Page 72 of Crowned In Venom

Only calculation.

I should not admire that.

But I do.

The air is thick with heat, perfume, and desperation.

The auction house is vast, its stone walls carved with depictions of conquest—dark elves standing victorious over kneeling human figures. A history written in chains.

Men and women line the stage, shackled, displayed like exotic wares. Some are docile, beaten into submission. Others—newly caught—still have the fire of defiance burning in their eyes.

It will not last.

I step onto the main floor, leading Anya into the den of wolves.

Eyes flick toward us.

Nobles. Traders. Wealthy lords looking for new pets to break.

I do not have to announce myself.

They already know who I am.

The auctioneer, a gaunt elf with gold-threaded robes and too many rings on his fingers, inclines his head when he sees me.

"Lord Varkos."

I give a slight nod.

His gaze flicks to Anya.

"Are you here to buy, my lord?" he asks smoothly.

The room hushes slightly.

They are listening.

Waiting.

I need them to believe this.

I let my lips curl, lazy and bored.

"No," I murmur. "I am here to sell."

A flicker of interest.

The auctioneer’s brows lift slightly.

"This one?" He gestures toward Anya with an almost disbelieving smirk. "I had heard she was… favored."

I chuckle, dark and indifferent.

"She has grown tiresome."

I feel the way Anya stiffens beside me, so slight most would not notice.

But I do.

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