The silence between Meira and me has teeth.
Over a week has passed since Tisha said we could all fall together, and I noticed the shift immediately. During the times when it’s just the three of us in bed, everything feels normal. Meira touches me with that same intensity, commands me with that same authority, kisses me until my brain short-circuits. But the moment we’re clothed and vertical, the warmth drains out of her like someone pulled a plug.
She’s not cruel. Not even cold, exactly. Just... distant. Her sentences come out clipped and efficient, barely more than functional. When I try to make conversation, she answers in single words or short phrases before finding a reason to be somewhere else. The awkwardness radiates off her in waves that make my chest tight with confusion I can’t quite name.
Now we’re sitting outside at some restaurant, the afternoon sun warm on my shoulders, and I’m staring down at what the menu called a quesadilla. The tortilla is too thick, the cheese tastes wrong, and there’s some kind of spiced meat inside that definitely didn’t come from any animal I recognize. It’s close enough to the real thing that the differences feel more jarring than if they’d just called it by a different name entirely.
Meira takes a bite of hers, chewing slowly. Her pale silver eyes fix on the street beyond our table, watching the flow of people pass by with careful attention that feels deliberate. Like she’s looking anywhere except at me.
The silence stretches. I take another bite of the quasi-dilla. The cheese melts on my tongue, and the spices have a kick that’s actually pretty good once I stop comparing it to what I remember.
Meira sets her food down on her plate. “Do you know why I brought you out with me today?” Her gaze finally lands on my face, and there’s tension in her expression that makes my stomach clench.
“I honestly have no clue.” The truth comes out easily. “I couldn’t even guess if I wanted to.”
She sighs. The sound carries weight, and she nods once like I’ve confirmed exactly what she expected.
“Vincent...” She pauses, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ve decided I cannot fall in love with you.”
The declaration settles heavily between us. I watch her face, searching for the context that might make this declaration hurt more than it does.
“Okay.” The word comes out flat.
Meira’s eyes narrow. “Just okay?” Her voice carries genuine confusion. “You’re not heartbroken?”
“I’m not thrilled about it.” I pause, meeting her gaze directly. “But well, since all this...” I trail off, catching myself before I say since I woke up in a new world and became a slave. “I’ve been working on letting go, you know? I have no control at all anymore. No agency. And yeah, at first that was really scary, but honestly I just try to enjoy moment to moment.”
She stares at me. The confusion in her expression deepens into intense focus, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make sense.
“What do you mean no control?” Her voice sharpens. “You get to pick your clients.”
“I mean I don’t get to wake up when I want and decide how my day will go.” The words come out more raw than I intend. “I wake up a slave. I work as a slave. And I go to bed as a slave.”
Her neck stiffens. “You sleep on a bed. You eat better than the average person in this city.” Her voice rises slightly. “You are lucky to…” She stops herself mid-sentence, her teeth clicking together.
A breath hisses through her nose. “You know what? That’s fine. You want to feel like you have no control? That’s fine. Because you are a slave after all.”
“I’m thankful to be your slave, Meira.” I keep my tone steady, refusing to let frustration bleed through. “I’m just simply saying that it’s a fact.”
She shakes her head, and I watch frustration war with disbelief across her features.
“So you don’t even care that I’ve decided we can’t be together romantically?”
I open my mouth to answer, but movement catches my eye.
Daisy approaches our table with that same gentle smile I remember from our first encounter. Behind her walks another cow woman, taller, older. The black and white patterns on her skin are similar to Daisy’s, but her presence carries an authority that makes heads turn as she passes. She’s wearing a cowboy hat that shades her eyes and cowboy boots that click against the cobblestones with each step.
“This is the one, Daisy?” The older woman’s voice is smooth and easy.
“Yes, mother.” Daisy nods enthusiastically.
The woman’s amber eyes sweep down to study me, then shift to Meira. Her expression is polite but businesslike as she addresses my owner.
“Good afternoon, Miss Dark Elf.” Her tone carries the practiced ease of someone used to negotiations. “I was hoping you might discuss selling me your slave...”
Meira’s hand waves dismissively before the woman finishes speaking.
“He’s not for sale.”
The older cow woman does not flinch. She extends her hand directly toward me, bypassing Meira entirely.
“Vincent, correct?”
“Yes.” I reach out and shake her hand. Her grip is firm, warm.
“Betsy.” She releases my hand and reaches for two nearby chairs, dragging them toward our table with effortless poise. “Mind if we sit?”
Meira’s expression darkens immediately. Her eyes narrow, and her shoulders stiffen with barely contained irritation as Betsy and Daisy settle themselves at our table uninvited.
“You haven’t even heard my offer,” Betsy says, folding her hands on the table in front of her.
“He’s not for sale,” Meira repeats.
Betsy leans back in her chair, the cowboy hat tilting slightly as she studies Meira with calculating interest.
“Eight gold.”
The offer lands heavily on the table.
Meira’s eyes go wide for just a fraction of a second before she catches herself. Her composure snaps back into place, but I saw the shock there. Eight gold. That’s over double what they paid for me.
“No.” The word comes out final.
Betsy doesn’t look surprised by the rejection. If anything, her smile widens slightly, like she expected this and finds it amusing.
“That’s quite a lot of money to turn down without consideration, Miss Dark Elf.” Her tone stays pleasant, conversational. “Especially for a stud you’ve only owned for, what, two weeks?”
“How would you know that?” Meira’s voice cuts sharp, her eyes fixed on Betsy with suspicion that makes the air feel heavier.
“I asked around.” Betsy’s smile doesn’t falter. She leans forward slightly, her amber eyes meeting Meira’s steadily. “You see, Dark Elf…”
“Meira.”
Betsy nods once, taking the correction in stride. “You see, Meira, I have five daughters at home.” Her hand gestures toward Daisy beside her. “And Daisy here is my pride and joy. She’s never asked me for anything in all her life until last week.”
Daisy’s cheeks flush slightly, but her smile stays warm as she looks at me.
Betsy’s attention shifts fully to Meira now, her voice taking on the tone of someone making their final offer. “So... how about ten gold for this here stud?”
“He will have a happy home with six adoring women constantly at his beck and call,” Betsy continues, calm and persuasive. “He will live an extremely comfortable life on our ranch.”
I stare at Betsy. Then at Daisy.
My brain conjures the image without permission. A ranch somewhere quiet, away from the city. Six cow women who all look like Daisy, all eager, all kind. Waking up to breakfast already made, spending my days with women who genuinely want me there, not because they need income but because Daisy asked for me specifically.
The fantasy solidifies in my mind with startling clarity. It sounds like heaven.
Daisy has been my favorite client by a significant margin. The sex was incredible, easily ranking just below Meira and Tisha in terms of pure physical pleasure. But beyond that, she was kind. Enthusiastic. She made me feel wanted in a way that didn’t come with the complicated emotional weight that follows me around with my owners.
Guilt twists in my chest immediately. Tisha’s face flashes through my mind. Her warmth, her genuine affection, the way she looks at me like I matter beyond what I can provide. I enjoy her company. I enjoy Meira’s too, even with all the awkwardness and distance.
But Meira just told me she can’t fall in love with me. She made that clear before Betsy even walked up to this table. If there’s no future here beyond being property that gets rented out to strangers...
The words come out of my mouth before I can second-guess them.
“Let’s at least bring the offer to Tisha, Meira.”
Meira’s panic spreads across her features like cracks in ice.
“I don’t need to do that.” Her voice comes out tight, strained. “The answer is no.”
Betsy’s amber eyes flicker with renewed interest. She leans forward slightly, her hands still folded on the table.
“Fourteen gold. Final offer.”
The number hits the air like a hammer. I watch Meira’s eyes widen again, genuine shock breaking through her composure for a full second before she catches herself.
Her hands shoot across the table, grabbing mine with a grip that borders on painful. Her fingers dig into my skin, and the raw desperation radiating from her touch makes my pulse spike with a jolt of alarm.
“Absolutely fucking not!” The words explode out of her, louder than I’ve ever heard her speak in public. “Vincent is mine!”
The protectiveness in her voice is raw, unfiltered. She clings to my hands as if terrified I’ll disappear if she lets go.
“He’s not going anywhere!”
Betsy’s expression doesn’t change. She maintains that same pleasant, businesslike demeanor as she turns to look at Daisy beside her.
“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Her voice carries genuine regret. “I tried.”
Daisy’s smile falters. Her lips press together, disappointment clear in the way her shoulders drop slightly. But after a moment, she straightens again.
“Plan B then?”
Betsy nods once at her daughter, then shifts her attention back to Meira.
“Would you be open to negotiating terms to have all five of my daughters come see him once a week?”
Meira’s hold on my hands relaxes slightly. I watch her brain shift gears, the panic giving way to calculation.
“It’s one silver an hour.”
Betsy’s eyebrows rise. “That’s a lot of money.” Her tone stays measured, but I hear the pushback underneath. “And I’m offering you a constant source of income.”
Meira’s posture goes rigid, and her eyes narrow with sharp focus.
“Do you know how long it takes Vincent to find a new client?”
Betsy’s expression shifts to curiosity. “I do not.”
“My wife and I walk him outside in the morning. Like a pet. And within seconds, Vincent has pointed at a woman. Then we ask her if she wants to fuck him.” She pauses, letting the words sink in. “And we’ve yet to be turned down.”
“Since Vincent has come to this inn,” Meira continues, “he literally hasn’t even made it to the end of the street before finding clients. That’s how easy it is for him.”
Betsy leans back in her chair, her expression shifting to skepticism. “Five silver a week for sex is outrageous.”
Meira’s response comes without hesitation. “Then you don’t have to take the deal.” Her voice carries absolute certainty. “I’m not negotiating. I’m telling you his price.” She pauses, holding my hands firmly. “And he’s only taking on two clients on work days now.”
“Thank god,” I mutter under my breath, the memory of the harpy’s talons digging into my shoulders flashing through my mind.
Daisy leans toward her mother, cupping her hand around Betsy’s ear. She whispers frantically, the words too quiet for me to catch. Betsy’s expression shifts as she listens, her eyes flickering with consideration.
“Fine.”
Betsy reaches into the pouch at her belt. Her fingers withdraw a gold coin that catches the afternoon light as she sets it on the table between us with a solid clink.
“Two weeks' pay upfront.” Her voice carries finality. She turns to look at Daisy. “Daisy will discuss the details with you later.”
Betsy stands, pushing her chair back with a scrape against the cobblestones. Her boots click as she adjusts her hat, tipping it slightly toward me.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Vincent.”
She turns and walks away without waiting for a response, cutting through the afternoon crowd with long strides.
Daisy remains seated for a moment longer. Her eyes find mine, and that warm smile returns to her features.
“Bye, Vincent.”
“Bye, Daisy.”
She stands up and follows her mother.
Meira stares at the gold coin on the table.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. Her gaze fixes on the metal like it’s personally offended her, and her breath comes fast and shallow as she processes what just happened.
“What were we talking about?” I ask, trying to pull her attention back.
Her gaze lifts from the coin to my face. The distance that’s been sitting between us for over a week cracks, and I see vulnerability bleeding through the fractures.
“I’ve changed my mind, Vincent.” Her voice comes out quieter than usual, each word chosen with careful precision. “I don’t think pretending my feelings aren’t real is as much of an option as I thought it was.”
The words hit me with unexpected force, and I stare at her across the table.
“When you told me to bring that cow’s offer to Tisha...” Meira’s voice drops lower, her fingers still holding mine. “I felt so jealous I almost threw up.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, you’re being a lot more direct about this than I saw coming.”
“Shut up.” The words snap out of her, sharp and defensive, but her hands don’t release mine.
I can’t help myself. A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth despite the tension radiating off her.
“It must be embarrassing to fall for a human, huh?”
Her eyes flash with indignation. “You told me you loved me.” Each word comes out pointed, accusatory. “This is your fault.”
She squeezes my fingers hard. Her chin lifts with sudden determination, and when she speaks again, her voice carries that commanding edge I’ve come to recognize.
“Fuck it! You’re taking the day off. I’m punishing you!”
I blink at her, anxiety washing over me.
“Wait, what?”
She releases my hands and stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the cobblestones. The gold coin disappears into her pouch.
“You heard me.” Her eyes fix on mine with absolute authority. “No clients today. No work. You are going to spend the entire day servicing me.”
I lean back in my chair and let out an exaggerated sigh, fighting to keep the grin off my face.
“Oh no.” The words drip with sarcasm. “Please don’t make me do that.”
“This is a punishment, Vincent. Don’t act smug.”