The Crimson-Eyed Boy
“Ugh…”
Elona’s face crumpled as she bit down hard on her lower lip. Though her head was hooded, the summer sun blazed mercilessly overhead. Sweat beaded along her temples and spine as she stood beneath a modest awning, tense and overheated. This was her first time at the Slave Market, and rather than risk wandering aimlessly, she decided it was safer—wiser—to stay put and wait for her brother.
“Hey there, child—what are you doing here?”
A shopkeeper emerged from beneath the shaded awning of his stall—a common vendor of restraints and collars. Elona flinched when she caught sight of the heavy iron chains coiled in his hands.
“I—I’m just… too hot. I’ll only rest here for a moment.”
“Oh? Then why not come inside?”
The man smiled kindly and gestured toward the doorway—but when Elona glanced past him into the dim interior, her breath hitched. Her mouth fell open, slack with shock.
Two Ashatran slaves—unsold since dawn—huddled together in a cramped, filthy pen. Their dark skin seemed to melt into the gloom, their bodies twisted unnaturally close, like figures carved from shadow itself.
Slaves left over from the morning auctions would soon be dragged down into the underground markets. When their glossy, desperate eyes met hers, Elona jerked backward, stumbling a step.
“I’m fine—I don’t need—”
“Well, look at you sweating! How old are you? Where are you from?”
The shopkeeper took a step closer—just as a voice cut through the humid air like a whip.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing over there?!”
From somewhere deep in the crowd, Antonio’s sharp, furious voice rang out. Without glancing back, Elona bolted toward him, heart hammering.
“Brother—ah!”
She’d barely reached him—reaching out, relieved—when fire exploded across her cheek. Right there, in full view of dozens of onlookers, Antonio had slapped her. Tears welled instantly in her sapphire eyes, and he muttered under his breath, disgusted.
“Can’t even follow properly? You made me late for entry! And this is the *front row*—do you have any idea how much trouble it is to shove past everyone already seated?”
“I’m sorry.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, choked with quiet sobs as she clutched the sleeve of his tunic. He grumbled something unintelligible and pulled her forward, dragging her into the secret auction hall.
The massive crimson canopy at the center of the Slave Market was reserved exclusively for nobles of count rank and above—the elite auction chamber. Here, goods too rare, too exquisite, or too dangerous for the open-air afternoon auctions were traded in hushed, gilded silence.
Scary.
Elona kept her gaze low, darting furtively around as she hurried after Antonio. Attendance was unrestricted—guests could bring whomever they pleased. Several nobles had brought their own slaves along, treating them like accessories: lapdogs draped across velvet cushions, silent ornaments beside gilded chairs.
Her eyes locked onto a little girl perched on a nobleman’s knee. She couldn’t have been more than ten—her face painted with garish rouge and kohl, her expression utterly vacant. When the nobleman broke off a piece of castella and held it to her lips, she opened her mouth obediently, swallowing like a fledgling bird. Inside, not a single tooth remained.
Elona turned away, stomach churning.
“Brother… I suddenly feel unwell. I’ll wait outside.”
“Shut up. If I lose you again, I won’t be allowed to leave the palace for weeks.”
Antonio had already forgotten he’d lost her moments before—and now seized her wrist, hauling her deeper into the hall. With no choice, she followed him to the highest tier—the central table directly facing the auction stage.
I don’t want to be here.
But she couldn’t say it—not aloud. Not to him. She knew what would follow: another slap, another sneer, another reminder that her opinions were worthless. That her discomfort meant nothing.
It’s terrifying. It’s vile. They’re people—just like us. And yet they’re bought and sold like livestock.
She shuddered, remembering the hollow-eyed girl. No will. No hope. Just an empty vessel waiting to be filled—or broken.
Will she live like that forever? Like someone already dead?
Before she could gather herself, the auctioneer stepped onto the dais and raised his arms.
“Ladies and gentlemen—honored guests—we welcome you once more to our most exclusive chamber! Today brings a truly extraordinary offering—one that will test even the strongest resolve. Especially among our esteemed ladies. We anticipate a record-breaking sale!”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the women in attendance. Today’s top lot was male.
Antonio groaned audibly.
“Damn it. If I’d known it’d be a boy, I wouldn’t have wasted gold on this seat!”
That sum could’ve bought a dozen courtesans—or upgraded every pair of gloves in his wardrobe. Elona pressed her palms flat against her ears, trying to mute his bitter muttering.
A moment later, the ceiling drapery above the stage parted slightly—and sunlight poured in like liquid gold. In the warm, blood-tinged gloom of the tent, only the stage glowed white-hot. The auction began.
“Our first lot today is none other than a country lass—freshly acquired from eastern Ashatra! Seventeen years old—and, happily, still untouched! Any further inquiries? Starting bid is…”
Most premium lots were young, beautiful women—stripped of dignity, dressed in little more than gauze and glitter. Elona stared at the floor, refusing to meet the girl’s naked, trembling gaze. It felt like complicity.
“Hey—Elona. Lift your head. Look closely.”
Antonio nudged her arm sharply with his knuckles. She startled, glancing up—and found his emerald eyes narrowed, cold and mocking.
“You’d do well to study her technique. Don’t think being a princess means you’ll be coddled forever. A woman earns respect in bed—not in ballrooms. Just like your mother did.”
By then, another woman had taken the stage—a sultry, practiced performer who arched her back and parted her thighs with theatrical flair. Nobles scrambled to raise their paddles, bidding wildly.
“Mother… she was simply loved.”
Elona spoke softly, evenly. Antonio snorted.
“She died just a few years after birthing you—what do you possibly know? She was little better than a whore. Slept with half the servants, they say. I’m telling you this myself—because I’m your brother. So you don’t get blindsided later.”
Elona said nothing—just rolled her eyes inwardly and closed her mouth. Antonio had loathed her mother—the second queen—with venomous intensity. Ten years after her death, he still spat her name like poison.
At first, Elona had argued. Now, she didn’t even bother. Whatever she said, he’d twist it—or ignore it—and go right back to tearing her memory apart.
“Ah—time to pick one. Stock’s running thin.”
Antonio drained his goblet and leaned forward, restless. After an hour of bidding, the final lot—the day’s crown jewel—would appear. It was nearly time.
“Twenty!”
He called out—200,000 gold. Far beyond the opening bid of 50,000. Gasps erupted. Murmurs of admiration rose: *Truly, the master of the front row knows his worth.* He grinned, smug and satisfied, accepting the winning ticket with a flourish.
He’s lost his mind.
Elona knew little about royal budgets—but even she could calculate the staggering scale of that number. That sum could pay the wages of every palace servant for four full months.
In the end, competition drove the price to 300,000 gold. Antonio accepted the certificate with a slow, self-satisfied nod—and Elona dared to hope the ordeal was over. She imagined stepping back into the open air, breathing freely again.
Then the auctioneer cleared his throat, flashing a sly, knowing smile.
“And now… the final lot of the day.”
His gaze swept the room—and golden curtains were drawn aside to reveal a large, ornate chest, wrapped entirely in shimmering gold cloth.
This was what the women had been waiting for.
“Presenting today’s grand prize—captured personally at the borderlands… a crimson-eyed Ashatran boy!”
The tent erupted. Whispers swelled into excited chatter. Even Antonio blinked, stunned.
“Crimson-eyed? There’s such a thing?”
Ashatrani eye colors varied widely—olive, amber, deep brown—but true red was rarer than starlight in daylight. Across the entire continent, fewer than a dozen were ever recorded.
Elona, ignorant of its significance, looked around, bewildered. Noblewomen flushed pink, their pupils dilated, their fingers gripping armrests tight. Their excitement was palpable—almost feverish.
“Red eyes… I’ve struck gold today.”
“How high can we go? Do they accept promissory notes?”
“How old is he? Eighteen? Perfect age—firm enough to handle, soft enough to break.”
“They say one night with a man from that region… leaves a woman changed forever.”
Just listening made Elona’s cheeks burn. As noblewomen jostled for better seats—pulling chairs forward, shifting positions—the hall buzzed with barely contained heat.
Then—the gold cloth fell.
Silence crashed over the tent like a wave.
Even Elona—indifferent to the whole spectacle—stared, her blue eyes wide and unblinking.
Inside a square black iron cage, motionless as sculpture, stood a boy.
His skin gleamed under the sun’s fierce glare—healthy, burnished bronze. His jawline was sharp, partially veiled by tousled black hair that drank the light instead of reflecting it. His limbs were lean, wiry—still boyish, not yet filled with the weight of manhood. But his frame promised strength, power, grace.
Under the blinding spotlight, he slowly lifted his eyelids.
His eyes—ruby-red, luminous, alive—blinked once. Twice. Then, deliberately, he scanned the room.
Not resignation. Not despair. Not submission.
Burning defiance.
His crimson gaze burned through the shadows of his hair like twin embers—fierce, untamable, dangerous. A suffocating tension filled the air, thick and electric. Elona forgot to breathe. She couldn’t look away.
It felt like staring at something sacred—and forbidden.
“Behold! This flawless skin! These divine, ruby eyes! You stand before the desert’s most blessed treasure! Though only fifteen, his bones promise a magnificent build—strong, supple, and utterly unforgettable!”