Grain was mostly grown by the farmers down south. And so, the production was distributed and controlled by the kingdom. They would have to go to a special store to obtain any form of grain.
At the edge of the village, a small building stood in the dust, its weathered wooden sign creaking against chains, echoing against the streets. The letters, rubbed thin from the wind, spelt Dry Goods & Provisions. But the building was made of logs and stone, had sawn-board walls and a cleanly shingled roof. It was by far the neatest, most sturdily built shop in the market, with actual murky glass windows that briefly revealed the glitter of produce.
Clearly, the owner of the store was rich.
Richer than anyone else in the village.
Sloane pushed the door open, and the tiny bell above it gave a faint jingle. The smell struck her first, rich and heady: the mingled dust of pure flour, the dry sweetness of sugar, the musky tang of beans and coffee, and the rich taste of lard. Her stomach buckled so sharply she thought she might fold in two. Her stomach twisted, a hollow ache gnawed in her belly, reminding her of every empty moment since sunrise.
Dinner, she reminded herself, was going to be good tonight.
She straightened herself then, swallowing hard.
The store was cramped and dim, floorboards uneven underfoot. But narrow shelves lined the walls, stacked high with burlap sacks and cans. It was heavy with dented tins of lard, jars of pickled cucumbers glinting green, bricks of tea and sacks of spices. There were barrels braced at the heels, open-mouthed and exhaling the generous scent of salt and fat, meat preserves hidden beneath the white salt. Jars of brittle crystal sugar caught the low sunlight, spilling amber across the floor.
Sloane's gaze roamed, overwhelmed by the abundance of it all. When had she last seen so much food? Every corner of the room was steeped in sustenance, and every breath Sloane drew was a torment, her body pulling greedily at the scent while her belly twisted emptily.
But the coarse open sack of rice drew her in. And her fingers lingered over the pale smooth beads that promised a full belly, a scoop laid waiting within the shift of grain. Her hands moved to trace the weave of the sack, feeling the curve of kernels. A shiver of longing dragged across her spine.
Food everywhere.
How rare.
How luxurious.
The full grains of rice in a pot, steam rising in soft clouds, the fluffy white hills. The first bite would be perfect with fresh fish seasoned with salt and ramp and a good hot cup of dandelion tea. She was not going to let Riven make the watery grey slop from the morning. The thought of that steadied her hollowed frame.
Behind the counter stood a man with a rag in his hand, rubbing slow circles against the wood, his face lined with the exhaustion of trade. His ears pricked upwards, cat-like tips, gaze lingered on them, weighing, measuring. His eyes were on her, as if he could sense her desperation. And Riven leaned closer, trying to look untouched by her hunger, but she could see the set of his jaw. Get a hold of yourself. His eyes seemed to say. She slapped the belly of the sack and looked up at the man.
"How much?" Sloane asked, voice tight with hunger.
The storekeeper did not hesitate. "Fifty coins."
Her heart lurched. Fuck. They only had thirty. The words dropped like stones into the pit of her stomach. Her hunger flared with fury, almost shame, that rice should sit so close, so abundant, and yet remain locked away by price. They'd make do with what they had if they had to. Cornmeal…Her thoughts swam. She could make a cake out of it, she supposed. A cake of greens hot on the stone. She would let it sizzle and char at the edges. She could do something about the oats, boil them down and make a savoury porridge with the eggs. The wheat, she could use to make noodles, pulled thin in soup.
Rice was a luxury.
Riven's words cut sharply; his snarl rippled from his lips. "Fifty? That's crazy. It was thirty last month!"
The man's eyes narrowed with the weariness of a hundred such arguments, eyes rolling as if they weren't the first. "It's getting harder to get grain here. Transport's near impossible with ferals prowling the passes. We've lost thousands of sacks. And with the Everharts gone under and the king's departure from the North, no caravan goes unscathed—" He gave a shrug. "You won't find rice any cheaper. You're welcome to look, but be glad it's only fifty. The Serpentines keep it low due to the word from the king to help the commoners."
"Help? You're robbing us all! Rice is supposed to be subsidised by the kingdom!" Riven stood taut, his hands balled, but silence pressed between them. Sloane's throat closed, the words trapped within. She could not argue, not with the ache curling tighter and tighter beneath her ribs. The storekeeper's hand tightened around the rag.
"Are you buying it or not?" he sneered.
They were silent then, silenced by his words. Sloane's fingers slipped from the bag. They couldn't afford it. It was best they left. Her eyes swung to Riven, angry and vibrating in the corner. A rush of heat consumed her then, a sudden eagerness to do better, to be better.
She'd get it for him next time.
They would never starve in this world. And Riven would always be fed. Then, before refusal escaped her lips, another voice uncoiled into the room. Smooth, deliberate, and edged with amusement that cut like a blade.
"Let the beggars have it at thirty," the voice said, every syllable a slow lash of honey and scorn. "I'll see to the rest."
"But Young Master Serpentine—"
"But only if," the voice teased, "they get on their knees and beg."
Sloane turned then, inhaled sharply as the world narrowed to the figure leaning against the glass. He was beautiful, terribly so, in a way that unsettled her greatly. Unlike Riven's almost tender, innocent beauty. This man was like the devil.
A slender, almost regal nose, sly, snake-like eyes that mellowed into moon-like laughter. Hair sleeked back like spun white gold.Cheeks that puffed on an angel's face, but a jawline sharper than sin. And his lips were too full, fuller than Riven's and unfairly alluring in their seductive red pout.
The man's skin gleamed faintly, as if a sheen of scales lay just beneath the surface, catching light in patterns too fluid and too iridescent to be human. It shimmered in flickers of green and gold. But his eyes, a bright molten amber, slit through like a predator's. They were unblinking, drawing her gaze into them as though resistance were impossible.
His mouth curved in a smile, but it was just as charming as it was dangerous, as if he delighted in the discomfort he caused. The white of his teeth showed, fangs revealed.
He was a snake-beast, and a goddamn rich one.
"Evander," Riven hissed. The name was a curse on his tongue and a warning.
Evander giggled, and he moved with a languid grace, each step too smooth, too measured, like the ripple of muscle from a snake. Even his clothes seemed to slide and flow over his skin. The faintest trace of a hiss seemed coiled in his breath when he spoke again.
"Riven, baby," he purred. "Why have you not visited me? I've missed you."
The snake man tilted his head, scales along his jaw catching the low light, reminiscent of cold stone. His gaze slid over Sloane, lingered, and then returned to Riven with a slow curl of contempt. He knew who she was, but he chose to ignore her. That had her fists clenched tight. He pissed her off.
"You come to beg again, darling?" Evander's voice was soft, but the sneer twisted through sharply, his lip lifting enough to show the faint gleam of fangs. Venom disguised as sweetness. His tongue flicked out, split in the middle, just like a snake's. "You filthy ingrate. Didn't I tell you to leave your useless Alpha and come to me forever?"
The words slithered between them, as heavy as a whip. And although her pulse thundered in her ears, Sloane could not look away from the flicker of his eyes, like twin blades of gold, striking, dangerous, and far too beautiful to be real. The air felt charged, as if in acknowledgement of a predator, and Evander's presence was noted in her chest, weirdly tantalising. But this was the man Riven had gone to for coin. This was the man that Riven had begged to. Sloane knew it now.
A rabbit and a snake.
Riven remained frozen in space, eyes wide, ears sharp, muscles tensed and dewy with sweat. Her eyes narrowed, completely understanding the dynamics now.
Evander was a fucking bully.
Fuck.
Rage consumed her, growing hot in her throat.
"Riven will not beg for food," she said, her voice oddly strong. Evander's eyes shifted to her then, and the air seemed to twist as he moved closer. His scent gathered around her, coiling around her throat like smoke. It was no denying that he was doing it on purpose, swathing her in his fumes. Was this…Her brow furrowed. Was he an Alpha?
"You're the Alpha?" he questioned simply. "The weakling of the town?"
She snorted, but gave him a cheery smile. "The one and the same."
"Weren't you," he waved his hand, mimicking a drink, "predisposed?"
"I'm turning over a new leaf. I'll take care of Riven now."
"You?" he giggled, lips pulling into a smile, the movement caught the light, dusting jewels over his skin. "You must be joking."
He moved then, slid even closer, gliding until his presence filled her space. And now she could smell him thickly in the air. The strange sharpness, like stone warmed under the sun, like the tangy rust of blood. But under it, faint and elusive, a sweetness of crushed herbs left out too long in the heat.
Delicious.
It stirred in her the way hunger did, gnawing and confused. Her belly cramped, almost mistaking him for food. And her breath caught at his nearness, watering for the spice of his scent. She tried to steady herself, eyes locking with the weight of his gaze like a hand to her throat. It was the look of a predator amused by the stillness of its prey.
"Yep," she answered. There was something off about him, the way his aroma seeped into her and left her trembling. "And I thank you for taking care of my pack member when I was gone. But you will not need to do that."
Evander grew still then, his scent growing thicker like fruit left too overripe on the vine, fermenting into ruin. His scales took on a molten fire, growing red over his skin. Every breath drew him deeper into her, sliding into her veins with a slow venom like poison. She felt dizzy, hot under her skin, and her hands tightened against the counter.
Was this some kind of poison? Her lips curled. She was sure of it now. He was doing something to her that she did not quite understand. And his smile seemed to deepen knowingly.
"You owe me," he whispered. "You both owe me so much coin, it would be my right to take it all back."
"How much?" she said through clenched teeth. "We'll work towards it."
"Enough to enslave you," he pouted. "Enough to ruin you. But I always let poor little Riven run off with his cute little bunny tail and pockets filled with my coin."
"Thank you," she said. "But we're good now."
His exhale slid over her cheek, slow and as slippery as silk. Her belly cramped once again, body betraying her almost as if it wanted food, tasting the sweet musky spice of his aroma. He did not touch her, but it felt as if he did, cold breath tracing the heat that roared in her chest. Her pulse fluttered wildly, as his golden eyes grew half-lidded, watching and waiting.
Her lower belly grew warm, thighs pressed together, pulsing.
Fuck.
"Hungry, disgusting little Alpha?" Evander teased, the words coiled mockingly. A flash of disgust tipped in the wrinkle of his nose. A sneer revealed itself. "I just love to see the look of despair on Riven's face when he comes running back to me on his knees." He smiled brightly then. "He's so afraid of me, you see, and the taste of his fear is just delightful. Just like how you must smell absolutely terrified."
Her answer was tangled in her throat, and she inhaled sharply. He was playing with her, teasing her, treating her like a weakling, pulling her into his spell. And his nose grazed the side of her neck, breathing her in. But he froze then, stuttered, and the break in his hypnotism was enough for her to raise a palm.
She slapped him across the cheek.
Hard, strong, and filled with her old strength. The sound rang, and his neck almost seemed to crack to the side. He stumbled back, eyes wide and almost teary, as glittery as the stars of his scales.
She roared. "Stop whatever the fuck you're doing and stay in your fucking space," she snarled. Her eyes snapped to Riven, noticing his frozen state, and her hands reached for him. She grasped his wrist, pulling him out of the spell easily. He gasped. "We're leaving. Come on."
She slammed her way through the door, failing to notice the flush in Evander's cheeks and the strange shiver as he stared their way.
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