I knew I was going to die the moment the Fae walked into the tavern.
The door slammed open, not the usual creak but violent, purposeful. Every head in the Stone's Throw turned. Two figures stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by dying sunlight.
They moved wrong. Too graceful, too fluid, like water instead of flesh.
The woman stepped forward first. Her gown shimmered midnight blue, and her hair drank the light. Beautiful wasn't the right word. She was otherworldly, perfect in a way that made my stomach twist with instinctive fear.
The man beside her was worse. Silver hair, pale glowing skin, eyes like winter ice. He looked bored. Dangerously bored.
Fae.
The tavern went silent. Mugs stopped halfway to mouths. Cards froze mid-deal.
"Elara Ashwood," the woman said. Her voice rang like bells, beautiful and terrible. She wasn't asking.
My hands went numb. The tray slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. "I... yes. That's me."
Every eye turned to stare. I saw pity in some faces. Relief in others, thank the gods it's not me.
The woman smiled like a cat cornering a mouse. "Your father was Marcus Ashwood?"
"He died three months ago." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Whatever he owed, I can't..."
"Twelve thousand, four hundred and sixty-three gold pieces." The man's voice was cold and clipped. "Do you have it?"
The number hit me like a fist. Twelve thousand? That was more money than I'd see in ten lifetimes.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "My father was a carpenter. We barely had enough to eat."
"Your mother was dying twenty-two years ago." The woman's smile widened. "Some wasting disease. Your father came to us desperate. We cured her. The cost was five thousand gold."
My mother. I had vague memories, auburn hair, gentle hands, a laugh like summer rain. She'd died when I was five. A fever, my father had said.
"She died anyway," I said numbly.
"Not our problem." The woman shrugged.
"The debt remained. Blood calls to blood. Now it's yours."
"I don't have twelve thousand copper, let alone gold!"
"Then you'll pay another way." The man's gaze traveled over me like I was livestock.
"Auction. Tonight. You'll be sold to the highest bidder."
The word didn't make sense. "Sold. Like... property?"
"Precisely."
"I'm a person!" My voice cracked. I looked around desperately. "Tell them! You all know me!"
Brennan looked away. The farmers studied their drinks. No one met my eyes.
"Please," I whispered. "Someone."
"They won't help." The man sounded almost bored. "Blood contracts supersede human law. Interference means consequences."
"I won't go. You can't make me..."
The woman raised one elegant finger.
Pain exploded through my body. It felt like my blood was boiling, my bones splintering. I collapsed, convulsing on the tavern floor, unable to even scream.
"Blood contract, clause seventeen," her voice floated above my agony. "Resistance results in punishment. This is your first warning."
The pain stopped. I lay gasping, tasting copper.
"Get up," the man commanded. "Or we do it again."
Terror gave me strength. I forced myself upright, legs shaking.
The woman produced silver chains from thin air. "These are contract bindings. You physically cannot run now." She smiled.
"You'll come peacefully. Won't you?"
The chains locked around my wrists with a sound like a death knell.
"Please." My voice broke. "I'll work. I'll give you every copper. Just don't..."
"Four hundred years to repay at your earning rate," the man interrupted. "You don't have four hundred years. Move."
They dragged me toward the door. Toward the shimmering Veil between worlds.
I looked back at the tavern one last time. At Brennan who'd given me a job. At the farmers I'd served for years. At the life I'd never have.
Not one of them looked at me.
"I hope you all rot," I said clearly.
Then they pulled me through the Veil, and my world ended.
The Fae realm was wrong.
Colors too bright. Sky purple at the edges. Three moons visible despite the sun. The air tasted like copper and honey and something that made my instincts scream danger.
The auction house loomed ahead, black marble and silver filigree. Beautiful like a knife.
Inside, the holding room was packed with humans. Thirty, maybe forty. All chained. All terrified.
A girl who couldn't be sixteen sobbed into her hands. An old man prayed silently. A woman with dead eyes stared at nothing.
"Fresh meat!" A Fae guard grinned. "With the others."
They chained me to a wall between two women.
"First time?" the older one asked quietly. She had scars on her wrists and dead eyes.
"I'm Margaret. Third auction. Welcome to hell."
"Third?" My voice came out as a croak.
"The debt never gets satisfied. There's always more interest." She touched my face with surprising gentleness. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
"Virgin?"
My face burned. "I... yes."
Margaret winced. "Good and bad. Good because you'll fetch a high price. Bad because the ones who pay premium for virgins have specific plans."
My stomach churned.
"I'm Lila," the younger blonde on my right offered. "Sold for my brother's debt. He killed himself rather than face this."
"I'm Elara. My father borrowed gold to save my mother twenty-two years ago."
"And your mother?"
"Dead anyway. Three years later."
"Gods." Lila shook her head. "He doomed you for nothing."
A Fae woman in silver robes entered. "Preparation time. Line up."
We shuffled forward, chains clinking.
The woman stopped in front of me, grabbed my chin. "This one's pretty. Good bones. Virgin?"
"Yes," I managed.
"Excellent. Premium section. The Shadow Lord is attending tonight." Her smile widened. "If he buys you, count yourself lucky."
"And if he doesn't?"
She shrugged. "Someone else will. You're young. You'll sell."
After she moved on, Margaret spoke quietly. "The Shadow Lord. Oh gods."
"Is that bad?" I already knew the answer.
"He's legend. Centuries old. Cursed. They say he only buys virgins for blood sacrifice."
Her grip tightened on my arm. "Every girl he's bought has disappeared. If he bids on you, pray someone outbids him."
"And if they don't?"
"Then you're dead by morning."
The auction hall blazed with golden light.
Hundreds of Fae filled the seats, nobility, merchants, dignitaries. All gathered to buy humans like cattle.
I stood backstage with fourteen other girls. All young. All virgins. All terrified. We'd been bathed, dressed in white shifts, collared, chained.
"Smile," the auction master had said. "Make eye contact. Show them you're worth the gold."
Now I listened to the bidding ahead of me.
"Lot thirty-seven! Strong back, fifteen years of service! One hundred gold!"
"One-fifty!"
"Two hundred!"
"SOLD!"
Margaret went for two hundred. Lila for three-fifty, crying as they dragged her away.
Then my turn.
"Lot forty-three! Twenty-two years old, virgin, healthy, possible Wild Court bloodline... starting bid, five hundred gold!"
They pushed me onto the stage.
Blinding lights. A sea of glowing eyes. All staring.
"Five hundred!"
"Eight!"
"One thousand!"
The bids came fast. One thousand was high.
"One thousand going once..."
"Two thousand."
The voice cut through the crowd like a blade. Deep. Cold. Final.
The hall went silent.
I saw him then. Center of the room, sitting alone. Shadow and sharp edges, black hair, pale skin, eyes like molten silver. Beautiful the way winter is beautiful. Deadly.
The Shadow Lord.
He examined his fingernails, bored.
"T-two thousand gold," the auction master stammered. "Do I hear..."
"Ten thousand."
The crowd gasped. A Fae woman in golden robes had stood.
The Shadow Lord looked up, surprise flickering across his face.
"You can't want her that badly, Kaelix," the woman called.
"Twenty thousand," he replied flatly.
"Fifty thousand."
The crowd erupted. Fifty thousand was a fortune.
The Shadow Lord stood.
Silence crashed down.
He walked toward the stage. Every eye followed. He moved like smoke, like death. Stopped at the base and looked up at me.
Those silver eyes pinned me like a butterfly to a board.
"One hundred thousand gold," he said quietly. "Final bid."
Chaos.
"One hundred thousand going once... twice..." The gavel fell. "SOLD to Lord Kaelix Shadowthorne!"
The Shadow Lord climbed the stage. Stopped in front of me. He was impossibly tall. I had to crane my neck to meet those ancient, empty eyes.
"What's your name?"
"Elara," I whispered. "Elara Ashwood."
"Elara." He tested it. "You're afraid."
I nodded.
"Good." He took my chain. His fingers were corpse-cold. "You should be."
He turned and walked. The contract compelled me to follow, stumbling after him through the parting crowd.
Near the exit, I heard two Fae lords speaking:
"A hundred thousand for one human? He must be desperate."
"The curse is killing him. Weeks at most."
"Poor girl won't last the night. Virgin blood sacrifice."
"Dead by dawn."
Dead by dawn.
The Shadow Lord led me to a carriage made of literal shadow. He never loosened his grip.
"My lord," I managed. "What do you want with me?"
He glanced back. Something flickered in those dead eyes. Regret? Pity?
Gone.
"I need you to die," he said simply. "Tonight. Your death will break my curse."
He opened the carriage door.
"Get in. The Blood Moon rises in an hour."
I looked at the carriage. At him. At the chain binding me.
I thought of my father selling me before I was born. My mother dying anyway. Twenty-two years of poverty and exhaustion for nothing.
Maybe death wasn't the worst thing.
I climbed into the carriage.
The door closed behind us, and the shadows swallowed me whole.