Lady Elowen stood before the rusted iron bars. Her silk dress rustled softly in the stagnant air of the dungeon.
She stared at the little girl in the white dress. Her eyes gleamed with a hunger that made Marcus feel sick.
It was not a sexual hunger. It was the look of a child spotting a butterfly they intended to pull apart.
"This one," Elowen said softly. Her voice echoed in the damp stone corridor. "She is... pristine."
Merchant Voss rubbed his hands together. His rings clicked against each other.
"A truly exquisite choice, My Lady," Voss said. His voice dripped with oil. "She arrived just last night. Not a single bruise on her. Rare stock."
Elowen nodded slowly. She did not look away from the girl.
"How much?" she asked.
Voss paused. He pretended to calculate deeply. He tapped his chin with a chubby finger.
"Well, she is young," Voss began. "And clearly of high breeding. She will last a long time. For a specimen of this quality... one hundred gold coins."
