I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the ache spreading through my legs from standing too long. The auction had dragged on for hours, and my patience was wearing as thin. The midday sun beat down on the grounds, turning the auction area into a sweltering oven despite the open sides meant to catch whatever meager breeze might pass.

  Around me, the crowd of potential buyers had thinned somewhat. The less serious bidders drifted away after purchasing lower-grade demons or realizing they couldn't afford the prices being commanded today. Those who remained were mostly merchants, nobles, and a few shady characters whose business I preferred not to contemplate. The air reeked of sweat, desperation, and the peculiar metallic scent that always seemed to accompany demons.

  Across the crowd, Wynford's massive frame remained unmistakable. The demon trader stood a head taller than most humans present, his own curved horns adding another half-foot to his impressive height. When our eyes met, he offered yet another subtle shake of his head. Twelve demons had already been paraded across the stage, and still none had been right.

  The older auctioneer dabbed at his brow with a silk handkerchief before tucking it back into his embroidered vest. His voice had grown hoarse from hours of shouting, and he gestured to the side of the stage with evident relief.

  "For our final offering today," he announced, "I'll turn the platform over to Sam, who has a very special opportunity for those of you still holding onto your coin."

  A younger man bounded up the steps, full of energy where the older auctioneer had flagged in the heat. His clothing was simple but well-made—a leather vest over a white shirt with sleeves rolled to reveal tanned forearms. Not an auctioneer by profession, I deduced, but a handler or trader.

  Sam surveyed the crowd before his gaze settled on the curtained opening at the side of the stage. A subtle change came over his face—a softening, a hint of something that almost resembled affection.

  "The final auction for today is upon us, gentlemen," he called out, his voice carrying clearly without the forced boom of a professional crier. "And I certainly hope you've saved your coin for this one."

  The crowd's attention shifted to the curtained opening as the fabric parted. I found myself straightening, interest piqued despite my growing frustration with the day's fruitless search.

  "Joy," the young man announced, a certain warmth coloring his tone. "One of the most beautiful and capable demons we've ever had the pleasure of offering."

  The demon who stepped onto the stage moved with a fluid grace unlike the shuffling gait of the previous offerings. She was tall, the same height as the auctioneer, without counting the impressive ivory horns that jutted straight up from her head, with skin so pale it seemed to glow under the harsh sunlight. White hair cascaded down her back, catching the light with hints of lavender when she turned her head. She wore simple furs draped around her body, yet she carried herself with a regal bearing.

  The crowd fell silent for a moment before an excited murmur rippled through the gathered buyers. I glanced again at Wynford and found him watching me, a broad grin splitting his normally stoic face. He nodded once, decisively.

  Finally.

  Sam, the handler, murmured something that made her glance back at him with a reassuring smile. I found myself intrigued by the interaction—not the typical relationship between a demon and human handler. There seemed a familiarity there, perhaps even a trust.

  He began his selling spiel, though it was hardly necessary at this point.

  Joy began a slow promenade across the stage, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden planks. Each movement seemed deliberately calculated to showcase her physical attributes, the lean muscle beneath her pale skin, the effortless control with which she carried herself. This was no pleasure demon trained for beauty alone. She moved like a predator, restrained but never tame.

  At a gesture from Sam, she allowed the fur to slip from her shoulders, revealing the simple silks beneath. Unlike the elaborate costumes of the previous demons, her attire was practical, designed to highlight her athletic frame rather than disguise it.

  Wolf whistles and crude comments rose from the crowd. I caught fragments of conversation around me, offers of gold for private time with her, explicit descriptions of what they'd like to do with her, speculation about whether her skin was as soft as it looked.

  Joy's expression never changed as she continued her circuit of the stage, her eyes scanning the crowd with cool assessment.

  The group at the front began shouting bids, their voices climbing over each other in desperation. I suppressed a smile. Whatever sum they were offering would be insignificant compared to what I was prepared to pay.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught movement—Wynford making his way through the crowd toward the stage. His height and the deference most humans showed demons allowed him to move with relative ease. When he reached the front, Joy noticed him immediately. A quick wink passed between them before she approached Sam and whispered in his ear.

  The handler crouched down to speak with Wynford, their conversation brief but animated. Then Sam looked up, scanning the crowd until his gaze landed on me at the back. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by a small nod. He returned his attention to Wynford, the two of them concluding their discussion with a firm handshake.

  "I'm afraid that's the end of the auction, everyone," Sam announced as he straightened. "Our beautiful Joy has been sold to a private bidder."

  Angry mutters rippled through the crowd. The would-be bidders at the front grew particularly vocal, their faces flushing with outrage and disappointment. I couldn't suppress a flash of satisfaction. Victory, even in something as simple as an auction, always tasted sweet.

  Joy disappeared behind the curtain after a brief conversation with the auctioneer, and Wynford headed in my direction. I slipped away from the auction grounds toward where my carriage waited at the edge of the field, not wanting to draw the attention of the disgruntled bidders.

  Leonard straightened from his relaxed posture against the polished carriage when he spotted me approaching. Despite being only in his forties, his dark hair was already streaked with silver at the temples, a testament to years of service to my family.

  "Successful venture, sir?" he inquired, his tone perfectly balanced between formality and genuine interest.

  "Indeed." I glanced back toward the auction grounds. "We'll be transporting a rather valuable acquisition. Prepare for departure."

  Leonard nodded and began checking the horses' tack with practiced efficiency.

  I waited by the carriage as the crowd gradually dispersed. Most had gotten their money's worth of entertainment, if not the merchandise they'd hoped for. Eventually, Wynford approached, his impressive height casting a long shadow in the afternoon sun. Behind him walked Sam and Joy, the demon now wrapped once more in her purple furs.

  "Jacobi Velez," Wynford said by way of greeting, his deep voice resonating in his massive chest. "I told you it would be a worthwhile day."

  "You did," I replied. "Though you might have mentioned it would take most of the day to reach this 'exceptional specimen' you promised."

  Wynford's laugh boomed across the now-empty auction grounds. "The wait makes the prize sweeter, doesn't it?" He gestured to Joy, who stood watching our exchange with obvious interest. "And she is exceptional, I assure you."

  Sam stepped forward, extending his hand. "We're asking a substantial sum," he said without preamble. "But for the Velez Estates, that shouldn't be an issue."

  I clasped his hand firmly. "My name and my gold are good, I assure you."

  "Then the matter is settled," Wynford announced with satisfaction. "The trader will send someone to collect payment at your estate."

  "I trust the price is fair?" I asked, though in truth, I cared little for the amount. What mattered was securing what I came for.

  "More than fair, considering what you're getting." Wynford's gaze drifted toward Joy, who had moved to stand near the carriage, observing us with remarkable silver eyes. "She's worth every coin, though she'll test your patience. Remember our agreement—she fights exclusively under our joint management."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Of course." I clasped his forearm in the traditional merchant's grip. "I'll have the appropriate facilities prepared by the time you arrive next month."

  "Good." Wynford's expression turned serious. "Joy is... special. More valuable than you yet realize. Guard her well."

  With those cryptic words, he turned to Joy and exchanged a few quiet words I couldn't catch. She nodded once, and Wynford helped her into the carriage before departing with a casual wave, his tall figure soon disappearing among the dispersing crowds.

  I approached the carriage, suddenly aware of the weight of what I'd committed to. The door stood open, and Joy sat inside, her eyes tracking my approach with focused intensity. Up close, the unusual color was truly remarkable—not merely light gray but genuinely silver, with a metallic quality that seemed to reflect the light like polished mirrors.

  "Satisfied with your purchase?" she asked as I approached, her voice lower than I'd expected, with a subtle accent.

  "That remains to be seen," I replied, climbing into the carriage and settling on the seat opposite her. The interior smelled of leather and polish, with a faint trace of the lavender Leonard used to freshen the cushions. "Though Wynford assures me you're worth every coin."

  Joy's lips curved in a slight smile. "And how many coins was that, exactly?"

  I smiled back, lacing my fingers across my stomach. "More than most men at that auction will see in a lifetime. Less than I would have been willing to pay."

  "Why?"

  "Why purchase you?"

  "Why pay so much for a demon fighter when humans are cheaper and more plentiful?"

  I considered her question, the carriage rocking slightly as Leonard secured the horses. "Humans lack certain... qualities that make for truly memorable entertainment. Strength, speed, endurance."

  "Horns and exotic coloring," she added drily.

  I inclined my head, acknowledging the point. "The spectacle matters as much as the skill. People will pay more to see something unique."

  "And is that all I am? A unique spectacle to fill your coffers?"

  The directness of her question surprised me, though perhaps it shouldn't have. Nothing about her demeanor thus far suggested she would be meek.

  "For now," I answered honestly, "yes. I know nothing of you beyond what Wynford has told me, that you're an exceptional fighter with a contract binding you to human service for another nine and a half years."

  Joy's expression flickered, the first crack in her composed facade. Something about the contract bothered her, though whether it was the terms or merely the reminder of her bound status, I couldn't tell.

  Leonard appeared at the carriage door, his face composed as always. "Everything is prepared for departure, sir," he said with a slight bow.

  "Thank you, Leonard. We are ready to go home," I replied. I looked at Joy again. "Leonard, my butler and driver."

  Leonard looked at the demon and reached up to tip his hat with a small grin. "Miss," he greeted her with more warmth than he typically showed strangers.

  Joy nodded in acknowledgment, a flicker of surprise crossing her face at the respectful address.

  Leonard closed the door and climbed to the driver's seat. A moment later, the carriage lurched into motion, the sounds of the auction grounds fading behind us, replaced by the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on packed earth and the creaking of carriage springs.

  We traveled in silence for several minutes, each taking the measure of the other. Finally, Joy spoke. "How far is your estate from here?"

  "A few days' journey," I replied, watching her reaction carefully. "We'll have to stop at taverns overnight. The roads to the northern coast can be treacherous, especially after the recent rains."

  "The northern coast," she repeated, her eyes turning to the window. "I know nothing of this island. I only arrived last night from the South."

  "You've come a long way, then." I studied her more carefully, noting the slight shadows beneath her eyes, the tension she carried in her shoulders despite her composed demeanor. "You must be tired from the journey."

  Joy nodded but offered no elaboration. Her fingers absently traced the edge of her fur wrap, the gesture betraying a hint of discomfort she otherwise concealed well.

  "It's different, up North," I continued, filling the silence. "Cooler, especially along the coast. The cliffs rise straight from the sea, and in winter, the storms can be spectacular." I found myself describing my home with more enthusiasm than I'd intended. "The estate sits on one of the highest points, the edges of our land overlooking the Gray Sea."

  Joy's expression remained neutral, but I detected a hint of genuine interest in her gaze. "And what awaits me there, beyond fighting for your profit?"

  "Comfortable quarters. Proper training facilities. Freedom to move about the grounds without chains." I paused, studying her reaction. "It's a better arrangement than most in your position could expect."

  "A gilded cage is still a cage," she replied, though without the bitterness I might have expected.

  I smiled slightly. "True. But given your alternatives, I think you'll find my cage preferable to most."

  The carriage hit a rut in the road, jolting us both. Joy steadied herself against the leather seat, her posture remaining alert despite the casual conversation. As the carriage settled back into its rhythm, she pressed a hand briefly to her stomach, a flash of discomfort crossing her face before she masked it.

  "Are you unwell?" I asked, noticing the gesture.

  She hesitated, pride warring with practicality in her expression. "The sea voyage was... difficult. I've never traveled by water before. And then the auction today, with little rest between..." She straightened, squaring her shoulders as if embarrassed by the admission of weakness. "It's nothing."

  "We can stop earlier than planned if you need rest," I offered, surprising myself with the concern in my voice. "There's a smaller village about an hour ahead with a decent inn."

  Joy studied me, suspicion evident in her gaze. "Why would you care about my comfort?"

  "Practical considerations," I replied smoothly. "Wynford has invested heavily in your fighting potential. It would be poor business to damage my investment through unnecessary hardship so early in our arrangement."

  A hint of a smile touched her lips. "So, you’re a businessman first."

  "It's served me well thus far."

  She looked away, watching the countryside roll past for several moments before speaking again. "What am I to call you? Master? Lord Velez? Sir?" The subtle mockery in her tone suggested none of these options appealed to her.

  I hadn't actually considered the question. Most slaves and servants defaulted to "Master Velez" or "sir" without needing instruction. "What would you prefer?"

  The question seemed to catch her off guard. "It matters what I prefer?"

  "Within reason," I clarified. "I won't have you addressing me by my given name in public or formal settings. But in private conversation like this... I see no reason for excessive formality."

  Joy considered this for a moment. "Jacobi, then. When we're alone." She tested the name, and I found I liked the way it sounded in her voice. "And you'll call me Joy, not 'demon' or 'slave.'"

  It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "Agreed."

  Another rut in the road, another grimace she tried to hide. This time she closed her eyes briefly, taking a measured breath.

  "We'll stop at the next village," I decided. "Leonard knows a place with private rooms and decent food. You can rest properly before we continue tomorrow."

  She didn't argue, which told me more about her condition than her words had. We lapsed into silence again, but it felt less tense than before.I hadn't expected a demon to be quiet company. Or for me to enjoy it.

  After a few minutes, she spoke again. "Tell me about these fights you expect me to participate in. Who will I be facing?"

  "Other demons, primarily," I replied. "Occasionally humans with exceptional skill, though those matches are rarer. The audiences are selective—wealthy merchants, nobles, those with the means to pay for exclusive entertainment."

  "And the rules?"

  "Victory, not death," I said firmly. "Though injuries are expected. The value of fighters like yourself is too great to risk permanent damage." I leaned forward slightly. "I've heard rumors of the underground death matches in the western provinces, but I have no interest in that sort of spectacle. It's crude and wasteful."

  Joy nodded, a hint of relief crossing her face before she masked it. "And how often will I fight?"

  "Once a fortnight, perhaps. Possibly more often during the winter months when entertainment is scarcer, less during harvest season." I watched her calculating the schedule in her mind. "You'll have adequate time to train and recover between matches."

  "And if I lose?"

  The bluntness of the question surprised me. "Then we lose money and reputation. Neither of which I'm fond of sacrificing."

  "Would you punish me for losing?" Her voice remained neutral, but I sensed the importance of my answer.

  "No," I replied without hesitation. "That would be counterproductive. I might question your training methods or strategy, but physical punishment for a loss would only damage my investment. I'm not a fool, Joy."

  She seemed to relax a fraction, though her posture remained vigilant. "You said 'we' when speaking of the estate. Do you share ownership with someone?"

  "My brother, Selwyn," I replied, choosing my words carefully. "He's less involved in the business aspects. He trains the horses and falcons at our estate, but has little interest in the day-to-day management." I couldn't keep a hint of disapproval from my tone.

  "You don't get along."

  It wasn't a question, and I didn't treat it as one. "We have different priorities."

  Joy nodded, accepting my evasion without pressing further. The carriage rounded a bend, revealing a small cluster of buildings in the near distance—the village I'd mentioned.

  "The Rising Sun," I said, nodding toward the settlement. "Small but clean. We'll stop there for the night."

  "Thank you," she said, the words seeming to cost her some effort. Pride and gratitude made uneasy companions, I supposed.

  "Don't mistake it for kindness," I replied, though without heat. "As I said, it's practical."

  "Of course." The hint of a smile touched her lips again. "The investment."