Page 73 of Crowned In Venom

The auctioneer studies her for a moment before stepping forward.

"Then let us see what she is worth," he says, reaching for her.

And she moves.

Not away.

But toward him.

Her hand catches his wrist before he can touch her.

A sharp gasp ripples through the crowd.

The auctioneer jerks back, startled—offended, furious.

I say nothing.

I watch.

Anya tilts her head, emerald eyes gleaming with something too dangerous to name.

"I do not belong in a place like this," she says, her voice soft, edged in steel.

Murmurs spread.

Intrigue.

Amusement.

The auctioneer narrows his eyes. "You misunderstand your place, human."

She smiles.

A slow, dangerous thing.

"Do I?"

The auctioneer’s lips curl in distaste.

He looks at me, waiting for my command.

Waiting for me to strike her down for the audacity of speaking.

I do not.

I lift a hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"Go on," I murmur. "Let us see if she is worth anything."

The auctioneer straightens, composing himself.

"Very well."

He gestures to the room, his voice carrying.

"She is a rare thing," he announces. "A trained pleasure slave. Well-kept, untouched, and once favored by Lord Varkos himself."

A ripple of interest moves through the gathered crowd.

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