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"Fuck, are all the men here this horny?! And that's even considering I've still got my damn face!" — Aelin thought to herself, feeling the shopkeeper's gaze drilling into her chest, barely covered by the elaborate elven top. Just a few days ago, she had been an ordinary guy named Josh, obsessed with role-playing games. Now, she was standing on the grimy cobblestones of some fantasy town, looking like the heroine from a cheap fantasy novel cover.
She shot a murderous glare at the shopkeeper — a short, pudgy man with a greasy smile, blatantly ogling her figure.
— Got something to say, or are you just gonna keep staring? — her voice rang out unexpectedly clear, with a barely noticeable musical accent, which only annoyed her more.
The shopkeeper raised his hands in a placating gesture, but his eyes stayed locked on her chest.
— Uh, yeah, sure, gorgeous! — he paused, still fixated on her cleavage.
"Gorgeous? Oh, for fuck's sake..." — Aelin clenched her fists, reminding herself to stay calm. She glanced around, searching for her friend, the same nerd Josh used to be — Trevor. Or rather, now the massive, brutish hunk Martinus, nowhere to be seen in the crowd. "Where the hell is that idiot Trevor? Leaving me alone in this circus!"
— Maybe a potion for the customers? — the shopkeeper patted a wooden crate filled with tiny vials. — Works on any man, guaranteed! New here, huh? Usually, the girls from the 'Moonflower' buy in bulk right away.
Aelin froze, feeling a wave of anger burn through her.
— What?..
— Well, you're an elf, — he shrugged, as if that explained everything. — Usually, your kind... you know, for entertainment. Sorry, it's just how things work around here. But you're premium quality, I can tell, heh...
— Quality?! — her voice went up, nearly breaking into a high-pitched falsetto, and to her horror, it sounded... cute.
People started turning to look. Aelin could hear the whispers:
"An elf? Wonder which brothel she's from?"
"Look how red she is. Must be new."
— Oh, for fuck's sake... — she hissed, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into the shopkeeper's fat chest. — Listen here, you creep. I need information! What is this place?! And why the hell are you talking to me like that?!
The shopkeeper flinched, but the grin lingered — nervous, but still there. He clearly didn't know how to react.
— Whoa... Feisty one, huh? — he muttered, blinking. — I... I was just making an offer... Do you even hear yourself?
Aelin gritted her teeth.
— Yeah, I hear myself! And if you don't explain where the hell we are and what that bullshit about brothels was, I—
— Wait, wait, — he raised his hands, backing up, though his eyes kept darting back to her chest. — You're seriously not from the 'Moonflower'? Really? Come on! With that body and voice... Do you have any idea how you... sound?
Aelin froze again.
"Voice?"
Damn it, even when she was yelling, her voice still sounded sweet, almost melodic, with that stupid sing-song accent.
The crowd was pressing in tighter now, people eyeing her with far too much interest.
— Maybe she's been bought for some nobleman? — someone whispered behind her.
— Doesn't seem like it. She's way too mouthy.
— Nah, it's just part of the act. They all do this. — a third voice snorted.
— What the hell is wrong with you people?! — Aelin burst out, throwing her arms up.
At that moment, the shopkeeper leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as he whispered:
— Listen, elf. If you're new here and don't have an owner... stop shouting. The locals don't like it when your kind acts up. If you want... I could introduce you to the right people. You'd be... appreciated.
Aelin was just about to punch him when a deep, booming voice echoed through the crowd:
— What's going on here?
The crowd fell silent instantly.
Trevor.
He emerged from the mass of people, towering over everyone, looking so imposing even Aelin felt her breath catch. Shirt open, broad shoulders like carved marble, one hand gripping the haft of his axe, his dark gaze heavy and serious. The crowd quieted, watching as he approached. His eyes slowly moved from the shopkeeper to Aelin, then back again.
— I asked... what's going on here? — his voice was low, threatening.
The shopkeeper stammered, sweat beading on his forehead as he flicked nervous glances between Trevor and Aelin.
— I... uh... just a misunderstanding, sir! I didn't know she was... yours... She just started shouting, and I was, um, trying to calm her down.
— Mine? — Trevor's brow furrowed deeper.
— Well... an elf like that, out here alone, dressed like... that, and causing a scene on the market... Forgive me, sir, I thought she was from... uh... one of the pleasure houses, — the shopkeeper forced a shaky smile, but his lips twitched nervously.
Aelin felt the rage boiling up inside her again.
— Listen here, you fat bastard! — she stepped forward, jabbing a finger toward his face, but Trevor's hand closed firmly, yet gently, around her wrist, stopping her.
— Hey. Cool it, — he murmured, leaning closer. — No violence. For now.
The shopkeeper suddenly snorted. Nerves? No... it was an actual laugh, muffled behind his hand.
— Violence? Seriously, sir? Elves? Fight? They're made for... other things entirely...
Aelin felt her eye twitch.
— What the fuck did you just say?!
She lunged forward, but Trevor caught her wrist again, this time squeezing tighter.
— No. — His voice was low, a growl like a beast's warning.
The shopkeeper's laughter died instantly. He paled, backing up until he bumped into his stall.
— A-alright! I'm sorry! I was wrong! Please, just go! I won't say another word!
— Good idea, — Trevor rumbled, towering over him for a moment longer before turning, pulling Aelin away from the crowd.
— Let go of me! — she hissed as they moved a few alleys away, the noise of the market beginning to fade.