Sold off

The stench was unbearable. A thick, rancid mixture of sweat, filth, and despair. It clung to the air like a curse, suffocating and inescapable. Eleanor gagged as she knelt in the muck, her knees bruised and caked with grime. Her naked body shivered under the cold air that swept through the underground pits. Her skin, once soft and fragile, was now covered in dirt and streaks of dried blood. Her once-white hair, eerily resembling her graying locks from her former life, hung limp and tangled around her face.

Tears burned her eyes as she tried to wipe her face with trembling hands, but her wrists were raw from the iron cuffs digging into her flesh. She had begged, pleaded, sobbed until her voice was nothing but a whisper. But her cries had been met with nothing but pain—a brutal smack, a harsh kick, a shove to remind her that no one here cared about tears.

“Get in line, bitch,” one of the guards had snarled when she collapsed earlier, dragging her by her hair until she was **** to stand.

Now, she knelt with the others—dozens of women, naked and filthy, their eyes hollow. Their spirits shattered long before the auction.

And then…

“WELL NOW, LOOKY HERE!”

A voice echoed through the pits, thick with a drawl that oozed arrogance and cruelty. The sound made Eleanor’s skin crawl.

“Ain’t this a fine batch o’ tender meat we got today! Hells, I reckon the gods done blessed me with this lot!”

Balthus Crowley.

The man was as repulsive as his voice. A towering figure with a gut that strained against the buttons of his stained leather vest, his skin slick with sweat despite the coolness of the pits. His jowls shook with every word, and a greasy strand of thinning hair clung to his forehead like a dying weed.

“Line ‘em up, boys! Get ‘em nice and proper fer the bidders. Ain’t no man wantin’ a filthy bitch unless he knows what’s hidin’ under all that grime!”

The guards obeyed, yanking the women into position, forcing them to kneel with their backs straight and heads down. Eleanor felt her heart pound as rough hands gripped her shoulders, shoving her into place.

Crowley strutted down the line like a butcher inspecting his meat. His piggish eyes gleamed with sick pleasure as he grabbed chins, twisted faces, and ran his thick fingers through matted hair.

“Mm-mm-mm… look at y’all.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like a disappointed father. “Ain’t no proper lady in this bunch. Just a buncha used-up whores and half-breeds. But don’t y’all worry none… I know exactly what kind o’ men’ll want what I’m sellin’.”

He stopped in front of Eleanor. His eyes narrowed.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A cruel grin spread across his face as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. “What’s this now? Lookie here, boys! We got ourselves a rare one. Pale as moonlight, and them ears…” He yanked her head to the side, exposing her pointed ears. “Ain’t human, but close enough. These highborn pricks love a bit o’ elf in their beds. Makes ‘em feel all powerful and shit.”

His breath was hot and rancid against her skin. Eleanor clenched her jaw, biting back the nausea and fear that churned in her stomach.

“Bet she’ll fetch a pretty COPPAH,” Crowley sneered, his hand trailing down her neck with sickening familiarity. “Ain’t had one this fine in years. Might even start the bid at a hundred gold. What y’all think?”

Laughter echoed from the guards, their lewd comments making Eleanor’s stomach twist.

“Yeah, Balthus,” one of them jeered. “Bet the nobles’ll tear each other apart for a piece o’ that.”

“Damn right they will,” Crowley chuckled, his grin widening. “But don’t you worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure you go to someone real… appreciative.”

His grip on her hair tightened, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“And if he don’t break ya…” His eyes gleamed with malicious promise. “I sure as hell will.”

Eleanor’s heart pounded in her ears as her mind screamed for escape, but all she could do was swallow the bile rising in her throat and pray…

Pray that **** would come faster this time.

Highborns gathered in the grand hall of the Gilded Market, perched in their gilded seats, sipping on spiced wine as they waited for the next batch of slaves to be paraded before them. The air was thick with the acrid smell of unwashed flesh, sweat, and desperation—a scent that the nobles found distasteful, despite their eagerness to claim the bodies being sold.

“Ugh… filthy creatures,” one woman in an emerald gown muttered, pressing a perfumed handkerchief to her nose. “Why don’t they at least rinse them before bringing them up here?”

Beside her, a rotund lord with more chins than dignity sat beneath the gentle breeze of two fan-bearers, boys barely older than ten, tasked with keeping the vile stench away from their master. The man didn’t even glance at the slaves—his focus was on the goblet in his hand, as if the mere act of breathing the same air as the merchandise was beneath him.

“They could be covered in gold, and they’d still reek of filth,” he muttered, lazily waving a hand. “Just get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

The auction had begun.

“First up!” Balthus Crowley bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall. “A fine pair o’ Felira! Ain’t many left these days. Strong, obedient, and flexible.”

Two figures were dragged forward—a male and female of the Felira race, feline features etched into their delicate forms. Their fur was matted, their tails hanging low in submission.

The male, broad-shouldered with striking black fur and piercing golden eyes, kept his head down, though his ears twitched in silent defiance. The female, her tawny fur marred by dirt and bruises, stood beside him, her body trembling as Crowley’s fat hand grabbed her chin, forcing her head up.

“See that?” Crowley grinned, baring yellowed teeth. “Eyes full o’ spirit. But don’t worry, that’ll be broken right quick.”

The bidding was fast. The Felira were exotic, and the highborns loved to flaunt their rare acquisitions. They sold quickly.

“Next!”

A slender figure with delicate, iridescent skin was dragged forward—a woman of the Undine race, her body shimmering faintly even beneath the grime. Her pale blue hair, tangled and lifeless, dripped onto the stage as she was pushed forward.

“An Undine, straight from the eastern isles. Water magic flows in her veins,” Crowley crooned. “And with a little trainin’… she’ll be doin’ a lot more than castin’ spells.”

Laughter echoed from the audience as the Undine’s eyes remained downcast, her lips trembling as the bidding war began.

“Sold!” Crowley barked, slapping the gavel down.

And then…

“Ah, but now…” Crowley’s voice took on a cruel, delighted edge. “This one’s somethin’ special, folks.”

Eleanor’s heart pounded as she felt rough hands grab her, yanking her to her feet.

“On yer feet, bitch.”

She stumbled forward, her body weak and trembling, but a sudden, vicious smack against her bare ass sent a sharp jolt of pain through her.

“MOVE!”

Eleanor stumbled onto the stage, her body aching and her vision swimming. She felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall on her naked, filthy form.

“Now, what we got here…” Crowley’s grin was wide, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. “A rare beauty—white as moonlight, and them ears?” He yanked her head up by her hair, forcing her to face the crowd. “An elf… or somethin’ damn close.”

The crowd stirred, murmurs rippling through the nobles.

“Tch. She stinks.” A noblewoman in blue lace covered her mouth with a jeweled handkerchief, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Disgusting,” another noble scoffed, his nose buried in scented silk. “They should’ve hosed her down before bringing her here.”

“Hose her down?” Crowley chuckled, his grin widening. “Well, if it’s water y’all want…”

A cruel gleam flashed in his eyes as he nodded to one of his men.

“Give ‘er a rinse.”

A bucket of ice-cold water crashed over Eleanor’s head, the shock sending her body into a spasm of shivers as the dirt and grime streaked down her pale skin. Her nipples hardened painfully from the chill, her body left even more exposed under the harsh gazes of the crowd.

Laughter erupted from the highborns.

“That’s better,” one noble chuckled, leaning back as his fan-bearers worked to keep the air around him fragrant. “Now we can see what we’re bidding for.”

Eleanor stood there, dripping, humiliated, and trembling as Crowley’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Now then… who wants the first taste o’ this one?”

Eleanor shivered, her naked body dripping wet as the freezing water trickled down her skin. Her chest heaved, her breath ragged from the shock. Every drop seemed to carry the weight of humiliation, her arms weak at her sides as the crowd devoured her with their eyes.

Then came the voice.

"Bend her over! Let’s see what the pot’s cookin’!"

A booming laugh followed, loud and guttural. The crowd erupted in laughter, the sound of jeering voices echoing through the stone chamber. Eleanor flinched, her knees trembling, the heat of shame burning beneath her skin.

Some noblewomen clutched their pearls, their disgust evident. Others avoided the scene altogether, casting nothing more than a fleeting glance. But none dared to raise their voice against the man’s vulgar demand. Some husbands chuckled beside their wives, others quickly averted their eyes under their wives’ stern glares.

"By the gods," one woman muttered, dabbing her nose with a perfumed handkerchief. "No better than swine."

But others said nothing. Silent, complicit.

Balthus Crowley, delighted by the attention, spread his arms wide.

"Either start bidding now, or I will go elsewhere."

A chill swept through the chamber. The laughter died.

Eleanor opened her eyes, her vision still blurred, but she saw them — the wide-eyed expressions of the nobles, the men shrinking in their seats. All eyes turned toward the source of the voice.

There, dressed in flowing crimson silk, Queen Vaelthorn sat with an air of unshakable authority. Her gaze was cold, dispassionate, as though the filth of the auction block couldn’t possibly touch her. A polished gold circlet crowned her ebony hair, the jewels embedded in it glinting beneath the dim lantern light.

Balthus Crowley visibly stiffened.

"Pardon me, Queen Vaelthorn. I did not mean to keep you." His oily grin faltered as he gestured hurriedly. "S-sir, the queen is busy. If ya want to see the pot, looks like you’ll have to purchase the set first!"

The man who had shouted earlier grumbled but said no more, his cowardice on full display.

"Now, now, gentlemen! I assure ya, she’s worth a proper look. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ain’t no peeks without a proper price!" He grinned, though the interruption had emboldened him. "Shall we start at one hundred copper pieces?"

The crowd murmured, a low hum of anticipation.

"Two hundred!" A voice called from the back.

"Five!" Another noble barked, his thin mustache twitching as he smirked.

"Six!"

The bids climbed. Eleanor’s stomach twisted, her ears ringing as each number drove her further into the depths of humiliation.

"Seven!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. It was a nightmare — a living hell.

"Eight!"

Crowley cackled, his large hands gripping his gut.

"Nine! Nine hundred copper pieces! A fine price for a fine wench!"

The laughter continued. And just when it seemed the bids would keep rising, a single voice announced.

"Two silver pieces."

A murmur rippled through the room. No one dared to counter her. Two silver was no petty price, but for the queen? It was a trivial sum.

Crowley’s face lit up with satisfaction.

"Sold! To Her Majesty, Queen Vaelthorn!"

Eleanor exhaled, a trembling wave of relief washing over her. She could explain herself. She could beg for mercy, reason with this woman — a queen, a figure of nobility. Surely, she would understand.

But the moment her trembling lips parted to speak, the sharp crack of a hand against her face sent her sprawling. Pain exploded through her jaw, the metallic taste of blood pooling at her tongue.

"Silence." The queen's voice was like ice.

Eleanor whimpered, clutching her cheek as the guards moved in.

She opened her mouth again, but the guard’s glare warned her. Her voice caught in her throat.

"Load her into the carts," the queen commanded, disinterest lacing every word. "Next to the livestock. I have no use for a talking animal."

Eleanor’s arms were seized. The rough hands of the guards dragged her across the stone floor, her naked body scraping against the grit. She was lifted, tossed into the back of a wooden cart like a sack of grain.

The scent of straw and filth filled her nose. Chickens squawked and flapped, their feathers brushing against her skin. A trio of wide-eyed rabbits huddled in a corner. They were free to tremble. She was not.

As the cart creaked and lurched forward, Eleanor curled into herself, her bruised body aching. The laughter of the nobles still echoed in her ears. The weight of the queen's indifference crushed her.

No words. No plea. Only silence.