Page 147 of Severed Heir

“This one’s triple,” the guard added, a gleam in his eyes that made bile rise in my throat.

“A thousand gold,” called a voice from the back—casual, like he was picking fruit from a stall.

“Two,” the guard countered.

“Done,” said another.

My fingers curled into fists. If this man thought he could buy me, he was in for a surprise. The moment I stepped out of this room, I’d light his hair on fire and burn every last one of them who thought powerlessness made someone property.

Then a third voice cut through the room. “Three thousand. She leaves with me now.”

Not a single Serpent outbid him.

“Sold to the Winter heir,” the guard announced.

Winter heir—

A hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me forward before I could even react.

“Come,” the man barked, already dragging me out into the corridor.

I stumbled after him, boots slipping on polished stone, my heart pounding like a war drum. And then I saw it, the flash of silver hair.

Bridger.

Instinct surged before reason. I drove my knee into his groin with enough force to drop a lesser man.

He doubled over, groaning. “Gods, what is wrong with you?”

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed, backing away. Flame bloomed at my fingertips, wild and pulsing. “Touch me again and I swear, I’ll burn you down.”

“Shut up and walk,” he snapped. He straightened with effort, face twisted in pain. Then, before I could stop him, he reached for me again, gripping my elbow.

Power surged up my arm and spilled onto his skin. He shouted and recoiled, slamming his palm against a marble column to steady himself. A raw burn bloomed across his hand.

“Gods, Severyn,” he growled. “I’m helping you. And you burn me?”

“I don’t need your help,” I said coldly.

Bridger scoffed and rubbed the burn on his arm. “Your precious shadow ruler didn’t seem to care. I saw you disappear with the barrens.”

“He didn’t send me,” I snapped, shaking my head. “I was trying to find Hadrian’s study. I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

He looked ready to argue, but then something shifted. His expression softened, just slightly. “Then let me help.”

I blinked. “Why?”

His voice dropped low. “Because I owe you an apology.”

My breath caught. “Go on.”

“For how I treated you at the Academy,” he said, quieter now, like the words physically pained him. “I was cruel. You didn’t deserve it.”

I stared at him, unsure whether it was some manipulation or something real. “So, you heard,” I murmured. “I’m not Andri’s blood.”

Bridger shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. I heard what your father did to ration food. The choices he had to make. I didn’t know. And I judged you for things that were never your fault.”

Something in me flinched. I didn’t want his pity. But I did need his help.

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