13. More than Chattel
P lease fit , Rose prayed, hoping the Gods would listen for once. Please, please fit.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the traders approached, holding her breath. Her hair was swept aside again, and her collar lifted to better fit the key. The trader behind her audibly swallowed before blowing out a breath. The tremor in his hands shook her collar.
Please work, please work, please work .
The key slid into the lock. There was some muscling, which hurt her neck, but then the lock clicked. It seemed loud to Rose, and her eyes shot open in shock. The heavy iron fell to the floor with a muffled thud.
She stared down at it, at the rusty metal on the ugly green carpet, barely noticing the slave trader walking around to her front. He took her hand, releasing one manacle and then the other. In a daze, she stared at the open restraints. And then she looked to her feet, where the trader knelt with his key.
It couldn’t be real. It had to be a trick .
But there were five open rings of heavy metal lying on the floor.
I’m free. The words repeated in her head, a chant she was almost too dazed to believe.
Lifting shaking hands, she gently fingered her bare neck. It stung, the chafing that never went away, the rawness that was ever present.
But the gentle caress of the air brought tears to her eyes.
She looked at her wrists, feeling so light, almost weightless. Unburdened.
The sores were unsightly. But they would heal.
She would heal.
Because she could now.
Lifting her eyes to Prince Adrian, to the one responsible for freeing her, her silent crying became racking sobs. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she tried to contain it.
The effort was futile.
He’d released her from her bonds. This arrogant, confusing, wonderful Prince had granted her heart’s greatest desire.
Freedom.
Never again would she be anyone’s property. Never again would she have to obey vile masters. Never again would she face a whip or go without food.
She belonged to herself .
Weak and shaky with the reality sinking in, the force of her sobs made her feel like she was coming apart. Still pressing one hand to her mouth, she wrapped the other around her belly as she attempted to hold herself together. The sound of her broken cries echoed in the room.
“Rose,” Prince Adrian said softly, as if he cared, as if he were genuinely concerned about her well-being. Unfathomably, he ran a comforting hand down her back.
“I just need a m-m-moment. ”
When he persisted, turning her into his arms, she gave in and let him hold her. The comfort she’d craved for so long, the connection to another person finally being offered made something in her break.
She wasn’t alone.
Pressing her face to his chest, she let herself cry harder. He ran his hand up and down her back, destroying the dam that held back her years of sorrow. All the emptiness she’d felt, all the harsh words and even harsher treatment she’d endured, flowed from her eyes and poured onto his suit jacket.
She was free.
She was free .
“You are free.” He tipped her chin up as he looked down at her.
“ Thank you. ” Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged tight. The sound of his steady breathing calmed her. His chilly body pressed so close to hers was a comfort she wanted to savor.
So, she pulled back.
Prince Adrian wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “Do you trust me now, sweet Rose?”
Blushing, she looked away. When she looked back, his hardened expression was on the slave traders.
Almost too quickly for Rose to track, he swiftly moved around the room, using his dagger with quiet efficiency. He sliced all three males’ throats so fast that Rose struggled to comprehend it. Blinking in disbelief, Rose watched the dark red pour from each neck as the males fell to their knees, gurgling as their lifeblood drained.
Prince Adrian, meanwhile, cleaned his blade on one of the trader’s shirts, returned it to his belt under his jacket, and took Rose’s hand to pull her from the room.
“Come. ”
Out in the hallway, feeling faint and sick and out-of-sorts, Rose retched into a wastebasket, not once but twice, and then leaned against the wall shaking like a leaf. The spurt and flow of crimson blood repeated in her head.
As with the release of her shackles, it seemed unreal.
But it was.
The Prince handed her his handkerchief. Wordlessly, she wiped her mouth.
“Did you have to kill them?”
“They pissed me off with their uselessness.”
“Are you going to kill anyone else?”
Saying nothing, he led her out of the building, where it was darker with the falling night. The pavilion was now lit with standing torches. Sticking to the shadows, they made their way to the waiting carriage. The footman opened the door, and Rose didn’t hesitate before climbing up.
She sat back against the cushions and stared out the window, suddenly feeling bone-weary. There were plans to make, things to consider, and decisions she must face, but all she wanted just then was sleep. Everything else could wait.
Prince Adrian climbed into the carriage after speaking to the driver. Sitting beside her, he took her hand and held it on his lean thigh.
“How are you feeling?”
A riot of butterflies went crazy in her belly at his gentle words and display of affection, especially as his thumb made little swipes over her knuckles.
She shouldn’t tingle. She shouldn’t be excited by such intimate touches.
But she didn’t pull away.
He’d protected her, cared for her in his way, and given her a new chance at life.
He’d killed for her .
In no way did she condone cold-blooded murder, and she’d have nightmares of the bodies lying on that carpet for the rest of her life, the maroon puddles seeping. But she couldn’t say she was sorry that those males were dead. They dealt in the worst kind of currency—trading human life like chattel.
No, worse than livestock. Slave traders saw their merchandise as nothing , even if they did earn coin for every trade.
They all deserved punishment.
Instead of addressing any of that, she said, “I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done. You have changed my life.”
“You will take a position on my maid staff. You can thank me by doing your job well.”
Somehow, that disappointed Rose.
“We will take care of the details later,” he went on, his thumb continuing its sweet caress as the carriage jerked to a stop. The driver yelled at a pedestrian, and then they began rolling again. “First, we have a few stops.”
Rose stared at his profile as he turned his red eyes to the window. Following his gaze, she watched the buildings pass.
The Prince’s cold fingers on her face woke her. With her head on his shoulder, she realized she must have been dozing. Giving him an embarrassed smile, she sat up.
“Come.” He exited the carriage, and she readily followed, surveying the street .
It was quiet out, still early in the evening for all that it felt so late to Rose. Her Prince surreptitiously glanced both ways, likely making sure they weren’t seen by anyone prominent. Rumor of him showing up to . . . a tailor, she decided when she saw thread and scissors carved into the wooden sign overhanging the doorway of the shop, would be untoward and start all kinds of scandalous gossip.
He couldn’t be seen publicly with an unknown, dirty female.
Inside the shop, Rose took in the cluttered space curiously. There were shelves upon shelves of fabrics—cotton, silk, satin, velvet, leather, wool, muslin, and more. There were stocks of lace, taffeta, organza, and others she didn’t recognize, and more shelves full of different colored and textured threads. There were drawers she wondered the contents of and racks of dresses, some completed and some not.
Through open double doors, Rose saw racks of male clothing—pants, shirts, jackets, and vests. Rose had only ever seen shops that catered to one gender, not both, but she supposed with the clear separation, it wasn’t considered improper.
Toward the back, through a full section dedicated to underpinnings, a couple worked. A female vampire was sewing a lace hem on a blue dress on a wooden dress form. A short, rotund human male was working at a battered-looking table, sewing buttons onto a suit jacket. They both looked up as Prince Adrian appeared.
“Your Highness!” the female exclaimed, setting her tools down on a nearby table to curtsy. “To what do we owe this pleasure? We do not have an appointment until . . .”
Prince Adrian waved a hand. “I am not here for myself, Baroness.” He set a hand on Rose’s lower back, urging her forward. “This is Rose. She requires several dresses. ”
Rose tried to contain her surprise as the Baroness studied her with calculating eyes.
“Several, hmmm?” Red eyes caught on the livid mark on Rose’s neck and then her wrists. The vampire seamstress pursed her lips but said nothing. Instead, she took Rose’s hand and pulled her away from the Prince. Folding her arms, she barked, “Strip.”
Rose blinked and then looked at the Prince, who leaned against a table with his long legs crossed. His nonchalance told her this was probably normal, so she untied the strings at her back and pulled the dress off. The shopkeeper snatched it from her and tossed it toward the male Rose assumed was her husband.
“Irving, dear, throw that in the rubbish heap, would you?”
“Of course, my orchid.” The plump human promptly picked up the dress and left the room.
“Tall and ugly,” the seamstress said of Rose, who lifted her chin proudly. “She has a neck like a swan, though. Gold and jewels could hide that scar, yes?” She glanced slyly at Prince Adrian. “Where did you find her, if I may ask?”
“Your only concern is clothing her.”
But the Baroness ran a finger down Rose’s ear. “Half-elf?” she asked as Rose shifted away. Her ears were sensitive.
“Again—”
“Not my concern.” The Baroness huffed and then lifted one of Rose’s arms, poked a prominent rib, and then shocked Rose by cupping her bare breasts and lifting them. On a gasp, Rose shoved her hands away. The Baroness laughed. “You have terrible taste in females, Your Highness.”
Prince Adrian cocked an eyebrow. “Duly noted. Now for the love of the Goddess, clothe her. ”
The Baroness gave a dramatic sigh even as she reached for her measuring tape on the table behind Prince Adrian. As she jotted down Rose’s measurements—bust, waist, arm length, height, and more—she said, “I think I have something that will work. She is rather tall, but anything is better than that hideous rag she was in.” She met the Prince’s eyes. “Underpinnings?”
Prince Adrian gave a short nod.
As the seamstress disappeared into the racks of dresses, Rose glanced at the Prince, whose eyes were hot on her. They roved her form, catching on her breasts, and a strange sensation started there, a tingling ache in her nipples that echoed between her legs.
She’d lost all modesty years ago, forced to be naked before her masters, nothing but a piece of meat to examine. But it didn’t feel that way with her Prince. His eyes weren’t as appreciative as he’d seen some males gaze upon females, but they were interested.
She wasn’t sure what to make of it.
But she didn’t move, watching him take her in. His eyes paused on the curls between her legs, and she wondered what he was thinking. Other females were bare down there but that had never been an option for her.
What did he like, she wondered.
And then she started as the Baroness called from the racks. Prince Adrian’s gaze shot up to meet hers, and she blushed furiously, caught watching him. A slow smile spread on his lips, and it made her think of a naughty devil, even as he answered whatever the Baroness had said.
He unbuttoned and opened his suit jacket, sliding his hands into his pockets, his entire demeanor wholly relaxed and at ease.
But Rose caught the bulge in his pants and swallowed, realizing that staring at her naked body had made him that way. As her face went to flames, that bulge grew, tenting his pants more.
He was no longer smiling. No, his gaze was just as hot as she felt .
Thank the Gods the Baroness yelled more, giving Rose a reason to look away.
“Ah! Here I have a yellow I can fix up quickly! It was for the Marchioness Huntington, but I can make her another. Oh, and this pink I styled for the Countess Mayweather. And here is the lovely emerald damask the Viscountess Chamberlain decided she did not like.”
Rose’s heart tripped at the thought of stealing dresses from the nobility. What if they found out?
Unaware of her panic, the Baroness walked from the racks to set the dresses on the table where Prince Adrian leaned, his suit jacket buttoned once more, arms crossed over his chest. The seamstress took a pink dress to Rose and pulled it roughly over her head. Spinning her, she then laced the back.
Rose looked down at herself. Made of cotton—but nicer cotton with a tighter weave than anything she’d ever worn—it was very light. The layers of taffeta in the underskirts added fullness but not much weight. The bodice and sleeves were embellished with pretty white lace.
“Three inches too short. But this is fine to take today, yes?”
“I can’t take this,” Rose whispered, still staring at what she wore.
“You can and will,” Prince Adrian said. “And the others.”
He purchased underwear as well and then looked at the shopkeepers over the payment counter. He pushed a gold coin across the space between them.
“For your discretion.”
The Baroness snapped the coin up, tucking it into her bodice. “It’s been a lovely quiet evening, hasn’t it, Irving, dear?”
“Quite, my little rutabaga. And our first appointment is not for another thirty minutes.”