Chapter 28
N ot even two hours later, the door creaked open. Madam Zaya swept in, flanked by the crossbow-wielding Dark Elf and the orc with the broadsword, back from his beatings, it seemed.
The timid mage shuffled in behind them.
Aelrie didn’t expect to see them so soon, but steeled herself for what she must do, ignoring the anxiety that had settled itself both in her stomach and the back of her throat the best she could.
Shikra, think of Shikra.
Madam Zaya glared at Darranyae sitting on a bed opposite Aelrie, clearly miffed that she’d freed her.
“Charm her,” she ordered the mage and turned on her pointed heels to sit languidly down on a chaise by the door and watch on with growing impatience.
She was the type who didn’t like waiting for anything and was used to always getting her way.
The stench of arrogance and entitlement wafted from her like a rotten carcass left out in the sun on a hot day.
“Don’t get any ideas,” the orc said as he crossed his arms with a slight wince and barred the door; his broad shoulders and the bulk of his muscles nearly covered the entire doorframe. Orcs were tough because after all those lashes with a whip, he could still stand .
The mage’s hands shook as she approached Aelrie still seated on the bed. She took note of this and tried her best not to smile. A light breeze floated by, smelling vaguely of violets and sugar sweets, yet there wasn’t even a pink haze to cover her eyes.
She had to pretend this was working. Pretend she was living her greatest fantasy. But what was her fantasy? What should she think of? What did she want more than anything?
Revenge.
The thought came almost instantaneously to her.
She envisioned her triumph, getting her revenge, trying to form the images in her mind.
The Light Elf who called for Lindana’s murder was dead at her feet. Shikra was imprisoned in an Alfheim jail for his crime.
“It’s not working,” Madam Zaya uttered harshly, more of a threat than a statement.
The sweet smell grew stronger, but no dreams tugged at her mind.
The thought of having her revenge wasn’t bringing her pleasure, it was doing the opposite.
She had to think of something else, something pleasurable.
Her mind raced—chocolate cherry cake, Midsummer’s Eve, lily of the valley, red squirrels, the smell of apples and cinnamon, these were all things she loved but they weren’t working right now for some reason.
Madam Zaya stood from her chaise and sauntered up behind the mage whose hands shook violently now. She placed a hand on the mage’s small shoulder and the mage whimpered pitifully .
They weren’t sold by her act. It had to be something real, a moment from her life, a memory was better than an image. A memory. A moment of pleasure. The night she spent with Shikra came to her mind.
Madam Zaya stopped intimidating the mage with her glare and turned her attention to Aelrie.
She pretended not to notice and continued fantasizing about Shikra.
The madam dropped her hand from the mage’s shoulder and her entire countenance changed as she plastered a disgustingly fake smile on her face.
“Hurry with me, my lady,” she said with arm extended to Aelrie. “The prince awaits your arrival.”
This was the trick. Charm her to dance for her “prince.” She tried her best to push down the bile that was threatening to rise up her throat.
Those poor girls who were charmed by this.
A horrible thought came to mind about what happened to them after.
But she couldn’t think about that now, all eyes were on her.
She swallowed her discomfort and smiled as much as she possibly could without hurting herself.
“My prince?” she questioned hopefully.
“Yes! Look, you are wearing your finest dress and tonight is the night when the prince chooses his wife. You must dance well for him so he will choose you.”
Aelrie let them escort her out of the room.
She took notice of her surroundings as surreptitiously as she could, but the madam kept giving her piercing looks, softening them once she caught Aelrie’s eyes in a sickening display of disingenuous frivolity, giving her ditzy smiles and complementing her “dress” or hair, telling her the prince was bound to choose her .
There were rows of rooms down a corridor, one had to be the private room she would be taken to after this “dance.” They walked down a set of stairs that curved into an open area draped with glittery silver and pale purple silks and violet crystals dimmed to create intimate lighting.
Brass censers sat on small tables on the floor wafting the seductive scent of sandalwood throughout the room.
A group of musicians sat upon plush pillows and carpet, ready to play their lutes, flutes, and drums.
But her eyes lingered on the platform which stood before her on a circular, slightly raised dais with silk rose petals soaked in perfume scattered about its edges.
Across from them, sat Dark Elves—nobles, the wealthy—reclining on plush velvet settees being catered to and pampered by servant girls in leather outfits that looked no more than undergarments.
It didn’t look like there were any more guards in the room, so that was a relief.
Although the orc was going to present a problem, especially with that iron-forged broadsword strapped to his back.
Iron was dangerous for elves with its magic-sealing capabilities.
That’s why the orcs made iron-forged weapons.
As she glanced around at the tables some more, she saw more armed Dark Elves, at least one at each table.
They must be the personal guards of these wealthy nobles because they also had weapons at their side, magic-infused swords in sleek black scabbards, and they were not partaking in ordering food or drink and paid no mind to the servant girls.
Madam Zaya walked out onto the platform.
The conversations stopped and the servant girls scurried to the back out of sight.
“Great kyrs , prepare yourselves for what we have in store for you tonight. A rare, priceless treasure. Exotic. Seductive. A Light Elf maiden as beautiful and radiant as the shining sun. May she warm your darkest heart and fulfill your most ‘curious’ desires.” The madam bowed and there was applause.
She then turned to Aelrie, who had been sitting in a chair, supposedly oblivious to everything around her and stuck in a fantasy of catching the eye of her “prince.”
“It is time, dear,” Madam Zaya told her, taking her hand and leading her to the platform. “Show the prince what you’re made of.”
Aelrie walked to the dais and the room closed in around her.
From every corner, eyes peered, leered, and roamed everywhere—to the slenderness of her waist exposed to the dim violet light, the peak of her breasts barely concealed with the plunge of her top, and her long legs revealed all the way up to her hips.
Breathe.
Remember to breathe. Her bare feet touched the center of the platform: smooth, cool stone. She noticed her fingernails, even her toes, were painted bright red.
The music started, an escalating beat that started off slow but would pick up its rhythm as she should pick up her feet.
She stepped forward two steps and lifted her arms, then took two steps back and kicked up her leg.
There was a cry of excitement from the audience, and the sound of a hand knock on a table from one of the nobles.
A servant girl rushed over to him, conferred with him, and then ran to the madam.
Zaya’s grin widened as the servant girl whispered the amount into her ear; she seemed pleased with the outcome.
Aelrie was almost curious how much it was.
The bidding began.
She stood still, watching everything happen around her, waiting for the next pick up in tempo.
She decided on performing a Light Elf dance for young maidens.
It was a whimsical and charming dance girls did just for fun.
For some reason, males really enjoyed watching this dance even though it was only a dance performed for young girls by young girls.
So, she thought the dance would best suit the occasion.
She started by twirling around playfully and then taking steps in a circle while kicking her feet up.
What came next was a series of jumps, kicks, and twirls.
Her hair, up in her signature ponytail, swayed across her back with her movements.
They couldn’t take their eyes off her. They were her thralls, and under the spell she cast with her body moving with the music.
Here, she was no longer the slave and they no longer the master.
There were more knocks on tables and the servant girls ran around in a buzz like bees in a hive from the tables to Madam Zaya, their queen bee.
Prying her eyes away from the madam, she focused on her dancing.
It was when she twirled and landed to the side of the platform that she saw a face she’d seen once before. Her stomach twisted in knots, and she turned her head away before he could notice her reaction.
What was Draven Darkmoon doing here? Arms out, she pranced around in a circle to collect her thoughts.
This might be a good thing …
She hated him, but if he knew Darranyae was here, as her brother, he would have to save her.
He had to win the bid. She needed to be alone with him to explain their situation and would only have that chance if he won the auction and took her to a private room.
But could she trust him to be more concerned about his sister rather than with claiming his prize?
She would just have to hope his feelings as an older brother outweighed his view of her as a slave and object of lust.
She turned and pranced the other way, needing more time to gather her thoughts.
The music picked up in tempo, prodding her to go faster, but she needed more time, not being good at spur of the moment decisions.
When she did those things, she was reckless, like the time she grabbed onto an assassin and followed him to the Evergloom, riding on the back of a great tunneling wyrm.
If Draven Darkmoon didn’t win the bid, he would see Darranyae when she performed next, and he would save her then. Nobles were of a different class and held positions in society no ordinary elf could. The same was true for both Light Elves and Dark Elves.
Darranyae’s “virtue” was tied to House Darkmoon’s honor, and if her virtue was in question, it would make the entire House look bad.
House Darkmoon undoubtedly held powerful influence due to its immense wealth.
She could tell this by the state of their manor and their mining of precious gems through goblin slave labor.
Darranyae would be saved either way. But would she ?
The bidding was still abuzz, but Draven Darkmoon wasn’t playing. He’d noticed her. His eyes burned holes through her when her back was turned to him.
She leapt into the air and cheers erupted from the audience. Time to dance as she’d never danced before. Draven had to want her, enough to make a bid on her.
With each gentle sway of her hips and playful flick of her wrists, she teased her audience. Knocking came from every table. And the madam seemed mighty pleased with herself.
She wouldn’t mind taking that smile from her forever.
After a while, the bidding war started to slow. There was no way for her to know how much money was spoken of in these bids, but judging on how snobbishly content the madam looked, it was probably a lot.
The music started to die down. Here came the finale. She didn’t see who got the last bid, but knew it wasn’t Darranyae’s brother.
There then came a knock from a table behind her that was loud enough to hear over the dwindling music.
She turned her head slowly to see Draven grinning at her with a devious glint in his eye.
A servant girl ran up to him, and he gave her an amount while never breaking his stare on her. The girl then rushed to Madam Zaya.
That was his strategy, waiting to bid until the end to keep the amount from rising higher with his input.
But an elf at a table adjacent to him didn’t like this turn of events and placed another bid. He was the one who got the last bid before, and he didn’t want to lose .
The music picked up again. The bidding war was back on, but just between these two tables.
Aelrie danced closer to Darranyae’s brother.
She wanted to end this quickly, so she cast furtive glances at him that varied from coy to inviting.
Gaining none of her attention, the Dark Elf at the other table gave up.
Draven Darkmoon sat back on his settee looking confident in his victory. She wished never to see his face again after what he tried to do to her, but this was for Darranyae. And he wouldn’t have his guards around to protect him if he tried that on her again.
She twirled and twirled again and then took a bow.
The music slowed to a stop. Flower petals rained down upon her, covering the platform.
She lifted from the bow, arms spread out to her side like wings, when she spied familiar crimson eyes staring at her from high above, glistening in the dim violet light.