I wound my way through the maze of tents and pavilions that crowded the marketplace, each adorned with the distinct colors of slaver houses. The freshly-cut pine from the auction platform dominated the air, sweet and sharp beneath the mingled aromas of spices, dust, and unwashed bodies.

  Bodies pressed in from all sides. Heat radiated from the crowd, making sweat prickle along my spine and gather at my collar. Merchants had merely moved their carts closer together, none willing to miss the profits from such a gathering. The bottleneck this created only gave them more time to seize upon the passers-by.

  My boots sank slightly into the muddy earth with each step, the ground churned to a thick paste by thousands of feet. The squelch beneath my soles sent a wave of irritation through me. These were leather, specially commissioned and hardly suited for this filth. But appearances mattered today, especially in this den of merchants and money-grubbers who respected nothing but wealth and its trappings.

  "Buy your lucky charms here! Protection against demon curses!" A wizened old woman thrust a string of bones and glass beads toward my face. Her breath reeked of spirits consumed too early in the day.

  "Finest silks from the eastern provinces! Feel how soft, my lord!" Another merchant clutched at my sleeve, his fingers leaving a smudge on the expensive fabric before I could pull away.

  I dodged around sticks of unidentified meat thrust toward my face, the glistening fat dripping dangerously close to my jacket. The cries of slavers who recognized me followed in my wake.

  "Lord Velez! We've saved our finest stock for you!"

  "Come see our new acquisitions, specially selected for your tastes!"

  I quickened my pace, wanting only to be free of the increasingly narrow corridor of humanity that threatened to suffocate me with its sounds and smells and unrelenting press of flesh. These vultures recognized wealth, and like sharks scenting blood, they circled ever closer, hoping to secure their share.

  When I finally pulled free from the crowd, I tilted my head up to the blue sky and gulped in breaths of air. What had started as familiar scents quickly turned stale, overwhelmed by the pungent stench of unwashed bodies.

  The marketplace sprawled across what had once been the town square, now transformed into a chaotic labyrinth of commerce. Colorful awnings and makeshift stalls crowded against one another, creating narrow passages that funneled visitors past as many vendors as possible. At the center rose the auction platform, newly constructed of raw pine that gleamed honey-gold in the sunlight.

  A familiar voice cut through my thoughts. "Really, sir, if I'd known the weather was so hot, I might not have come."

  Leonard strode toward me, his pristine white attire a stark contrast to the dusty marketplace. Even the press of the crowd seemed to yield before his crisp appearance, as if the filth of the place recognized it had no right to touch him.

  I couldn't help but grin at his familiar complaints. "Come now, Leonard. I know you better than to think you'd miss a trip to the city."

  Leonard paused mid-stride, lifting a shoe pointedly. The lower half of the white leather had been splattered with dust and mud. He pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and half-heartedly wiped at the gold buckle.

  "I certainly wouldn't miss all this mud. I can't believe you let me wear white." His finger traced the edge of the buckle, but the soft leather was beyond redemption. "And who do you think will have to re-mop the floors after we stomp dirt through the house? Me, of course."

  My lips twitched with amusement. "Well, Mister Hawthorne, if you don't like the duties of a manservant, perhaps you shouldn't be one?"

  Leonard froze. His face twisted into a dramatic mask of outrage, eyes widening and nostrils flaring as if I'd suggested he eat the mud off his shoes.

  "Manservant, am I?"

  He planted both feet firmly on the ground, arms crossed over his chest. His white jacket strained at the seams with the unaccustomed pose. The back hung low, suffering the same mud-splattered fate as his shoes.

  I closed the gap between us in two quick strides and grasped his elbows. "I'm sorry, Leonard. You are a most magnificent butler."

  One eyebrow arched higher on his forehead, the rest of his body perfectly still. "And?"

  A deep sigh escaped my lips. Muddy as the ground was, this was a hole I'd dug myself into. "And of course you can use the estate accounts to commission new shoes."

  Leonard's mouth opened, ready to press his advantage.

  "Commission new shoes and an outfit to match," I hurried to add.

  His mouth snapped shut. His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the proposal, weighing if he could extract anything more from this rare moment of contrition.

  "You look good in the white, by the way." The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

  After an extended pause, Leonard's lips curled into a wry smile. "I do, don't I."

  Not a question, a statement of fact. His eyes traveled over my ensemble, assessing each carefully chosen piece with the expertise of someone who had dressed me for years.

  "You'll do."

  His hands brushed over my shoulders in a familiar ritual. There had been nothing there to remove, but the gesture meant everything between us. I was ready.

  "Keep your eyes open for anything spectacular, Leonard," I reminded him, my gaze drawn to the crude platform that dominated the center of the square.

  "I thought you told your brother that you were just ‘window shopping’, sir." His voice dropped low. "And we don’t have containment organised to transport a demon."

  Today, I had chosen an ensemble that made a statement. The heavy brocade jacket clung to my shoulders, deep blues shot through with silver threads that created patterns only visible upon close inspection. A stark contrast to my typically understated attire. Instead of blending into the background, I intended to stand out.

  The lack of official colors at the Velez Estate remained an anomaly in the world of slaver families. The Corvinius household flaunted their deep crimson and gold, while the Levanths wore emerald green with silver accents. But we needed no colors when our name carried power enough.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The Velez reputation spoke for itself, our training techniques produced the most sought-after house staff in three provinces. Our graduates commanded premium prices, not for their subservience but for their excellence. A Velez-trained cook could transform a provincial kitchen into a culinary destination. A Velez-trained valet knew not only how to press a perfect crease but how to redirect an embarrassing social misstep.

  As we moved deeper into the marketplace, my eyes tracked the demons on display. Each cage contained a being whose very existence had shifted from myth to reality when the breach tore open five years ago.

  Near a food vendor's stall, a small humanoid demon cowered as children poked sticks through the bars of his cage. His keeper laughed, encouraging their cruelty for a copper coin per jab. The demon's eyes, a luminous amber, held no fight, only a dull resignation that turned my stomach.

  Further along, a female demon was chained to a post, forced to dance for the amusement of onlookers. Her movements held a mechanical quality, the grace of her natural form corrupted by fear and exhaustion. When she faltered, her handler flicked a whip across her shoulders. She didn't cry out. She simply corrected her steps, her eyes fixed on nothing.

  I remembered the shock when demons first appeared, the fear that rippled through the masses, the screams, the panic, the blood. These beings, once confined to the pages of books and nightmares of children, now stood flesh and blood before humanity.

  And as the world reeled from the shock, humanity's fear quickly gave way to a darker impulse. My stomach had turned the first time I saw a demon in shackles, their eyes hollow with something beyond hatred. Something I recognized too well.

  "They have more on display than last month," Leonard observed, his voice unusually subdued. "That one there, he wasn't here before."

  The demon Leonard indicated stood unnaturally still in a cage barely large enough to contain his height. His horns, a magnificent crown of bone that added another foot to his stature, had been fitted with metal caps to prevent him from using them as weapons. Blood crusted where the metal met living tissue.

  "I heard they've found another breach," I said. "Smaller than the first, but steady. New demons arriving every week."

  Leonard's lips pressed into a thin line. "And straight to market, it seems."

  "Where else would they go?" I kept my voice neutral, though the question held more weight than I wanted to admit. "It's not as if the Senate recognizes them as citizens."

  "No. Of course not." Leonard's tone matched mine, carefully empty of judgment. "That would be inconvenient for the slavers' guild, wouldn't it?"

  I shot him a warning glance. Such talk, even between us, wasn't safe in a public place like this. The guild had ears everywhere, and they did not take kindly to challenges to their trade.

  Demons became unwilling performers, used as gladiators, beasts of burden, or objects of curiosity, all at humanity's whim. This exploitation of their strength and abilities was a testament to human fear turned into control.

  The hypocrisy of my position wasn't lost on me. Here I stood, possibly planning to purchase what others had enslaved, telling myself my intentions were different. Better. Not exploitation if I offered something better than what awaited them otherwise.

  Was I lying to myself? Perhaps. But I'd spent a lifetime watching my father transform captivity into opportunity for the humans they purchased. Why couldn't the same methods work for demons?

  To most, demons were just another form of entertainment, but my thoughts ran deeper than mere spectacle. It wasn't just about power; it was about proving something to myself, about mastering the untamable and bending it to my will.

  We passed a cage that contained what appeared to be a young demon, though calculating age across species was notoriously difficult. His small horns had been recently clipped, the jagged stumps still raw. He rocked back and forth in the corner of his prison, mouth moving in what might have been prayer or simply madness.

  A woman paused beside the cage, her fine clothes marking her as nobility or at least wealthy merchant class. She peered at the demon with clinical interest.

  "What can this one do?" she asked the keeper.

  The man leaned forward eagerly. "This one's special, my lady. Got the gift of foresight. Tell your fortune, he will, though half the time it's gibberish."

  "Make him do it," she demanded, extending a gloved hand through the bars without fear.

  The keeper jabbed the demon with a short prod. "Come on, then. Show the lady what you can do."

  The demon flinched but didn't move from his corner.

  "Stubborn today, is he?" The keeper sighed and produced a small vial from his pocket. "This'll loosen his tongue."

  He uncorked the vial and the sharp scent of something chemical filled the air. The demon's head snapped up, nostrils flaring. His eyes, previously unfocused, suddenly locked onto the vial with desperate hunger.

  "That's right," the keeper crooned. "You want this, don't you? Then do as you're told."

  The demon crawled forward on hands and knees, trembling with need. His fingers clutched at the woman's gloved hand, and he pressed his face to her palm. Whatever words he spoke were too low for me to hear, but the woman's face drained of color.

  She snatched her hand back as if burned. "You're lying," she hissed.

  The demon's eyes remained hollow. "I see only what will be."

  The keeper's prod struck him hard across the shoulders, driving him back into his corner. "Apologies, my lady. He likes to upset the customers. Here—" He thrust the vial through the bars, and the demon seized it with shaking hands, upending it into his mouth.

  The transformation was immediate. His body went slack, eyes rolling back in his head, a smile spreading across his face. Whatever was in that vial, it wasn't medicine.

  "Move along, sir." The keeper noticed my lingering gaze and mistook it for interest. "This one's already spoken for. Lord Argolis has put down a deposit."

  I nodded and continued on my way, Leonard close behind. Neither of us spoke, but I felt his judgment like a physical weight. Or perhaps it was my own.

  The auction platform loomed ahead, newly constructed for this event. The wood still leaked sap, giving off that sticky sweet scent that mingled with sweat and anticipation. Around it gathered the wealthy and the curious, eyeing each other as much as they would the merchandise soon to be displayed.

  Groups of nobles clustered in knots of conversation, their laughter too loud, their gestures too broad, the false confidence of those about to engage in something they knew was questionable. I recognized Lord Corvinus, his bulk draped in crimson silk despite the heat, and beside him the reed-thin figure of Lord Talbott, whose appetite for exotic playthings was an open secret.

  These were men who purchased demons as status symbols, keeping them chained in their gardens or entrance halls to impress visitors. Few bothered to learn what abilities their possessions might have beyond their decorative value.

  A firm tap on my elbow snapped me back to reality.

  Leonard, with a spark of excitement in his eyes, leaned in closer. "Sir, there's something you've got to see." With a discreet gesture, he directed my gaze across the crowd.

  I followed his indication, scanning the sea of faces until my eyes found what had caught Leonard's attention, a figure that defied every expectation.

  Towering above the crowd stood a demon unlike any I had seen before. Where others cowered or snarled, this one commanded attention with a calm authority. His skin was a deep, unreflective black, absorbing the daylight that fell upon it. Scattered across his massive arms were lighter scars, stark and prominent against his dark complexion. Among these marks, tattoos with a faint shimmer traced complex designs, catching the light with every movement.

  His clothing rivaled mine in its quality and deliberate presentation. Rich fabrics draped his powerful frame, cut to emphasize rather than conceal his physique. Two horns, tipped with gold, crowned his head. Heavy chains of the same metal lay around his neck, not as symbols of constraint but as deliberate ornamentation.

  Most striking of all was how the crowd responded to him. No fear, no mockery, instead, animated conversation and even laughter surrounded him. This demon interacted with humans not as a captive or curiosity, but as an equal.

  Without conscious decision, I found myself moving toward him, drawn by the embodiment of something I had only theorized, a demon who commanded respect rather than inspired terror.

  The crowd parted before him more readily than they had for me, a fact I noted with interest. Power recognized power, it seemed, regardless of species.

  As I approached, the demon's head turned. Eyes like polished obsidian fixed on me with an intensity that stopped me in my tracks. His gaze held not the hollow submission I had seen in others of his kind, nor the feral rage that humans feared. Instead, there was recognition. Calculation. Interest.

  And then, most surprising of all, a smile.