Midnight arrived at the royal palace like a blade sliding between ribs.
The grand ballroom had emptied slowly after the final dance, nobles drifting away in clouds of perfume and laughter, their carriages crunching through fresh snow. Gerffron had followed Gorgina through the glittering corridors without question, her hand resting possessively on the small of his back. She had said nothing about where they were going. He had not asked. The silver ring on his little finger felt heavier with every step, Count Remal's quiet promise burning against his skin like a brand.
The east wing was quieter than the rest of the palace. Fewer lanterns. Heavier tapestries muffling sound. The air grew thicker, warmer, scented with incense and something sharper — fear sweat and expensive wine. Servants in black livery moved silently along the walls, eyes downcast. Gorgina led him through a series of arched doorways until they reached a set of gilded double doors guarded by two men in the Crown Prince's personal colors.
Teivel was already waiting inside.
The room beyond was smaller than the ballroom but far more opulent — a private theater of cruelty. Tiered velvet seats curved around a raised circular stage draped in white silk. Crystal chandeliers burned low, casting golden pools across the marble. Perhaps forty nobles sat scattered in the shadows, faces half-hidden by masks or fans, murmuring in low, excited voices. A long table at the front held decanters of dark wine and small golden bidding paddles.
A masked agent stood at the centre of the stage in black velvet, diamonds flashing at his throat, smile sharp as a fox. When the Crown Prince saw Gorgina he spread his arms.
"My favourite guest," he purred. "And her charming shadow. Come, sit with me in the royal box. The opening lot is about to begin."
Gorgina's fingers tightened briefly on Gerffron's back — a warning, or perhaps a claim. She guided him to the raised box at the front, where two thrones of carved ebony waited. Gerffron sat on her left, spine straight, face perfectly composed. Inside, his heart hammered so loudly he was certain the entire room could hear it.
Teivel took the seat on Gorgina's right. His hand immediately settled on her thigh beneath the table, casual and possessive. She did not remove it.
The lights dimmed further. A single spotlight fell on the stage.
"Welcome," the masked agent announced, voice carrying like velvet over steel, "to the inaugural auction of the first ever private collection. Only the finest. Only the rarest. Bidding begins at one thousand gold crowns and climbs as high as desire allows."
A ripple of eager laughter swept the room.
The first lot was led out — a young woman with haunted eyes, dressed in sheer silver gauze. Bids rose quickly. Gerffron watched without seeing, every sense tuned to the heavy curtain at the back of the stage. He could feel the weight of Styrmir somewhere behind it. The boy he had fed through iron bars. The boy who had pressed pebbles into his palm and whispered that he wanted to stand beside him.
The second lot was a tall man with scars across his back, sold for three thousand crowns to a baroness who smiled like a wolf.
Gerffron's fingers dug into the arms of his chair. Gorgina's hand slid over his under the table, squeezing once — almost gentle. Teivel noticed and laughed softly.
"Your consort looks pale, Gorgina. Perhaps he is not ready for true power."
Gerffron forced his voice steady. "I am ready for whatever my wife requires, Your Highness."
Teivel's eyes glittered. "Good. Because the next lot is…special."
Suddenly there was a chaos, the guests looked around with curiosity. The Crown Prince sent his attendant to handle the situation. The auction was paused for a bit. A while later when the attendant returned, the auction resumed. The attendant informed that some suspicious people were found to be messing around but before they could be further investigated, they choked on poison and took their own life. The Crown Prince hummed, scratched his chin asked his attendant to search the bodies of those suspicious people further to get some clues.
"Only selected people were supposed to know about this." He murmured.
Nevertheless, the auction resumed again as the curtain parted.
Gerffron's breath caught.
A figure was led onto the stage — collared in delicate gold, dressed in flowing white silk that clung to a thin, malnourished frame. Storm-grey eyes stared straight ahead, empty and broken. Black hair had been brushed until it shone, rouge on pale cheeks. The boy moved with the stiff grace of someone whose body had been beaten into submission.
The room erupted in murmurs.
"Rare blood…"
"From the Wadee dungeons…"
"His Highness outdid himself…"
Gerffron's vision tunnelled. He knew that face. He knew those eyes. He had whispered promises through iron bars to that boy. He had touched those cold fingers and felt something alive spark between them.
Styrmir.
The name screamed inside his skull, but he did not move. He did not speak. His hollow, empty eyes seemed to glance at the front box where Gerffron sat and for a split second probably, both of their eyes met, yet neither spoke.
Styrmir sat perfectly still while the auctioneer began the bidding at five thousand crowns.
Gorgina's hand tightened on his beneath the table — a silent command. Stay seated.
Teivel leaned back in his throne, watching Gerffron with open amusement. "Impressive specimen, isn't he? My new favourite toy. The Duke here prepared him personally. Quite the whipping he received. Seemed to have screamed your name at the end, I hear."
Gerffron felt the words like lashes across his own back. "Did you know him, by any chance?"
"No, Your Highness. How will I know him?" Gerffron answered through gritted teeth.
Bids climbed rapidly. Seven thousand. Nine thousand. Twelve thousand. Nobles leaned forward, paddles flashing.
"I thought maybe the likes of Cliffs may know the likes of merchandise that I prepared." Teivel laughed at his own humour. Gorgina too, smiled.
Styrmir stood motionless on the stage, eyes fixed on nothing. He did not look toward the royal box anymore. He did not see Gerffron at all. The white silk trembled slightly against his bandaged back.
Gerffron's free hand curled into a fist beneath the table until his nails drew blood from his palm.
The bidding reached eighteen thousand crowns.
Teivel laughed again. "Going once… going twice…"
A final paddle flashed from the back row. Twenty thousand crowns.
"Sold!" the auctioneer called. "To Guest 59."
Styrmir was led away behind the curtain without a sound.
Gerffron did not move.
He did not scream.
He did not leap from his seat and tear the palace apart with his bare hands.
He simply sat there, smiling the small, perfect consort smile while the next lot was brought out — a girl with silver hair and terrified eyes.
Inside his chest, something ancient and Indian and unbreakable hardened into diamond.
Gorgina's thumb traced slow circles on the back of his hand, almost soothing.
Teivel raised his glass in a mocking toast across the box. "To new beginnings."
Gerffron lifted his own glass and drank.
The wine tasted like blood and roses and the promise of fire.
The auction continued for another hour. Gerffron watched every lot, every bid, every broken soul paraded across the stage. He memorized faces. He memorized names. He memorized the way Teivel's hand never left Gorgina's thigh and the way she never removed it.
When the final lot was sold and the lights rose, Gorgina stood.
"Time to go home, husband."
Gerffron rose with her. His legs were steady. His smile never wavered.
As they walked back through the silent corridors, snow falling thicker outside the tall windows, Gorgina spoke for the first time since the auction began.
"You were perfect tonight," she murmured. "Not a single crack."
Gerffron looked at her — the woman who had whipped the boy he had tried to save, the woman who had sold him like livestock, the woman whose golden-amber eyes still made his chest tighten with something he refused to name.
He smiled again — small, sharp, and utterly without mercy.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
They reached the carriage. Snowflakes caught in Gorgina's burgundy hair like tiny stars.
Inside the moving carriage, she pulled him close beneath the shared cape. Her hand slid higher on his thigh. Her breath was warm against his neck.
"Stay with me tonight," she whispered.
Gerffron turned his head and met her eyes in the darkness.
"Whatever my wife requires," he said softly.
The carriage rolled through the frozen night toward the Wadee villa.
Behind them, in the east wing of the palace, the boy in white silk and a gold collar had just been sold for twenty thousand crowns.
Gerffron closed his eyes and felt the silver ring on his little finger burn like a vow.
The auction was over.
And so was his hope to save.