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He kept his gaze on Aspen. Nobody bothered him, but nobody checked on him either. Oriel refused to tear his eyes from the fragile form even as someone started undoing his chain.
“Up, fancy boy,” a soldier snarled as he stepped over and blocked Oriel’s view.
So lost, he hadn’t even noticed the noises had changed beyond the docks. People were gathered to one side, and the crowd spilled into the city proper. King Taven stood on a wooden platform as he spoke.
What the fuck was going on? The soldiers manhandled Oriel to his feet, shackled his wrists behind his back, and marched him down the gangplank. His legs shook from the short walk, and he wondered if King Taven was his new Master now. Maybe he’d execute Oriel in front of everyone to send a message.
“...expected peace, but King Leneer and his traitorous family sought to stab me in the back and attack at dinner!” King Taven roared out in an impressive voice. “It was only because of the quick thinking and swords of my men that we survived, and we had no choice but to kill most of the court. The only one to survive is the traitor’s son, Oriel!”
Oriel almost gaped at the blatant lie. King Taven could have simply let his people believe that he’d gone to war for land, conquered West Bay, and leave it at that, but he was twisting everything around.
The people seemed to believe it. They hadn’t been there, so what would they know? They shouted and snarled as Oriel was taken past the King on his platform. Guards kept the crowd from getting too close to the King, and Oriel was thrown to the cobblestones in the cleared space. All around him, fairies threw insults and shook their fist at him, thinking he and his dead family were all backstabbers.
No one would care what happened to him if they thought his family was traitorous enough to invite a man to dinner and attempt to kill him.
“Scum!” shouted an old woman with rotted teeth.
“Traitor’s son!”
“Trash!”
Oriel wanted to scream that he wasn’t the son of a traitor. His family hadn’t been like King Taven. Shame made him shrink down on the cobblestones. A rotten tomato splattered on his legs a second later, and he ducked his head as more food and trash was hurled at him along with insults.
He could feel King Taven’s eyes on his back and knew the man was satisfied to have humiliated King Leneer’s only surviving son. Tears pricked Oriel’s eyes as everyone flung whatever they could get their hands on. A stinking fish slapped him in the face, and he finally broke down in sobs. Why would Elira let him live to lose his whole family, the one he loved, and be labeled as a traitor? Why did he have to survive only to suffer rape and humiliation?
A rock winged him in the head a second later, and he collapsed sideways as he felt something wet in his hair. All coherent thought left him as the roars of the crowd faded. Something was bright, and he wondered if Elira was finally going to release him so he could be with his family.
A shadow blocked out the bright thing, and it spoke, although the voice sounded far away. “He’s alive.”
“Get a healer. His head’s bleeding.”
Oriel didn’t remember being put in a cart, but he woke up in one with a healer touching his head to heal the gash on his temple. The thumping in his head receded, and as soon as she left, the tailboard was closed. He remained on his side as the cart started moving. Beyond the high sides, he heard people following so they could toss more insults, and soldiers snarled to get back. The racket finally lessened, but Oriel didn’t care anymore.
The King must have allowed slavery shortly before he left because Oriel hadn't heard a thing about it. When he was dragged out of the cart some time later, the wooden building he was brought into smelled fresh, and it was plain as if it had been built in haste so slaves could be held and bought. It didn’t need to be fancy.
He had to stand on a grate in the corner while more water was tossed on him to wash off the sweat and filth. The large room had a desk to one side, and a fairy with horns and spectacles was writing something.
“Full name?”
“It’s Oriel Keeper,” snapped a soldier leaning against the desk. Oriel eyed the door as he dripped, but another guard stood there too. He was still cuffed, and he wouldn't get far.
The fairy behind the desk widened her eyes as she glanced at Oriel shivering in the corner. “Oh. Did the others survive?”
“They’re dead.”
Once the fairy was done making a record, Oriel was brought back out front and to the side. Other fairies kneeled or crouched by a wooden railing on a patio with stone flooring and a wooden roof to keep the sun off of them. He was surprised they even got that.
A short chain was attached to Oriel’s collar and the railing. He only had about a foot of slack, and his wrists were undone. The fairy who brought him there had feathers sticking out of the side of his head, and he tilted his head as his cat-like eyes focused on Oriel.
“Behave. We have a post outback for troublemakers.”
“Your new Master will be by soon enough,” said of the soldiers who had accompanied them before they started to walk away. “Be a good boy.”
Oriel couldn’t do shit despite his hands being free, and he couldn’t fully stand since the chain was so short. He wanted to ask who would be buying him, but he figured bird fairy wouldn't answer any questions.
“Psst. What did you do?” asked the guy next to him. Oriel just stared at him. “You’re lucky you don’t have wings. Slaves get them cut off here.”
He nodded to someone farther down, and Oriel glanced over. A fairy had tiny stumps coming from his back.
