Demand an explanation

“What is going on here?” Duncan demands, still unable to lift himself.

Without answering him, Gladys shuffles over to the side of his bed and examines him approvingly. “This is a fine one you brought home, Dear. My mouth is watering already. He has lots of good meat on his bones and hardly any fat.” She runs her bony finger up Duncan’s thigh and licks her lips.

“Indeed he is,” says Cassandra, “but I don’t think we’ll eat this one — at least not right away. We still have so much of Alex left over. You hardly touched him at dinner.”

“He was too stringy,” says Carl, joining his wife. “That’s the problem with these humans in this part of the country. It always has been. I’ll take a nice bicep from the coastal towns any day.” He runs his hand over Duncan’s arm. “But this one might be an exception; he has a better smell to him, too. Where did you say you were from, young man?”

Duncan strains to regain control of his body, but Cassandra, slipping on a robe, steps up and says, “You might as well save your strength. You bound yourself to my will the moment you poured your seed into me, so unless I bid you to arise, you will not be able to move.”

“What manner of witchcraft is this?” demands the prince.

“Witchcraft?” Cassandra gives a dismissive laugh. “Nothing quite so vulgar, dear boy. We are Gratiri. I see by your look you are unfamiliar with the name; so much the better. We tend to thrive best in places where mortals have not learned to fear our name.”

She tells Duncan that Gratiri are an ancient race that feed on the flesh of humans. They live impossibly long lives. Gladys and Carl are nearly 700 years old, and Cassandra is over 300 years old.

“We’re getting a little long in the tooth to do our own hunting these days,” says Gladys, “but fortunately we have a loving daughter to care for us and bring our meals.”

“So you are responsible for all the disappearances in the area,” Duncan says. “You have been eating them?”

“Not all of them,” says Cassandra. “A pleasant side effect of sexual intercourse between humans and Gratiri is that the human male falls under the total control of a Gratiri female. It makes it easier to subdue you strong, brawny types, but it also makes you extremely marketable in other ways.”

“Marketable?” Duncan tries again, without success, to get up.

“We can only eat so much,” Cassandra explains, “but there is always a market for able-bodied young men. Whether it is pirates needing a crew, or mercenaries needing cannon fodder for their armies, or a wealthy land baron looking for cheap labor, I can always find someone to buy my surplus stock.”

“You are cannibals and slavers! Never have I heard of anything so vile!”

Carl speaks up. “Hey, that’s offensive! We’re not cannibals! We only eat humans; I wouldn’t eat another Gratiri.”

Gladys puts a hand on her husband’s arm. “Actually, Dear, you did eat that Nosquith boy, remember?”

“Well, that was different. I told him to have our daughter home by 10:00, and it was well after midnight. What was I supposed to do?”

Cassandra runs her hands over Duncan’s chest and abdomen. Despite his confinement, Duncan is aroused by her touch and feels a stirring between his legs. Cassandra notices this and reaches down and runs her fingernails seductively over his cock. “It would be a pity to eat this one — at least right away. He has some definite uses. On top of that, he is a traveler and not from around here. I worry that we will have to move again soon. We are raising suspicions with all of the men we have been taking of late.”

“Don’t play with your food, Dear,” says Gladys reprovingly. “And don’t get attached to him, either. They all look alike when covered in gravy. Besides, if we aren’t going to eat him, he should fetch a fine price. What is it that fellow is offering now? One hundred gold pieces?”

“One hundred fifty,” says Cassandra, “but they have to be a special type. The Enlightenment is looking for someone who can be passed off as a nobleman.” She regards Duncan carefully. “You may be right, Mother. This one might possibly be mistaken for one of noble birth if no one looks too carefully.”

Duncan is both horrified and offended. Might pass for noble birth? He is a prince of the realm! But what is this she says about the Enlightenment? That is the group of rebels who are trying to seize the throne from mortals and put one of their own in charge of the land.

“Let us sleep on this,” says Cassandra, drawing the conversation to a close. “We will decide in the morning what we shall do with our new pet.”

Gladys and Carl return to their room, and Cassandra sits down in front of a mirror and begins brushing her hair. Duncan’s mind races, trying to decide what to do — or what he can do — to get out of this situation.