Page 5 of Plaything of the Dark Elf

Out of the corner of my eye, motion catches my attention.

I look over, spotting two guards dragging what looks like a flailing female through the hallway at the opposite end of the viewing room. She kicks and claws at the hardwood underneath her while curses fall from her lips.

One of the guards is dragging her across the floor by her ankle. Her long blonde hair splays behind her as she’s dragged.

I blink at the sight. Something stirs in me.

“Halt.” I tell them.

Both guards pause and look over at me. They recognize me almost instantly.

“G-General!”

I stalk over to them slowly. “What is that that you have there?”

The human female stares up at me, unflinchingly, from her position on the floor.

One of the guards tightens his grip around her ankle.

“Oh, this? We’re taking her back down to the cells in the cellar. She’s much too volatile to be up here servicing guests.”

I raise my brow. Volatile? This small thing?

The other guard nods along to the first. “She was caught spitting on the Viscount. She nearly took his eye out when she clawed at his face with her nails.”

I glance down at the human female again, surprise fluttering inside of me. She stares up at me with deep green eyes that are wide and frantic, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession from her exertions.

“Really,” I drawl.

The first guard speaks again. “She offended the Viscount who is now reconsidering his membership.”

I can’t help but snort at that. How delicate is the Viscount’s sensibilities that a mere human female can render him so upset? It’s honestly laughable.

At my continued silence, both guards bow their heads again and turn to proceed with dragging the female behind them. Curiously, I follow them.

As much as I dislike humans, I can’t help the intrigue over this human female. Someone that still has fire in them? That is rare in this business. Especially from a beautiful looking creature such as herself.

When the guards reach the stairs leading down into the cellar, a few of the slaves are already waiting for them.

I hang back, watching the scene unfold behind one of the statues placed tastefully around the house.

The guards roughly grab the female off of the floor and toss her at the slaves, a few words exchanging between them that I’m sure have to do with the threat of the Viscount’s pending memebership. As the guards walk away, the slaves holding the female exchange looks with each other.

Instead of dragging her downstairs to the cells in the cellar, they shove her forward towards the opposite side of the house.

“We’ll string her up.” one of them says.

“Or we can execute her.”

There’s a murmur that falls over the group, one of excitement that I can relate to.

The female lets out a scream of anger before kicking and biting the slaves who hold onto her. None of them seem fazed, however, peaking my curiosity even further.

They drag her outside and into the back part of the house where there is a sectioned off part of grass towards the fence that has a stone slab sitting on it. A large cleaver-looking weapon is resting on top of the slab, looking innocuously placed.

The female screams louder, her voice growing hoarse and more desperate.

One of the slaves slaps her hard, the sound echoing across the yard.

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