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Of course, I kept those dreams to myself. Others would call my flight of fancy foolish, and they were right, but daydreaming passed the time. After all, one had to make the best of their situation.

Anna, my human best friend, appeared at my side and leaned against the wooden cane she used to ease her mobility. Her upturned brown eyes searched me questioningly. “Are you scared?”

Of those in our slave complex, she alone knew of the events at the bathhouse. Being such a good friend, Anna had held my hand until I’d fallen asleep. But when I woke that morning, she had already left.

I bent my head. “Is he here?”

“Yes. That’s why I arrived early. To gauge his mood.”

“And?”

She looked away.

I closed my eyes. A part of me had hoped that my master would call me to his home last night. That way, my humiliation and punishment wouldn’t be so public. But vampires rarely rushed. They had eternity to do as they wished, even longer than the fae. I swallowed down that uncomfortable thought. Sometimes, the vast span of time I had ahead of me made me wish I were human.

“Maybe I should—”

“Neve! In my office!” My master bellowed my name over the workshop and many seamstresses and tailors froze, though they didn’t look up. Didn’t look at me. They didn’t dare.

“I think the vampire’s sire was important.” Anna grabbed my hand. Like everything about my friend her hand was small and delicate, so much so that I sometimes felt like a giant next to her.

“Neve,” Anna whispered, tears gathered in her eyes as she met my stare. “Be ready.”

I squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Dozens of gazes followed as I shuffled through the busy workshop to the back office. When I arrived in his office, I found Master Aldéric in his large leather chair, reviewing his ledger. Today he wore a suit of dark navy and his long black hair was tied back. Color bloomed in his pale cheeks, indicating that he’d fed recently.

“Leave it open,” he said as I made to shut the door behind me. “I heard of what transpired in the bathhouse.”

“It was self-defense.”

In the case of slaves, the law said absolutely nothing about self-defense, but if it saved me lashes, I would use any reasoning possible to penetrate my master’s stone-cold heart.

“Are you aware the vampire you killed was Prince Mylan’s latest conquest? A lover he turned so as to keep him forever. Or so I’m told.”

A cavernous pit opened in my stomach. He’d been a bleeding prince’s child! That was worse than I could have imagined.

I cleared my throat softly. “I had no idea. It’s difficult to keep up with the ever-growing royal family.”

The Laurent dynasty ruled the vampire kingdom. While the king and his mate were the ultimate authority, the princes and princesses held great sway. Prince Mylan had been born into the royal line, a third-generation natural-born Laurent. His generation became the first one descended from King Vladistrica and Queen Narcissa that did not possess the ability to bear children. Rather, if they wanted offspring, the third generation had to turn another creature, be they human, mage, fae, or other, into vampires.

Some said that made the third-generation princesses and princes all the more savage. Unstable.

“There are two things saving you from my princely nephew’s direct wrath.” My master, a relation to the royal family, held up a finger. “That my own sire outranks Prince Mylan, and therefore, I’m not forced to hand you over right away. And two, that the offending vampire should not have been anywhere near other lords’ property. Not so soon after he was turned.” He dropped his hand. “However, I’ve decided that your offense is more trouble than you are worth.”

My lips parted. My great skill as a seamstress aside, as a faerie, they also considered me a prized blood slave. Bloodletters paid more for my blood and could resell it at a higher price point. I’d even heard that Master Aldéric received offers to purchase me weekly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, terrified for the answer, though somehow I kept my voice level.

“I will put you up for auction tomorrow. After all, many masters are in the city for the Blood Ball. I wouldn’t want to miss out on potential buyers.”

My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself on the door. My master, however, remained calm, cold. He stood and poured himself a goblet of red liquid from a crystal carafe.

He planned to sell me. At auction. The highest bidder would win.

My heart began to thunder.

Masters far worse than my own lived in Sangrael. They drank from their slaves, beat them regularly, kept them chained, and sexually abused them. Master Aldéric was no hero, nor even a person to admire, but he fed his property well, gave us comfortable beds, and kept us clothed. He also didn’t physically hurt us and rarely drank directly from the vein.