The southern sun scorched the marketplace in Ravencourt, turning the cobblestones into warm, uneven tiles beneath the hooves of horses and the shifting feet of humans and demons alike. Merchants shouted their wares, but the crowd's attention was not on cloth or fruit. It was on the raised platform at the center of the square, where a dozen slaves had been chained and displayed like objects of trade.
Elara's heart pounded in her chest, but her emerald eyes were wide and alert, drinking in every detail. She had been sold by her parents for coin, a cruel transaction she barely understood. Her silver-white hair, long and straight, fell over her shoulders like a veil of light in the harsh afternoon sun. The villagers whispered, some in awe, others in fear, at the young girl who looked so unlike any other human.
Beside her, another girl tugged nervously at her chains. Her name was Selene Morwen, chestnut-haired with hazel eyes, older by a few months. Selene had been sold from the same village. The two had exchanged a brief glance of solidarity before being dragged up the platform.
A booming voice carried over the marketplace. "The first lot! Strong, healthy, and obedient. A rare beauty, fit for service to the highest bidder." The auctioneer's gavel clanged against a wooden block. His eyes lingered on Elara for an uncomfortably long moment.
Elara straightened instinctively, though she had nowhere to hide her trembling. She felt the weight of countless eyes upon her — humans judging, demons calculating. In this realm, demons were recognized immediately, with colored hair and eyes marking them as different, but Elara, with her silver hair and bright green eyes, drew attention for reasons beyond demonic traits. Some whispered that she resembled the long-lost queen of Noctara, a tale the villagers half-remembered, half-feared.
"Ten gold coins," a tall man called out from the crowd. He was a minor noble, eyes narrowing as he examined her. "Fifteen," another said, stepping forward. And so the bidding went, each increment heavier than the last. Elara felt the chains bite into her wrists with every movement.
Selene leaned closer. "Keep your head down. Don't show fear." Her voice was soft but firm, a whisper against the roar of the marketplace.
Elara nodded, though it felt like every part of her was screaming for freedom. Her mind, sharp as it had always been, scanned the crowd. She noted the guards at each corner, the way the nobles shifted their weight, the subtle movements of the demons in the back — the ones with crimson hair and glowing eyes. She could not yet name the instinct, but she felt it — danger and power, mingled together.
"Sold! To the highest bidder: a noble from the Obsidian Palace!" The auctioneer banged the gavel, and the crowd erupted in murmurs. Elara's stomach lurched. The Obsidian Palace — she had heard tales. It was home to the King of Noctara, a figure both feared and revered, said to command the loyalty of demons and humans alike. Her mind tried to prepare for what lay ahead, but the sight of the palace in the distance — towers black as obsidian, crimson banners fluttering in the wind — stole her breath.
Selene reached for her hand as they were untied. "Stay close. Promise me."
"I will," Elara whispered, gripping the other girl's fingers as tightly as she could.
---
The carriage ride to the palace was silent. Elara's hands were still bound, though less tightly now, and the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses against the cobblestones was almost hypnotic. She looked out the small window, observing the vast stretches of Noctara's fields and forests, wondering what kind of life awaited her behind those high black walls.
Selene spoke quietly, "I've heard stories. The king… he does not appear often. They say he is cruel, but fair to those he trusts."
"Criminals say he is merciless," Elara murmured. Her voice was soft but steady, a mirror of the thought forming in her mind: I will survive. I must.
By the time the carriage arrived at the Obsidian Palace, the sun had begun its descent. Crimson light spilled across the black walls, giving the stone an almost blood-soaked shimmer. Elara's heart raced again, though she forced herself to remain composed. Servants moved about with quick, precise motions, and a pair of guards led the two girls into the slave quarters, a sprawling area behind the palace where new arrivals were lodged.
Immediately, they were met with the whispers and stares of other servants — some curious, some hostile.
"Look at her hair," one girl muttered. "She thinks she's better than the rest of us."
"She's not like us," another hissed, a trace of fear in her voice. "She's… special. Don't get too close."
Elara kept her head down, following Selene through the corridors. She noted everything: the layout of the rooms, the location of staircases, the servants' quarters, and even the glint of weapons leaning against the walls in case of rebellion. The palace was a maze of order and authority, and survival here would require more than obedience.
Hours passed. The new slaves were given food — bland, simple meals — and shown to their beds. Elara and Selene shared a room with two other girls, both older, both already seasoned in the politics of servitude. The older girls eyed Elara warily, whispering among themselves.
Liora Vaelthorn would not yet appear today, but Elara would learn soon enough that this palace had eyes everywhere. Some of those eyes were cruel, some calculating, and some… dangerous in ways that could not yet be named.
That night, as Elara lay awake on the thin straw mattress, she stared at the ceiling beams of the slave quarters. Every sound — a door creaking, a whispered conversation, the faint echo of footsteps on stone — made her pulse quicken. But somewhere deep inside, a thought anchored her.
I am here. I will survive. And I will endure.
The room was quiet then, save for Selene's soft breathing beside her. Outside, the palace itself seemed alive, its towers shadowed against the dimming crimson sky. And somewhere, beyond the walls, the King watched, though Elara could not yet see him.