I should have worn something drab and forgettable, but here I am in velvet and a corset that shows off my breasts, and I might as well have painted a target on my chest.
The bidding has been going for twenty minutes now, and the prices have climbed to heights I never imagined.
The auctioneer stands beside me on his raised platform – a tall, broad man in his fifties who maintains a professional demeanor despite the chaos of voices shouting numbers at him.
When he introduced me to the crowd, he said nothing about my past and the Velvet Angels.
I kept that secret to myself because I didn’t want to discourage bidders, but now I wonder if I made a terrible mistake.
A massive troll with crooked teeth grins up at me from the front of the crowd. My stomach turns. He’s been bidding aggressively, and he’s not my type at all. I know I can refuse any bidder I want, but will I actually say no when the alternative is watching my father die?
“Four hundred gold!” the troll shouts.
Four hundred gold is twice what my father owes. It should be enough, but the thought of going anywhere with that troll makes my skin crawl.
“Four hundred fifty!” he bellows, puffing up his chest.
The sky darkens, and I look up to see a massive, winged shadow pass overhead.
The crowd falls silent as a mighty dragon with golden scales circles above us, his wings blocking out the sun.
He circles once, twice, and everyone seems to be holding their breath.
He descends, and when he lands at the back of the crowd, the ground shakes and dust rises in clouds.
I strain to see over everyone’s heads. I watch as the dragon shifts into his human form. The transformation happens quickly, scales melting into skin, and the crowd reacts with gasps and murmurs of awe. It’s not often that dragons leave their kingdom to walk among the rest of us.
The crowd parts like water as a tall, broad man with golden hair walks toward the front.
He’s dressed in black and gold, the high collar of his coat framing a face that’s sharp and handsome.
His golden wings are spread wide behind him, and a thick tail swishes from left to right as he moves.
He walks with confidence, casual and unhurried, as if he owns the ground beneath his feet and everything on it.
He stops a few feet from the auction block and looks up at me.
I gasp.
I know him.
A chill runs up my spine, my stomach roils, and I press a hand to it to stop myself from being sick.
His blue eyes go wide when he sees my face, and he actually takes a step back before he catches himself. He straightens his shoulders and composes himself, his expression smoothing into something unreadable, as if he didn’t just react to seeing me standing here.
My heart pounds in my chest and my hands shake.
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.
Could I do it?
Could I go back to the place where Brandon lost his life and mine was destroyed?
Could I live under the same roof with the man who caused my brother’s death?
Altair and Brandon were both children, but he did it, Altair did it…
“One thousand five hundred,” Altair says, breaking through my thoughts.
The crowd gasps, then falls silent. Everyone waits for my answer.
I look over the crowd, at the monsters watching me with hungry eyes and open mouths. I look at the auctioneer, whose hands are shaking as he clutches his table. I bite my lower lip and look at Altair.
He grew into a handsome man, of course he did. All wyverns are breathtaking – both men and women – and he was always going to be handsome. He’s the young Lord of House Aurellion, golden, and perfect, and cruel.
What does he want with me?
Is he truly buying me to be his wife? That makes no sense. There’s no reason for him to want me, no reason for him to be here at all.
I can’t understand his logic – if he has any – and the confusion combined with the ridiculous amount of gold makes the decision for me.
“Sold,” I say.
A breath of relief ripples through the crowd, as if everyone wanted me to say yes. Who would say no to one thousand five hundred gold? Even the monsters who bid against him seem pleased, nodding their heads and murmuring to each other. They lost fair and square.
The auctioneer shakes all over as he motions for Altair to approach and sign the contract. What follows is a blur. I sign my name with a trembling hand, and Altair takes out a pouch of gold from somewhere in his coat.
“It’s only eight hundred,” he says to the auctioneer. “I’ll give her the rest later.”
I step forward before I can stop myself.
“I need a piece of paper,” I say.
The auctioneer hands me a sheet and a pen, and I write quickly to Alana.
The note is short and rushed, but it says what needs to be said.
I tell her not to worry about me, and to use the money to help my father and her family.
I ask her to please respect my wish for her never to work again, at least not at the Velvet Angels.
I fold the note and pass it to the auctioneer along with the pouch of gold.
“Please send this to the address I wrote down,” I say.
The man nods and makes a note in the contract, and I know he’ll respect my wishes. He must; it’s written down now.
I follow Altair out of the crowd, through the parted masses of monsters who watch us leave. We walk to the back of the field and stop a few feet apart. The space between us feels like a chasm I’ll never cross.
“You know who I am,” he says.
“And you know who I am,” I reply.
“Tressa,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue.
“Altair,” I say, his name tasting like poison in my mouth.
He smirks at me. “How is your mother? And your father?”
I look at him with all the hate I’ve carried for fourteen years.
“My mother is dead,” I say. “And my father is drinking himself to death.”
Altair purses his lips but says nothing.
“Why did you buy me?” I ask. “What do you want from me?”
“I only want to return you to your rightful place,” he says.
“What?”
“You left, and that was a mistake I always hoped to fix,” he explains, his voice casual as if we’re discussing the weather. “Humans never leave a wyvern’s service. You belong to House Aurellion. You belong to me. Once my servant, always my servant.”
“You bought me to serve you?” I ask.
He laughs, and it’s a mocking sound that cuts through me like a blade.
“Why? Did you think I bought you to be my bride?”
My blood boils with hate and anger. I want to throw something at him, to scream and make him hurt the way I’m hurting.
But I stand frozen as he shifts into his wyvern form before my eyes.
I take several steps back to give him space, and I watch as his body expands and changes, scales covering his skin.
He turns his massive head toward me. His eyes are blue and serpent-like, with vertical slits for pupils. Two horns crown his head, and his fangs gleam in the morning light.
“Hop on,” he says, his voice deeper and rougher in this form. “I’ll give you a ride to the palace.”
“Like you gave Brandon a ride?” I sneer at him.
He shakes his head and shows his fangs in what might be a smile or a threat.
“Smart choice,” he says. “It would be a disgrace for a human to ride a wyvern.”
He motions with his head toward a carriage at the edge of the field, where a driver waits on the seat with the reins in his hands.
“Take the carriage,” Altair says. “You know where the palace is. I’ll pay the driver when you arrive.”
Then he spreads his wings and takes flight. The wind from his ascent nearly knocks me off my feet. I’m left standing in the dust he kicked up, shaking, sick, and furious.
I feel sickened by our interaction, by his words, by the reality of what I’ve just done. I consider fleeing, running back to the city and disappearing into the streets where he’ll never find me. What if I don’t do as he says? He can go to hell.
But I did sign a contract, and Altair did pay me eight hundred gold, minus the auctioneer’s fee. There’s even more gold coming, gold that will save Alana and her sisters, and give my father a chance to live. I made my choice, and I can’t back down now.
I know the Aurellions are mad; I’ve always known it. I can deal with Altair, I tell myself.
I walk toward the carriage, doing my best not to stumble. Because my knees are weak and my whole body screams at me to bolt.