Chapter One
Reyna woke to pain and light.
A harsh brightness cut across her face—thin and sharp, slipping through a high, narrow window like a blade. A groan tore from her throat as she shifted, agony rippling through her back. Her mouth burned, dry and raw, as if she had swallowed dust. She raised a trembling hand to shield her eyes.
When her vision steadied, the room came into focus.
Bodies.
Everywhere.
Dozens of them—fourty, maybe more—pressed together on the cold stone floor. Some lay curled and shaking. Others sat upright, staring into nothing, eyes hollow and unfocused. A few did not move at all, limbs stiff, faces pale, and for a terrible moment Reyna couldn't tell whether they were asleep… or dead.
The room was small and boxed in, its damp walls stained with age and filth. There were no beds. No straw. Only bare stone and the weight of too many bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, breathing air thick with fear, blood, and sweat.
Confusion tightened around her chest, her heart pounding faster as panic threatened to rise—
And then the memories came.
Her stepmother's voice, sweet and insistent, asking her to run an errand. The narrow road she was told to take. Her stepsister's smile—too bright, too knowing—as she waved goodbye. The visitors the night before. The smell of burning herbs. Cloth pressed to Reyna's face. The burning sensation.
Then darkness.
Clarity struck like a blade.
They sold me.
Her breath hitched. The room spun, and she clenched the lower part of her gown in her fists to steady herself.
The words repeated, each time sharper, heavier. Not abandoned. Not lost. Sold. Her chest burned as if something vital had been ripped free and left bleeding. She wondered—briefly, bitterly—what price her life had fetched. Enough to clear their debts? Enough to buy her stepsister silk dresses and a warm hearth?
Before she could gather herself, a sound cracked through the chamber.
Bootsteps.
Heavy. Unhurried. Deliberate.
Each strike of leather against stone echoed in time with her racing heartbeat. Reyna pressed herself deeper into the corner, counting her breaths as if silence could hide her.
The door opened.
And they came into view—demons.
Reyna's breath hitched.
Not one, but two, their shadows stretching long across the floor. Leather creaked with each step. Claws caught the thin sunlight streaming from the high window. One was broad‑shouldered, wild brown hair framing a face carved with hunger, molten gold eyes sharp and predatory. The other was colder—black horns curving from his skull, his presence measured and lethal, like a blade resting on a table.
"Get them ready," one said lazily, scanning the room.
The other demon's gaze locked onto Reyna.
He froze.
Then he grinned.
Something dark flickered in his eyes as he stepped closer, examining her as if she were an object meant to be priced.
"Prince Arkes is going to enjoy this one." he said drawing the attention of the other demon.
Her blood ran cold.
She had heard of Arkes—the crown prince of Avalon. A demon infamous across realms for decadence and cruelty, for collecting beautiful slaves and discarding them when boredom set in. Rumor claimed he shared his favorites with his brother, Prince Vaelor, whose pleasures were said to be far more vicious.
The brown‑haired demon crouched before her.
"You're a fine wine," he murmured. "The most beautiful thing I've seen in years."
Reyna trembled as sharp claws traced her cheek.
Before he could go further, a new presence filled the room.
"Careful," a voice said coldly from behind. "Don't damage the goods."
The two demons stiffened immediately.
A taller figure stepped forward—older, colder, his authority unquestionable. He was their commander.
"Load them. We leave before sunset."
Chaos erupted.
Chains rattled. Slaves were forced into lines. Fear spilled through the chamber like poison.
Then a scream.
A young man burst from the back of the line, clutching a shard of wood.
"LET US GO, YOU MONSTERS!"
He didn't make it three steps.
The commander caught him mid‑air by the throat, lifting him effortlessly. The boy's feet kicked uselessly. In one swift motion, a claw tore through flesh.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
Reyna stared at the spreading blood, at how quickly it soaked into the cracks of the stone—as if the floor itself were hungry. She realized then that screaming wasn't what killed people here.
Hope did.
The body collapsed, lifeless, eyes wide, mouth frozen mid‑scream.
Silence followed—then terror.
Screams echoed as people stumbled and fell. Reyna dropped to the floor, her stomach twisting, her heart hammering so loudly she was sure the demons could hear it.
They didn't care.
If anything, it pleased them.
"Don't you think this will crush their spirit?" one of the demons whispered. "We don't want them broken yet. What good will they be to the demons then?" His concern was not for the slaves, but for the money they would fetch.
The other demon shrugged indifferently.
"They're humans. Give them a few days and they'll try something else—already forgetting this scene. They never listen."
He smiled absently, too busy enjoying the sight of terrified captives.
"A little reminder of where they are isn't too bad." He finished his sentence with a small smile.
Reyna finally understood.
They didn't want broken slaves—not yet. Unlike the traders in Asheville, the demons didn't need obedience handed to them. They preferred to tame their slaves themselves.
After all, what fun was there if the slaves were already broken?
A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined what they would do to achieve that—knowing no one would stop them.
The brown‑haired demon dragged the corpse away by the leg, leaving a straight crimson line of blood behind him.
"Straight line!" the commander barked.
No one disobeyed, as everyone scurried to make a straight line.
They were herded outside into the sunlight. Reyna squinted as they emerged onto open ground, the warmth mocking her as she inhaled salt‑laced air. The sea crashed nearby, beautiful and indifferent. More slaves poured out from other chambers, all silent now, fear beaten into obedience.
A scream rose as someone pointed ahead.
The boy's head was mounted on a pike.
Reyna stumbled, nearly falling before someone shoved her forward.
"Keep walking," a voice said quietly.
She did.
Her head stayed down as her body trembled.
The ship loomed before them—massive, black, reinforced with metal plates and outward‑curving spikes. Crimson Avalon banners snapped in the wind, runes pulsing faintly along the hull, warning of death to any who resisted.
They were forced below deck into another dark chamber. The air was wet and foul, the walls scratched with fingernails. There was a single small window, and too high to reach, Reyna collapsed into the farthest corner as the ship began to move.
As the vessel sailed away from shore, only one thought echoed in her mind:
Is it better to die in Asheville… or live in Avalon?
The ship groaned as it cut through the waves.
But one thing was certain.
This was only the beginning of the end.