Maurice's POV — Continued
"An experiment."
Gaston did not whisper it. He did not dramatize it. He simply said it. The word didn't echo. It didn't thunder. It simply settled in the air between us and that made it worse.
For a moment, the room tilted. The air thickened. I stared at Gaston as if he had just pronounced my death sentence.
My blood ran cold so fast it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice down my spine.
My face must have gone pale because Gaston's expression shifted slightly — not apologetic but assessing.
Human experimentation was not merely illegal. It was eradicated.
Those found guilty weren't imprisoned. They weren't fined. They were erased. Family names wiped from registries. Estates confiscated. Entire bloodlines "corrected."
And anyone associated — buyer, servant, neighbor — was investigated. Worst case, entire cities were purged, just to be "safe."
"Why…" My voice came out smaller than I intended. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Why would you even think that?"
"Because I found something in her blood that I cannot identify."
That was worse. Unidentified meant uncontrolled. Uncontrolled meant dangerous. I swallowed hard. "What did you find?"
Gaston held my gaze. Calm. Too calm. "I don't know."
For a moment, my mind failed to comprehend what he was saying. "You… don't know?"
"I cannot classify it," he clarified. "It does not align with known racial markers, nor does it seem to be from tampering."
My heart began racing. Too fast. My chest tightened painfully. That should have comforted me.
But it did not.
The room felt smaller. My thoughts began racing ahead of reason.
I pictured it clearly, the king's guards bursting into my shop throwing the whole place into chaos, ransacking the place like bandits looking for treasure. My merchandise would be seized out from under me and my staff interrogated. I could see men dragging Carl away in chains, tears streaming down his face as he desperately called out my name. When done, they would board the place up and burn it to the ground.
My home would not be spared; I'd be forced to watch, unable to stop them. I could see it, a crowd gathered, their stares burning my skin as I listened to their whispers of judgment mixed with ridicule, their fingers pointing at me poking holes through my very soul.
In the end my fortune was seized, my properties were burned, and my name was forever tarnished as I was led to the gallows.
This is it, isn't it? Is this how my life ends? Over a single transaction? My eyes glazed over as my breathing turned shallow.
"Maurice," Gaston said sharply.
I didn't hear him, too busy being trapped in my own nightmare. I tried to breathe, but the air wouldn't cooperate. My chest rose too fast. My fingers tingled. I hadn't realized I was hyperventilating until he forced my focus back to him.
Gaston stepped closer and gripped my shoulder firmly. "Breathe. Slowly."
I tried.
"Deep breath. In. Good. Now out."
I couldn't believe it.
Hyperventilating.
In my own shop.
Over a girl who was lying in a cage like a discarded broken doll.
I followed him, humiliatingly grateful for the instruction. After several seconds, the dizziness eased.
"Listen carefully," Gaston said. His tone was steady, controlled. "Her being an experiment is not a fact. It is a possibility. A worst-case interpretation."
I closed my eyes briefly.
Though I listened carefully, I didn't believe my ears "What did you say? Say that again."
"It is not a fact; there is no proof."
I exhaled.
"For all we know," he continued, "it could be a blood irregularity. A mutation. A dormant trait that has no criminal origin."
I looked at him bitterly. "You need to work on your delivery; you nearly gave me a heart attack."
He smirked faintly. "I noticed."
We stepped out of the cage room and back toward my office. I did not want to stand near her any longer. The shadows felt heavier back there.
Once seated again, I took a long drink of water. "Be honest," I said at last. "If she were something illegal… how bad is this for me?"
Gaston leaned back comfortably, as if discussing market prices instead of potential execution. "For you?" he asked mildly. "Not as bad as you imagine."
I frowned.
"You are a businessman," he continued. "You buy and sell inventory. That is your profession. You purchased a girl you believed to be a missing noble. You then spent two weeks conducting an extensive search to return her."
He gestured vaguely.
"That search leaves a paper trail. Witnesses. Contacts. Records. You were actively trying to identify her origin."
"I fail to see how that helps me," I muttered.
"It proves ignorance," Gaston said plainly.
The words landed.
"The longer your search trail, the stronger your defense. You didn't conceal her. You investigated her." Gaston added. He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. "Your wasted effort is your salvation."
Slowly, understanding replaced panic. If anyone questioned it, I could produce artists' sketches. Guild correspondences. Letters. Meetings. I had made inquiries across the continent.
"You are not hiding her," Gaston finished. "You are trying to profit from her. There is a difference."
Yes, I had been loud about it. If anything, I'd been overeager. That sounded far better. "…and you're certain she isn't a mixed blood?"
"Very."
I felt irritation begin replacing fear. So, she wasn't noble. She wasn't mixed. She was simply… unknown. Which meant one thing. "Quellan," I muttered. "He… exaggerated."
Gaston raised an eyebrow, "Most likely." he agreed.
I replayed the conversation in my mind. The princess imagery. The poetic nonsense. He'd been selling atmosphere. Not facts.
My jaw tightened. I had been tricked. Relief mingled with annoyance. Better tricked than executed. "The plan remains," I said finally. "She is sold tomorrow."
"That would be wise." Gaston said as he stood, "Now that you're feeling better, let's go eat dinner, your treat, of course." With a proud smile on his face and a glint in his eye, Gaston turned and started making his way out of the building.
"Why is it always my treat?" I asked while following him.
"Because" he replied smugly, "you required my professional reassurance."
"WOW, you are the worst friend ever, you know that?"
"Who said that I was your friend?"
As we locked up and stepped into the night air, I felt steadier. Tomorrow, she would be someone else's problem, and this unpleasant episode would fade.
That was the plan.
************************************
Girl's POV
It has officially been two weeks since I was brought here.
Two weeks of stale air, dim candles, and cages lined like decorative misery along both walls. People came to inspect them like vegetables at a market and bought them if they found them good enough.
I expected worse, honestly.
The first night, when they distributed food, I braced myself for moldy bread and humiliation.
Instead, we received dried meat. Plain, tasteless dried meat. But protein is protein. I'll give them points for effort.
The room itself resembled a long corridor — cages on both sides, no windows, just candles nailed into stone brackets. Enough light to see despair. Not enough to see hope.
Perfect atmosphere really, if one were planning theatrics.
Creeeak.
The heavy door opened, two sets of footsteps followed. One heavy — familiar. The boss. The other lighter. Unfamiliar.
Interesting.
I've noticed that they don't do sales after hours, so I wondered what they wanted. I remained collapsed in my usual corner, pretending to sleep. Appearing fragile. Harmless. Decorative.
As expected, they came straight to my cage and opened the door. I partially opened one eye so I could watch. The thinner man entered. He knelt beside me and tilted my face gently, almost respectfully. I resisted the urge to smile.
He handled me carefully — which is almost insulting, then I saw the knife.
I closed my eyes embracing myself for the pain, but it never came. Just a pressure followed by warmth. I resumed watching them in secret. He collected my blood in a vial.
Taking a girls' blood on your first meeting? How intimate, I thought sarcastically.
When he was finished, he bandaged my palm, I almost thanked him. Then he stepped outside the cage and their conversation began.
I still couldn't understand their language, but their tones spoke loudly. And tonight's tone was delicious.
The thinner man spoke first, talking carefully. His back was towards me so I couldn't see his face, but I could see the boss man's face, and he was a very expressive. His face was changing so fast it was comical. It made me wish I had some popcorn.
At first, he nodded.
Then he frowned.
Then confusion.
Then—
Fear.
Actual fear.
His face drained of color so quickly I almost burst out laughing. What did he find in there? I was genuinely curious.
I remained limp, but my mind sharpened. He began breathing wrong. Fast. Shallow. He kept glancing at me like I might suddenly, morph into a monster at any moment and start eating him. Honestly, that was just rude, I hadn't even done anything yet.
He nearly hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness before the thin man steadied him. I gave his performance an exaggerated internal applause.
They spoke longer. The boss's expression cycled through panic, calculation, and irritation. That told me everything. Eventually, irritation won and they left.
How interesting.
Whatever they found, it confused and frightened him. I stayed still for a while longer, thinking. So, he believes something about me is dangerous even if confusing.
That's perfect.
The more confused and scared he is of me the better. As long as I don't take it too far that is.
Tomorrow, I am to be sold.
I saw it on his face.
He wanted me gone.
The boss thinks he is solving a problem. He has no idea he is presenting me with options.
That is exactly what I wanted.
But I will not be purchased randomly. If I must belong to someone, then I will choose carefully. Who says only the masters choose their slaves?
I spent the last two weeks basically doing nothing but observe and plan, I was practically bored out of my mind.
Finally, things we're about to get lively in here.
I lay back against the stone and smiled faintly. Tomorrow is going to be fun.
For me at least.