Page 1 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
SOREYA
The late afternoon heat presses against my skin like a wool blanket, making the sandstone streets shimmer in waves that blur the edges of everything. Merchants holler their final prices from beneath striped awnings, their voices competing with the rumble of wheels on stone and the distant roar still echoing from within the colosseum walls.
I shift the wicker basket on my hip, feeling the weight of unsold fruit and the familiar ache in my shoulder from carrying it all day. The crowd streams out through the massive archway—minotaur mostly, their massive frames dwarfing the occasional human or orc scattered among them. Blood and sweat mingle in the air, along with the scent of roasted nuts from a nearby vendor.
Three years since I worked off my contract to Master Theren, and I'm still here at the gates, hawking produce for his shop. Still scraping together enough coin to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly. Still watching my tongue around every horned giant who towers over me.
I might not be Indentured anymore but I’m still a servant.
The pears on top of my basket glisten with moisture, their golden skin beginning to show the telltale dark spots that mean they'll be worthless by tomorrow. I angle the basket away from the direct sun, but there's precious little shade to be found.
That's when the shadow falls across me.
I glance up, expecting another customer haggling over copper pieces, and my breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
He's enormous—even by minotaur standards. Seven feet of pure muscle wrapped in sable-brown hide that catches the light like polished leather. Lighter streaks run around his mouth, and when he moves, I catch sight of a jagged scar cutting across his left shoulder. His horns sweep upward in graceful arcs, polished to a gleam that speaks of careful maintenance.
And he's wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts that hang low on his hips.
Heat that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun creeps up my neck. I've seen plenty of minotaur in various states of undress—it's impossible to avoid in a city like Karona—but none of them ever made my mouth go dry like this.
His amber eyes fix on my basket, and one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Those pears are bruising in the sun."
The words come out in a voice like aged whiskey, smooth and warm with just enough roughness to make something flutter low in my stomach. I should nod politely, maybe offer him a discount. That's what I always do.
Instead, I cock my head and give him a look that would've gotten me a sharp word from Master Theren. "Maybe if a certain minotaur stops blocking the breeze with his oversized frame, they'd last longer."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I expect his expression to darken. Expect him to remind me of my place, or worse—walk away without buying anything.
But he throws back his head and laughs.
The sound rolls through the air like thunder, rich and genuine, and it does something to my insides that I'm not prepared for. When he looks back down at me, those molten amber eyes are dancing with amusement.
"Oversized?" He shifts his weight, deliberately moving even more into my line of shade. "I prefer 'impressively proportioned.'"
"That's one way to put it." I adjust my grip on the basket, hyperaware of how small my hands look against the wicker. "Though I'm not sure my fruit agrees with your assessment."
"Your fruit has opinions now?" He leans down slightly, bringing us closer to eye level, and I catch the scent of leather and something distinctly him—clean sweat and sunshine. "What else do they think about?"
"Mostly they complain about the company they're forced to keep." I gesture toward a cluster of oranges that have definitely seen better days. "These ones in particular have been muttering about finding more attractive neighbors."
"Can't blame them." His gaze doesn't leave mine. "They're in the presence of something much more appealing."
The compliment seeps beneath my skin, warm and unexpected. I'm used to being invisible, to blending into the background while minotaur go about their business. I'm certainly not used to this kind of attention from someone who looks like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
"Smooth talker." I try to keep my voice steady, but there's a breathless quality creeping in that I can't quite control. "Let me guess—you're trying to negotiate a better price."
"Actually, I was thinking about buying everything you've got left."
I blink at him. "Everything?"
"Every last piece." He straightens to his full height, and I have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. "On one condition."
Here it comes. The catch. There's always a catch when something seems too good to be true. "Which is?"
"You tell me your name."
Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn't it. I study his face, looking for some hint of mockery or ulterior motive, but all I see is genuine interest.
