Beneath the Hollowed Crown (The Kings of Alasgad #1)

Chapter One

The first thing I learned as a slave was that being human meant I was valued less than the filth ground into a fae lord's boot. The second was that defiance was a blade, very little could dull. No matter how hard someone tried.

The second lesson rolled through my head, as I was hauled through the smoke of the Vaetharyn markets. Dawn had not yet broken, but the sky sagged low and bruised above the spires, as though the city itself was ashamed to look at the scene below.

My wrists were bound hanging before me in iron that bit deep enough to leave blood beneath the grime. Each tug of the rope pulled at my shoulders until something hot and sharp flared beneath my ribs.

Mud covered my bare feet as pebbles split the skin of my heels. The taste of iron ran over my tongue as we continued moving forward. This would be my seventeenth auction.

Sixteen times I had been sold. Sixteen masters before this one. Sixteen failures.

My stays had ranged from one month to one year. The longest believed he could tame me. He had a basement full of instruments designed for that purpose. Hooks, brands, a wheel that could bend your spine like straw. He thought pain was a language all creatures eventually understood.

He soon learned otherwise. Obedience had never been my strong suit, I had never made room for it.

The slaver pulled the chain hard enough to snap me forward. I stumbled, nearly crashing into the wood of the auction platform. My bound hands shot outwards, catching myself in the sludge before I kissed it face first. Laughter rippled faintly from somewhere in the darkness, as I raised my head.

Fion loomed over me, as he had for six long years.

Six years of being returned like spoiled meat.

His black eyes sank too deep into his face, like he was rotting from the inside out.

His thinning blonde hair clung in greasy strands to his scalp.

His belly swelled larger with every failed sale. My endless returns feeding him.

The smell of him was the worst part. Old copper coins left too long in wet soil, damp leather and stale alcohol. It clung to him and I knew even after I was sold, I could still smell him in my sleep.

“Up, and if you fetch less than last time, I’ll have you flayed. You are becoming a problem,” he said, his tone so casual, as if he was discussing the weather. His gnarled face inches from mine.

I laughed. It tore from me raw and ragged, scraping up from my throat. The scar at my neck tightened. The puckered burn was the result of my defiance, I had laughed then too.

“You’d be doing me a kindness,” I muttered, hauling myself upright and scraping mud from my skin. Filth was inevitable here. Surrender was not.

I didn't see his hand until it struck. My vision blurred white at the edges. I stumbled backwards, but managed to keep myself upright. My cheek burned beneath the cold air as a hiss of pain escaped my mouth.

My response never came, the words caught in my throat as the early buyers drifted into the room.

Sinking into the darkness like shadows. Cloaks whispered over stone, jewels flashing at throats and wrists.

Their eyes filled with hunger for fresh meat.

Power, they did not need to earn. Some paused at each slave, looking them over as if they were cattle.

“This one looks wild,” A fae noblewoman murmured as she studied me. She was exquisite, sharp cheek bones, pale moon skin. But the air around her felt wrong, like frost seeping into my bones.

I let the scowl playing on my lips become a full, repugnant grimace.

“Unbroken,” Fion replies, yanking on my chains in an attempt to make me behave. He would repeat that word all morning. A warning disguised as a promise.

“Too much trouble,” she sniffed, turning away.

Good. I would rather rot in the gutters than serve another delicate handed aristocrat who flinched when I breathed too loudly.

Three more Fae nobles walked past. Each time they dismissed me. Deciding my scowl and undesirable traits were not worth the risk. An untamed slave was not worth parting with their precious coin.

I could feel Fion becoming more and more frustrated, the tugs on my chain became harsher, his eyes narrowing every time someone told him I was not suitable. He could see the money disappearing before his eyes. If there was one thing Fion valued more than his own life, it was coin.

I was just about to open my mouth, to remind Fion that this was a fool's errand, when the air shifted. The flames held in the torches, bowed as if pressed by invisible hands.

A tremor rippled through the chamber, subtle and instinctive as conversation died. Even Fion faltered. Almost releasing the chain that held me, from his hands.

Fae were creatures of instinct. Their bodies often knew long before their minds when a creature of power entered the room. They could smell it and would flock to it, like moths at an open flame. From the silence I knew instantly that whoever had entered, was not someone I would want to irritate.

Footsteps echoed in the darkness, slow and measured, void of any hesitation. Authority that did not need to rush or announce its arrival.

Every instinct I had, screamed for me to lower my head. To make myself small in order to survive. However, I ignored them all, lifting my chin in defiance and staring into the darkness.

The figure stood at the edge of the room, where shadows seemed to cling to his body like a lover.

Tall, broad, with dark hair falling to his shoulders, framing a face carved in cold lines. His skin was sun kissed, an odd contrast to the icy pallor of most Fae. Black fabric wrapped around his frame, simple, severe. A sword sat at his hip, not concealed but displayed proudly.

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 buy me.

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 lifted my 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.