The collar won’t let me speak.
We’ve been walking for maybe ten minutes through winding streets that all look the same, and the whole time I’ve been testing it. Trying to push words past whatever magic is sitting around my throat. Nothing comes out except air and the occasional frustrated grunt.
Tisha still has my wrist, leading me through the crowd like I might bolt if she lets go. Which is stupid because where the hell would I run to? I don’t know this city, don’t have money, and I’m wearing a collar that apparently makes me someone’s property now.
Also, I don’t even know this fucking world…
The inn appears at the end of a narrow side street. It’s cleaner than I expected, three stories of whitewashed stone with actual glass in the windows. A painted sign above the door shows a mug and a bed.
Tisha pushes through the entrance and I follow.
The common room is packed. Tables full of people eating and drinking, the smell of roasted meat and something spiced filling the air. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since this morning. Conversations overlap into white noise punctuated by laughter and the clink of mugs.
A few of the patrons make eyes at me.
We cross the room and head for a staircase in the back corner. My legs are tired, my ass still hurts from two weeks in that cart, and the lice are making my scalp itch like crazy. The stairs creak under our weight as we climb.
We make it to the second floor. Tisha leads me down a hallway, counting doors until she stops in front of one near the end.
She looks at me then, and her expression tightens.
“Listen.” Her voice drops low. “My wife’s gonna be pissed, so just... don’t do anything dumb, okay?”
Before I can even attempt to respond, Tisha knocks.
There’s a pause. Movement on the other side of the door, footsteps, and then it opens.
The woman standing there is tall. Taller than Tisha even. A Dark elf, I realize immediately. Her skin is deep obsidian, and it makes her pale silver eyes even more striking. Her hair falls past her waist in a straight curtain, the same silver-white as her eyes, and she moves with this deliberate grace that makes me think of dancers or predators.
She’s beautiful in a way that’s almost unsettling.
Her face lights up when she sees Tisha. The smile is warm and genuine.
“Tisha?” Her voice is soft, melodic. “You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.”
Then her eyes land on me.
The smile doesn’t fade exactly, but confusion flickers across her features. Her gaze travels from my face down to the collar around my throat, then back up. One elegant eyebrow arches.
“Did you find a lost slave?”
Tisha scratches the back of her head, and I watch her try to find words. “Listen, Meira... so, I know I was supposed to drop off the down payment today, but…”
Meira’s eyes narrow to slits. “What did you do?”
The temperature in the hallway drops about ten degrees. Her voice is still quiet, still measured, but there’s steel underneath it now. The kind of anger that doesn’t need volume to make itself known.
A door opens further down the hall. Some woman with cat ears steps outside.
Meira’s gaze flicks to the movement, then back to us. In one fluid motion she reaches out, grabs both Tisha’s shirt and my wrist, and pulls us into the room. The door shuts behind us with a decisive click.
The room is small but clean. A bed against one wall, a table with two chairs, a wardrobe. There’s a pack in the corner that looks like it’s seen some serious travel.
Meira releases us and turns to face Tisha fully. Her arms cross over her chest, and she waits.
Tisha shifts her weight. “I bought him.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Gods help me, Tisha.” Meira’s voice stays perfectly level. “If you took out a loan to buy a stud, I will cut your clit off.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
Tisha’s hands come up defensively, palms out. “That’s the crazy part! I didn’t. He was only three gold.”
Meira goes completely still. “What?”
“Three gold. That’s it.” Tisha’s words come faster now, like she’s trying to get ahead of whatever’s coming. “It was a steal, Meira. You should have seen the bidding. They just brought him out and no one could afford anything higher.”
“Three gold.” Meira’s eyes find me, and I feel pinned under that silver gaze. She studies me slowly. “For a human stud.”
“I know it sounds…”
“That’s impossibly low.” Meira’s attention moves back to Tisha. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing! I’m pretty sure he’s healthy, he seems young, he’s…”
“Stolen?”
“No! I got the binding papers and everything.” Tisha pats her belt pouch. “It’s all legitimate.”
Meira is quiet for a long moment. Her expression gives away absolutely nothing.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
I open my mouth to answer and nothing comes out. Just air. The collar hums against my throat, a reminder that I apparently can’t speak unless Tisha allows it.
Tisha winces. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” She looks at me. “You can talk now.”
The collar vibrates once, and suddenly the pressure releases.
I let out a sigh, relief flooding through me at being able to speak again. “Vincent.”
“What’s wrong with you, Vincent? Why were you so cheap?”
“I have no idea. The people that sold me were looking to get out of the city as soon as possible. They were afraid of someone named Kanna.”
“Kanna?” Meira’s eyebrows draw together.
Tisha’s expression shifts, like she’s reaching for something in her memory. “Oh, there’s an Orc named Kanna that runs out of here. She does private contracts. We’ve seen her in the dungeon a few times.”
“The tall green woman,” Meira says slowly.
“Yeah.”
Meira’s head tilts slightly. “She’s literally like one of the nicest people we’ve ever seen in a dungeon.”
“Yeah, she’s always been kind to us...” Tisha trails off, her brow furrowing.
“Maybe it’s a different Kanna?” I offer.
Tisha shrugs. “It’s possible.”
Meira’s hands come up and she presses her face into her palms. “Wait.” Her voice is muffled. “So this means you didn’t make the down payment on the house.”
She finally comes full circle.
“I... no.” Tisha’s voice gets smaller. “But Meira, listen, this was an investment. We can sell him later for way more than three gold, or we can keep him and…”
“We were supposed to pay it today.” Meira’s hands drop from her face. “The landlord is holding that property for us until the end of the day. ”
“I know, but…”
“We’ve been saving for months.”
“I know.” Tisha’s shoulders hunch. “I fucked up. I just... I saw him and the price was so low and I thought...”
“I understand. I get it. He’d be easy to flip. Just give him a shave and a fresh set of clothes. Heal whatever’s going on with him and boom, we’d get over double our money back.”
She pauses, and I watch her composure crack.
“But that house was perfect, Tisha.” Her voice drops lower. “It was everything we wanted.”
The way she says it the second time hits different. There’s genuine grief there, like she’s mourning something that was already real to her.
Tisha steps forward quickly, reaching for Meira’s hands. She catches them between her own, holding tight. “There are millions of perfect houses out there, Meira.”
Meira’s eyes close. A groan escapes her throat, frustrated and tired. “I know that. But I already pictured starting our new life in that one.”
I stand there awkwardly nervously wondering if lice can spread through osmosis.
Meira takes a long, deliberate breath. When she opens her eyes again, that composed mask is back in place. Her shoulders straighten, and she pulls her hands free from Tisha’s grip with a careful gentleness.
“Alright then.” Meira’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and decisive. “We’ll flip him.”
“Well... hold on...” Tisha shifts her weight, and I can see something working behind her eyes. “What if we just, you know... sell his companionship instead? He’d be a constant source of income for us. That kind of thing is incredibly common for stud owners, isn’t it?”
There it is.
Meira goes still. Her silver eyes fix on Tisha with an intensity that makes me want to take a step back. “Oh. Is that what you were thinking?”
“Yeah.” Tisha’s words come faster now, gaining momentum. “And with your healing magic, it’s not like it’ll matter if he picks anything up along the way.”
The casual way she says it makes my skin crawl.
Meira’s expression shifts. Something calculating slides across her features. “I wonder if we could finally stop going into the dungeon.”
“I don’t know...” Tisha trails off, then her grin widens. “Plus we’d have our own personal stud.”
Meira looks at me again. This time her gaze travels down slowly, deliberately, and stops at my pants.
“That could spice things up for us in a new way,” she says quietly.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Tisha’s voice brightens with enthusiasm.
“Do I get a say in this?” I add in.
Both of them turn to look at me.
“We’re not bad people, Vincent. But you’re a stud.” She pauses. “Haven’t you already been breeding stock for years?”
The question hits me like a punch to the gut.
I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Because what the fuck am I supposed to say to that? That Silvy spent two weeks using me in the back of a cart? That Amalina treated me like a sex toy for three years before she got bored and left? That apparently my entire existence in this new world is going to be defined by what’s between my legs?
The silence stretches.
“Let’s not push him,” Tisha says, and there’s something almost kind in her tone. “He’s probably scared.”
“I just don’t want to be a slave.”
Meira’s head tilts slightly. “It’s safer for you as a slave in this country than if you weren’t.”
“How about this.” Tisha’s voice takes on a compromising tone. “As a show of good faith, you can pick your clients.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your clients. The women you... you know.” She waves her hand vaguely. “Sleep with. You get to choose.”
Something sparks in my chest. Not hope, exactly, but interest. “So I won’t have to fuck women I’m not attracted to?”
Meira gives me a concerned look. “Well, how picky are you?”
I think about the auction house. The crowd of women staring at me from the chairs. The variety of faces and bodies and features, all different, most of them striking in their own ways.
“I haven’t seen many ugly women in this city yet.”
Tisha’s face lights up. “We can work with that!”
Meira