The wagon continued toward the City of Tarnova in Dracor, a neighbouring kingdom north of Ardel.
From the men's casual chatter, Anna learned that she had been captured on an abandoned road near the border between the two kingdoms.
They were slave traders who frequented hidden or deserted routes for their illegal dealings. Although Ardel had abolished slavery long ago, its neighbour, Dracor, still permitted it.
Slave trading thrived openly in the kingdom, and Tarnova housed the largest slave market in the region. They were used not only as labourers on plantations but also forced into prostitution.
As such, young women were traded at far higher prices.
The journey to Tarnova usually took two weeks by wagon from Ardel's border, through Dracor, given the terrain, bodies of water, and available paths.
To arrive before the midsummer auction, the traders chose a faster route—crossing first into Dracor, then slipping into another kingdom, before looping back through a different border of Dracor and approaching Tarnova via a covert interkingdom passage.
That intermediary kingdom was Cassian, a land bordering both Dracor and Galicia, but not Ardel.
Once inside Cassian, they would have to travel nearly sixty miles before re-entering Dracor's borderline again.
Anna, now reduced to valuable merchandise, could glimpse daylight only through the small barred window of the prison wagon.
The abrasions and lacerations on her wrists stopped worsening after her shackles were removed. The traders had done so deliberately—goods with fewer flaws fetched better prices.
Still, her hands would take time to heal, and the scars would remain.
Days passed...
They had crossed Cassian and were nearing Dracor once more. By the next day, they would reach Tarnova.
"Let's stop at a tavern," Jake decided. "She needs to wash up, too."
To prepare for the auction, the slave traders wanted their merchandise to be presentable.
"Yeah… my back's killing me," Bill groaned. "I need a proper bed and a good drink."
"Who's on watch tonight?" Dean asked.
"It better be Brian," Jake replied, glancing at Bill before fixing Brian with a sharp look. "Your brother's done nothing much the whole journey."
"Fine. I'll do it," Brian said lazily.
Their journey took a layover at a tavern in a remote village. Three of the men took rooms inside, leaving Brian to guard the wagon.
Anna shrank back when he peered inside. Something about his gaze unsettled her more than the others.
"Bring the girl in and tell her to wash up!" Dean called from the tavern doorway.
Brian yanked open the wagon. Anna was hauled out, her hands tied again, and dragged towards the bathing room. Her bare feet stumbled against the floor.
"Hurry up," Brian barked as he untied the rope.
"Please… let me wash myself," the princess pleaded.
"Don't do anything st*pid," he snarled. "If you don't hurry, I'll do it!"
She recoiled, shoulders hunched.
Brian turned away with a grunt, arms crossed. He would have done otherwise, had it not been for his brother's warning.
Anna washed quickly, her hands trembling as she caught Brian peeking more than once.
Once finished, she changed into clean clothes as fast as she could. When she turned back, he was staring again.
"I'm done," she said quietly.
His gaze lingered—slow, deliberate.
"You clean up well," he said with a crooked smile. "You'll sell for a fortune."
Anna clenched her jaw, holding back tears.
Her strength was nearly gone. Hunger and exhaustion had hollowed her out; resistance was no longer an option.
"Move," Brian ordered.
Instead of returning her to the prison wagon, he led her to a bonfire outside after tying her again.
"Eat."
He tossed her a piece of bread.
Anna snatched it up and devoured it. The bread was stale, but it was the first food she'd had in days, so she couldn't refuse.
The man then handed her water. She hesitated, but took it when the bread lodged in her throat, and drank.
When she looked up, he was still watching her.
Silence stretched between them.
"I can loosen the knot for a bit," he said finally.
She hesitated. "Really?"
"Just stay put."
He struck his knife against the ground, a sharp warning that the threat would turn physical if she dared try anything.
She froze, allowing him to loosen the rope without resistance or attempt at escape.
He was dangerous, and she was exhausted—too drained to gamble on defiance, and too aware that a single misstep could cost her far more than her freedom.
Anna rubbed her wrists, feeling relief at being freed from her limbs.
"Where are you from?" Brian asked.
"Ardel."
"Which city?"
"Constance."
"How'd you end up captured?"
She fell silent. It was strange for him to ask such questions, as though he cared to know her.
What was the point of feigned friendliness when he intended to sell her off in the end?
"I saw your shackles earlier," he continued, unbothered by her troubled expression. "Those are for war prisoners."
Brian added wood to the fire. Flames surged upward, heat rolling over her face.
Anna stared into the fire, memories crashing over her—blood, smoke, screams. She wished it were a nightmare she could wake from.
But each passing day confirmed the truth that it all happened.
"You smell good now," he murmured.
She turned and saw him crouched beside her, causing her to flinch. Her mind must have been so clouded that she didn't notice he had approached.
Dizziness hit her suddenly, and heat spread through her limbs.
"You—"
Her head was pounding. Something felt wrong, undeniably wrong.
"My brother said not to touch you," Brian said quietly, grinning. "But I couldn't resist."
He grabbed her waist.
"No! stop—"
"Shut up!" he snarled through gritted teeth.
Irritation filled his features as she hadn't yet reacted the way he wanted. His patience snapped.
"Why's the potion taking so long? F*ck it!"
Knowing the deal couldn't be done there, he seized her roughly and dragged her toward the forest. The trees and the night wind quickly swallowed her screams and frantic struggles.
Brian had always taken what he wanted. The sight of her earlier—clean, fragile, and defenceless—had lodged itself in his mind like a spark he couldn't smother.
The thought followed him now, twisted and obsessive, feeding a sense of entitlement that made his grip tighten when she resisted.
Tonight, under the cold moonlight, he meant to claim her—by force if he had to. A slight resistance might still add to the thrill.