Page 7 of Given to the Fae (The Dark Realms #3)

Again, Locke nods.

‘Give them food. Make sure the bulls are tied up inside the smallest tent. I don’t want them seeing anything and getting riled up.’

I feel relieved, but my stomach still sinks. What are they planning? The soap comes to mind, and I glance at the others. Ila looks blissfully ignorant. Bell is blatantly staring at Bere, batting her eyes and looking to the ground demurely when he catches her.

‘And what’s your name, girl?’ he asks.

She puffs up a little at his regard and answers breathlessly. ‘Bell, milord.’

Bere waves at one of his men without looking. ‘Untie her from the others. You’re going to sit next to me.’

‘Yes, milord,’ Bell simpers.

I watch as she follows him to the fire and begins to feed him meat from a plate with her fingers. I see that he allows her to take every sixth piece for herself.

‘If I call you a cunt, will fate punish me?’ Ila mutters.

I shrug and one of the others takes us to a smaller fire, telling us to stay. The large one comes a moment later, going out of his way not to look at us as we’re handed a piece of bread each and given a ladleful of water.

‘Why does she get meat?’ Ila mutters.

‘She’ll pay for it later,’ I reply.

‘We’ll pay the same as her,’ she hisses, ‘but neither of us has meat.’

‘Did you think it would be fair?’ I ask, turning my hair toward the fire so that it dries at least a little before I start getting cold.

Ila huffs. ‘Actually, you won’t pay, will you, Kismet?’

‘The coins may look different,’ I murmur, ‘but I’ll pay in the end just like every other slave.’

I ignore her answering snort, and finish my bread, focusing on warming up after the freezing cold river. It won’t do to get ill.

I glance at the bulls who I can just see inside a small tent. They’re staring at us. No, not us, I realize as I follow Smy’s eyes. They’re watching Ila hungrily. Smy’s gaze locks onto mine for a second and he looks away immediately. At least I won’t have to worry about them.

But the others here don’t know, and I see more than one male’s eyes on me as well as Ila.

‘Have you taken a bull or a fae before?’ I ask.

She does a remarkable job of pretending my question doesn’t upset her, but I see the brief crack in her facade for the merest second before she hides it again.

‘Which was it?’

Her lips curl into almost a snarl as she glances at me. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘You already said,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t have to worry, and Bell... Well, let’s just say she always ate well in The Barrack. She knows how to get what she wants. But I don’t know you.’

‘You don’t need to worry,’ she snaps. ‘I was put in the block the first time. Five bulls were let loose on me. Each took his turn more than once.’

I hold in my wince. ‘Well, hopefully it won’t be as bad as that. They won’t want us badly injured before they sell us.’

‘What would you know?’ she hisses, calming down as soon as she notices heads turning our way.

‘I was in The Barrack for a long time. I know enough.’

She turns away from me, and I see that Bell is speaking to Bere in a low voice. I frown. Nothing good will come of that either.

As if the leader hears my thoughts, he stands and walks forward, forcing Bell to either skitter away or be trodden on by one of his large boots.

‘Let’s see what our new humans can do, shall we?’

Perhaps he means the bulls.

But my hope is a hollow one as he approaches the tiny fire where Ila and I cower.

‘You,’ he snarls, pointing at Ila. ‘Get up.’

I peer around Bere’s great form to see Bell looking annoyed. Whatever’s happening now isn’t what she wanted at all.

Ila stands meekly and Bere pulls her roughly toward a circle the slavers are scuffing into the loose dirt with their boots. She goes willingly, looking resigned to whatever she’ll be ordered to do.

‘And you,’ Bere says, turning to Bell.

She stands, bowing her head. ‘But, milord, I thought?—’

‘Silence!’ Bere roars and she pales, taking a step backward with a whimper. ‘You and this one will fight. Then, the one who triumphs and the third,’ he gestures at me. ‘The winner will get a healing fae potion. The losers will keep their injuries until we get to market two days hence.’

He darts forward and grabs Bell, hauling her into the circle as well. She looks shocked for a moment, until her eyes find a clearly fearful Ila and her expression morphs into a smirk.

‘Of course, I’ll fight for your pleasure, milord,’ she purrs.

Bere leaves them in the circle together and returns to his seat by the fire.

‘Stay inside the markings or you’ll be lashed,’ one of the other fae calls.

‘Begin!’ Bere roars, looking gleeful as he gulps wine from a skin beside him.

Ila’s attention is on the leader for too long and she doesn’t see Bell’s fist until it’s too late. She lets out a cry, clutching her cheek and staring wide-eyed at her ‘friend’. Before she can do anything, Bell hits her again, this time in the stomach.

She doubles over and staggers back, skidding to a halt just inside the crude marks in the dirt that show the circle’s barrier. I already think it’s over, but she grabs up a handful of said dirt and throws it in Bell’s face.

Bell snarls, swiping at her face angrily. ‘You bitch!’ she snarls. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

Ila doesn’t speak, but she straightens and follows Bell across the circle, pushing her to the ground, but Bell grabs her dress as she goes down, pulling her down with her.

They roll around in the dirt, squealing, clawing and biting to the roars and loud wagers of the fae before Bell takes Ila by her hair and uses it to keep her subdued just long enough to get the dirt from her eyes.

Her vision restored, she pushes Ila away from her and then hits her across her cheek hard enough for her head to snap to the side.

Bell doesn’t give her the opportunity to do anything else.

Without an ounce of remorse, she pushes Ila from the circle into the waiting arms of two of the fae.

They whoop and haul her into their laps.

She struggles as they pull her dress off and I look away, locking eyes with Bell as Ila begins to squeal.

Her eyes don’t leave mine. We don’t look at what’s happening to Ila. Bell will be next and she knows it. She thought it would be Ila and I who fought. Perhaps she thought I’d go easy on the girl. Maybe I would have. Even if I’d lost... I’m not like Ila.

I hear a slap harder than Bell gave, and Ila cries out in pain. We don’t look.

‘You!’ Bere yells.

I walk forward, ignoring the jeers of two of the other fae. There were nine of them before, but now there are just six plus Bere, I realize, not letting my eyes drift to the left where I can hear Ila’s pained whimpering, and the dual grunting of the fae who grabbed her.

I step into the circle, my eyes trained on the tricky woman in front of me.

Her lips are thin. She’s panting, dirt smeared over her face, and her short curls full of bits from the ground. Her dress is ripped.

If she hits me, fate will punish her. If she loses, she’ll suffer Ila’s fate.

I regard her. There’s no real choice, but I can help and I can see in her expression that she’s thinking the same.

She gives me the barest of nods and I stride forward, balling my fist tightly.

I hit her in the face as hard as I can. Pain courses through my knuckles, hand, and up my arm, and I know it’ll hurt for days.

But she falls backward and hits the ground hard, knocked out.

Silence pervades the camp, and Bere stands. I lower my eyes as I cringe in front of him, wondering if he’ll throw me to his men or beat me himself. I’m sure he wanted his entertainment to last longer. But he laughs loudly.

‘I told you she’d do well for the pit fighters!’ he calls into the darkness. ‘I know you can hear me, Locke!’

Bere, still chuckling, strides into the circle. ‘Have the loser if you want her,’ he laughs as he kicks an unconscious Bell out of his way. ‘Though you might find there’s not much fight in her at the moment!’

He stands over me, trying to use his height to make me feel small. I pretend it does. Makes things easier.

‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I didn’t think I hit her so hard.’

‘Come,’ he takes my arm and pulls me toward his tent.

‘My lord?’

His smile is cold. Vicious. ‘Did I forget to mention the winner would have the pleasure of sharing my furs tonight?’

I go with him meekly into his tent. It has its own brazier, I note as he takes off his thin cloak and throws it on the ground.

‘Stay still.’

I do as he says, standing frozen and clenching my jaw when his fingers caress my breast over the thin cloth of the dress, making my nipple pucker.

For one brief, harrowing moment, I’m afraid that he’ll be gentle. No touches have ever been gentle. That’s one thing Ogdan and Sio thankfully never tried. Gods, if he pretends kindness, what if nothing stops him? But then he pulls his arm back and slaps me with the back of his hand.

I crash into the table behind me hard and he’s on me, turning me and folding me over it, pulling up the skirts of the dress and fumbling with the laces of his trousers. He holds me so easily even when I struggle. I begin to panic.

And then I hear a low clang, and he collapses on top of me before sliding to the floor with a muffled thump. In the low light, I see that a metal rod has come loose from the tent roof and hit him in the back of the head, and I let out a sigh of relief.

I straighten and look around the tent. Perhaps some humans would try to escape now.

They’d be fools.

It’s pitch black outside and we’re in a Dark Realm forest. If I set one foot out of the camp, I’d be inviting death.

Even if whatever killed me would die as well, the comfort would be a cold one.

Instead, I look around the tent. I pour myself a goblet of wine and take a sip only to spit it out.

Why would anyone voluntarily choose to imbibe such an awful drink?