Chapter 4 — “Ten Thousand Gold for a Slave”

The silence in the underground cavern was blood-chilling.

Nobody moved. Nobody dared to take a full breath. The suffocating power filling the room pressed down on every person, forcing tough slave traders and wealthy buyers to bow their heads toward the cold stone floor.

Every step of King Ronan Blackthorn's heavy leather boots echoed across

the silent arena like thunder.

Beside him walked his right-hand commander, his beta, Silas Reed.

Silas was a broad-shouldered wolf with a stern, scarred face, a deep line running across his left cheek, and a dark iron sword strapped to his back. His hand rested lightly on the handle of his weapon, his sharp eyes sweeping over the bowed crowd, ready to cut down anyone who made a wrong move against his king.

“My... Your Majesty," the auctioneer squeaked, his knees shaking so

violently they knocked together beneath his silk robes. “We... we were

not expecting the honor of the Lycan King at the Pit today. If we had known, we would have prepared to welcome you in a more royal private box.”

King Ronan didn’t answer. He didn't even glance at the auctioneer.

He walked with slow, dangerous grace. His heavy dark cloak lined with black fur swished behind him, smelling faintly of pine, cold steel, and old blood. He looked like a storm wrapped in human skin. His dark obsidian hair framed a sharp, handsome face that looked carved from mountain stone.

While every shifter in the underground room crouched low to escape his terrifying aura, Elena stood straight on the elevated wooden stage.

The cuffs around her wrists burned her skin with cold agony, and her ribs throbbed with every breath she took, but she refused to bow. She had lost her home, her title, and her rank. She would not lose her dignity to a smug king, no matter how feared or ruthless he was.

Ronan stopped right at the base of the wooden stage.

He raised his head. His eyes, burning gold, cut through the torchlight and locked onto Elena.

For a long second the room seemed to freeze.

Elena met his fiery golden gaze without flinching. She did not think to

look away or lower her head like the frightened guards behind her. She

stared straight back into the face of the realm’s most dangerous ruler, letting her dark eyes hide nothing of the burning rage inside her soul.

Something sparked deep in her blood — a warm pull against the cold poison in her veins, gone before she could name it. Underneath it, faint as a half-remembered dream, came the smell of woodsmoke and cedar, a scent she had never once encountered in her life and somehow already knew.

Ronan's golden eyes narrowed slightly. A look of quiet surprise passed

over his hard face, so fast that anyone else in the room would have missed it.

He stepped closer to the stage, his heavy boots making the floorboards creak. He took in her torn linen tunic, the dirt smeared across her cheeks, and the way her posture remained regal despite her chains.

"Her," Ronan said softly. His voice was a low baritone that vibrated right through the stage beneath her feet.

The auctioneer blinked, looking completely confused as he wiped cold sweat from his neck. “Your Majesty? You... you want item forty-two? She is merely a broken stray, Sire! Look at her clothes! She has dirt on

her face and scars across her chest!”

“Silence, fool,” Silas Reed barked, his voice sharp as a whip. "You do not speak back to the King.”

The auctioneer slammed his mouth shut, bowing so low his nose almost

touched the dusty floor.

"The bidding was at eighty gold coins, Sire,” Cole called out nervously from the side of the stage, bowing as low as his body allowed. "If Your Majesty wishes to make an official offer…”

"One hundred gold coins!”

A loud voice cut through the quiet.

Every head in the arena turned in shock. Sitting in the middle row was Lord Garrick, a wealthy, ruthless warlord from the southern border packs. He was a broad man wrapped in thick bear furs, known for buying cheap slave workers for his brutal underground coal mines.

Lord Garrick puffed out his chest, trying to hide his trembling hands as he raised his brass betting paddle high in the air.

"One hundred gold coins!" Garrick repeated, trying to sound brave in front of the other buyers. “The King may be powerful, but this is an open auction! The rules of the Pit say anyone can bid! I need strong workers for my mines, and this girl looks like she can take a beating and keep working!"

Silas's hand tightened on his sword. A cold smirk touched his lips, as if he were only waiting for the order to take the warlord's head off his shoulders.

The crowd held its breath, watching Garrick's foolish bravery.

King Ronan slowly turned his head toward the warlord. He didn't look angry or feel the need to raise his voice. His face remained completely calm, like the quiet before a storm.

“You speak of rules in my realm, Lord Garrick?” Ronan asked smoothly, taking a single step toward the seating rows.

Lord Garrick swallowed hard, his face turning pale, but he held his paddle

up anyway. “I... I state the law of the market, Sire! Money talks here!”

Ronan didn't waste time arguing. He turned his attention back to Elena, as if the warlord no longer existed to him.

He raised a gloved hand and lifted one finger toward the auctioneer.

He didn't spare Garrick a second look as he spoke a single sentence that echoed through every corner of the cavern.

"I'll have her for ten thousand gold pieces.”