But first, she had to survive this dinner.
On the surface the gathering seemed to be filled with pleasant conversation, yet both sides were merely circling one another, cautiously probing, assessing, measuring.
At least, the baron certainly was.
The two elves, meanwhile, looked more bored than anything else, struggling to mask their disdain for their host. It irritated them that the baron refused to speak about the very reason they were here.
When dinner at last drew to a close, the baron leaned back in satisfaction and crossed his legs.
"And now, let us finally begin the real entertainment. We have prepared a little gift for our honored guests—something I trust you will find much to your liking. Bring them in."
He gestured to one of the doormen, who straightened with pompous formality and opened a side door. Seven or eight young women filed inside.
Marcus turned sharply toward them, suspicion etched clearly across his features.
Most of the girls looked barely past twenty, dressed in far less clothing than decency required. Fear was written plainly on nearly all their faces as they lined up beside the table.
The baron's companions whistled and applauded in crude approval, their hungry eyes devouring the sight.
Dorian watched the girls instead—not with desire, but with growing revulsion. As the realization dawned on him of what the baron was offering, his brows lifted in disbelief.
"Behold our evening's amusement, gentlemen," the baron announced. "There is more than enough for all—no need for concern. But it is only proper that our guests choose first which company they would most enjoy for the remainder of the night."
Marcus shot Dorian a disbelieving look and shook his head slowly. The baron watched them with keen curiosity, awaiting their reaction.
After half a minute of silence, Dorian's lips curved into a lazy smile. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back as he sauntered toward the trembling line of girls.
Several of them began to sob softly at his approach—evidently none of them had volunteered for this task.
The baron was known for ordering women from the brothel for his revelries, but on special occasions he preferred to purchase young, inexperienced girls from impoverished families—girls whose parents had sold them out of desperation.
"Dorian," Marcus said under his breath in a warning tone. "You can't be serious."
In response, Dorian flashed him the kind of predatory smile that sent shivers even through Marcus.
"Marcus, our new friends have graced us with such a generous gift. It would be terribly rude to refuse. And you know how much I love entertainment."
He turned back toward the girls. One of them instantly lost control, a small puddle forming at her feet.
He pitied them deeply. He could easily imagine the horrors awaiting them tonight, and it was precisely this—this casual cruelty—that made him despise humans so profoundly.
But he had no choice but to play along—for now.
With a quiet sigh, he stepped up to a tall, black-haired girl. She could not have been more than sixteen. Terror shimmered in her small, tear-filled eyes as Dorian gently lifted her chin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered so quietly only she could hear. For a brief heartbeat, genuine sympathy flickered in his gaze—only to vanish as swiftly as it had appeared.
He straightened and said in a voice loud enough for the table to hear:
"I like her."
A few men chuckled.
But before anything else could happen, a small, swift figure slipped out from the shadows and darted between Dorian and the girl. Leonie planted herself firmly in front of the trembling child, pushing her protectively behind her back.
Leonie had watched the spectacle in mounting horror. This was far from the first time she had been forced to witness the baron's followers selecting their victims. She herself had been prey to his cruelty more than once.
Yet despite her terror, something wild and irrational surged up inside her—something that shoved her forward before she had time to think.
She was tiny, far smaller even than the black-haired girl, and Dorian could snap her in half with a single movement. But the girl behind her was so young, so frightened… and the blond elf's feral smile suggested the child would not survive the night.
Why was she doing this?
Maybe because she had just realized her entire life had been a lie, and the shock had driven her mad.
Maybe because some instinct within her demanded she protect these children—from her own kind no less.
Whatever the reason, it was far too late to reconsider.
A crackling silence filled the hall as Leonie and Dorian locked eyes.
She trembled violently but refused to move.
He studied her with genuine curiosity.
Such a fragile creature—yet here she stood, defying a room full of predatory men, risking her life to shield someone even smaller than herself.
There could only be one explanation: she must be foolish and utterly reckless.
Yet something about her intrigued him. More than that—something strange pulsed in the air around her, as though her magic stirred in his presence.
"I want her," Dorian said at last, after half a minute of taut silence, pointing at Leonie.
Her heart shot into her throat. A wave of dizziness washed over her as raw terror filled her chest.
There was no escape now.
Marcus stiffened behind him, unable to believe Dorian was truly engaging in this revolting game. He folded his arms and turned away in protest.
"No!"
The baron shot to his feet with such force that his chair toppled over behind him. His eyes blazed with murderous fury as he glared at his guest.
"She is not part of the offer. This is an outrageous insult—how dare you?"
Dorian cast one more glance at the trembling redhead before he turned, speaking in a voice laced with disdain.
"I want her. She will be mine for the night, and we will have a very enjoyable time."
The baron's men flicked nervous glances at their master, who continued to stare, rigid with fury.
"Impossible," the baron hissed.
"She's your favorite then?" Dorian clicked his tongue mockingly. "You should try something new. I certainly intend to. I've never shared a bed with a human before—and this little redhead is very much to my taste. And I always get what I want."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr.
"Surely you don't wish our first meeting to end so abruptly? It would be unfortunate if you had nothing to report to your king except failure."
The baron opened his mouth, fury twisting his features—then slowly, painfully, closed it again.
He nodded.
"Excellent," Dorian said brightly, clapping his hands once. He gave Marcus a brief nod before heading toward the doors.
"Have her in my room in half an hour. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen."
He cast one last glance at the line of girls.
His heart clenched—that he could save only one. But the weight of his choices was something he had learned long ago. He had made this decision, and he would not undo it.
With Marcus at his heels, he strode out without a backward look at the loathsome creatures behind him.
The moment the doors closed, the baron exploded.
His men shrank back as he roared in fury, leaping over the overturned chair and reaching Leonie in two strides.
Before she could react, his hand whipped across her face so hard that she collapsed like a rag doll onto the floor.
The other girls seized the chance and fled, leaving Leonie alone with the baron and his men—men who now watched with growing, eager delight as the scene unfolded.
"Will you never learn your place?" the baron bellowed, driving his boot into her ribs.
A sickening crack echoed through the hall. Leonie couldn't even scream—the blow had driven all the air from her lungs.
"You are mine! How dare you offer yourself to someone else?" he roared, punctuating each word with another brutal kick.
"You ungrateful little whore! This is how you repay me for saving your miserable life? For raising you? I gave you everything!"
He stomped down on her already injured wrist. White-hot agony shot up her arm as the bones crushed further, a strangled, dying cry tearing from her throat.
Then he turned away, marched back to the table, and drained his goblet in one gulp.
Without looking back, he growled through clenched teeth, breath ragged from his rage:
"Get her out of my sight. Now. Have Esthelle patch her up, then take her to that barbarian's room. He'll deal with her."
Leonie lay curled on her side, unable to move, drowning in waves of agony. Her vision blurred in and out—dark, light, dark again.
She saw only the boots of the guards as they approached, grabbed her under the arms, and hauled her limp body out of the hall.
Back to her room.
Where they dropped her on the bed—
—and left her.