My hands ball up into huge, heavy fists – but my face is impassive as I listen to the man’s feigned outrage.
“I paid her up front for three months of service,” the man blusters, “and she wants to leave without paying me back.”
The crowd is whispering behind our backs. I realize this could get ugly. Employment contracts on this world are set in stone. The bruise on her face gives me no choice. She may not be a human under the protection of the Aurelian Empire, but I can’t let her be abused.
A contract is one thing; but even breaking a deal doesn’t give this thug the right to mark the woman’s perfect face with his cruel fists.
But still… This is a tricky situation. Abuse isn’t permitted on Deemak – you can’t beat your servants, just as you can’t own slaves – but unless this thug hit her in public, which the crowd would have stopped, there’s no way to prove he gave her that black eye.
Also, while I’ve never seen this tall man before, he’s obviously wealthy enough. His accent and clothes place him as an off-planet merchant; probably here for a short stint selling his wares, hence the three-month contract with this maid.
My brain processes the situation. I’m a warrior at heart – born for blood and battle – but in the academy which trained me for my hundred years of service, we learned that there are other ways to earn victory than with fists or Orb-Blades.
Aurelian culture regards humanity as childlike and weak, but there have been a few exceptions. At the academy, we even study the words of one legendary human general – Sun Tzu. His words of wisdom include this guidance:
To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence. Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.
I instantly know how to break this merchant’s resistance; and also allow him to retreat while saving face.
I’ve never met a merchant who isn’t greedy – so I reach into the pocket of my flowing toga and remove a small bag of the local coinage. I fling it to him, my expression disdainful.
“That will cover at least six months of a maid’s salary. Take it – we’ll take over the remainder of her contract in exchange.”
“Clever,” telepaths Cyrus, with grudging approval. “But that man deserves a beating, not a bounty.”
“It’s not a bounty,” I respond. “I’m buying the privilege of not killing a man on such a fine day.”
The merchant is oblivious to our wordless communication. To his mind, a dangerous situation has just turned into an unexpectedly profitable one. The gleam of greed appears in his dark, brown eyes as he stares at the bag of coins.
I know that look well, because I’ve seen it in myself. When I see something I want, I can’t sleep until I’ve claimed it...
…or her.
Speaking of which…
I look up at the frightened maid. I don’t know her name, but something draws me to her. It’s not her haunting beauty, or the curves of her body – visible even in that drab maid’s uniform.
No – it’s that spark of defiance in her eyes. She has pride, and despite being ‘just’ a servant, I can tell she’s a fighter.
The merchant hefts the currency in his hand. I can tell he’s a pro, because he knows the value of the coins inside the bag by their weight alone.
Satisfied, the man roughly pushes the woman towards us.
“Take her, then,” he snorts. “She’s your problem now.”
The man turns and walks away. I snort bitterly. He had no idea how close he came to holding his own bloody guts in his hands, rather than that bag of coins.
Yet a moment later, I’ve forgotten about him. Instead, I look down at the woman he shoved in front of me. She’s barely a few feet away – and as I breathe in deeply, her scent fills my nostrils.
Gods…
The smell of her… It’s so light – barely a whiff – and yet despite the pungent scent of food and spices surrounding us from the market stalls, the merest taste of her dominates my senses.
She smells so…
…right.
So pure.
She’s a virgin.
I can taste her innocence, and the overwhelming urge to claim her and make her mine boils up inside of me.
3
Mia
I look up at my “savior” – that massive, powerful Aurelian.
Gods, I hope that he and his two looming friends can’t smell my emotions, as the rumors claim they can, because I’m almost shaking.
That’s good. I would be shaking, if this situation was real.
I stammer: “Thank… Thank you.” I’m suddenly very aware of the crowd gathered around us. I need to get out of this marketplace before people start to loudly ask who the “merchant” I’d been fighting with was – since nobody else recognized him as a customer or client.
I have a story ready in case the Aurelians ever get suspicious that none of the stall owners or farmers knew the merchant – really Darr, in disguise – but I’d prefer not to rely on it. The best way to lie is to never arouse suspicion in the first place.
The towering Aurelian looks down at me with those cold, impassive, slate-grey eyes of his.
“What’s your name?”
“Mia,” I reply, gazing up at him. “Please, I feel like everyone is staring at me.”
I look at the Aurelian’s impassive face. “Mia,” he says slowly. He barely moves, but I can sense he’s testing my name on his tongue – seeing how it fits.
I hadn’t lied about my name, because there’s no reason to. In fact, it’s smarter not to. Even a moment’s hesitation – when you forget the name you invented for yourself – could arouse suspicion.
Gallus then cocks his head, studying me further.
And, yes – I know his name, even though he hasn’t introduced himself yet. I already know his name, and those of his two battle-brothers. I know all their names, because I’ve studied the three Aurelians for
