The Champion

by H. P. Mallory

  I can’t put my finger on why, but I have the impression this stranger’s hands could handle a woman’s body deftly. I find myself fixated on those hands, wondering if they’re as rough as the rest of him appears, or if they’re uncalloused from living a soft life of leisure.

  I disregard the last thought as idiotic—to look at this man, one would immediately realize he’s never lived a day of leisure in his life.

  Darius regards him with a scowl and the sullen air of a child who’s had his favorite toy stolen. The man only smiles back benignly, but even that touch of humor brightens his entire face, making him more lovely, more compelling.

  “This man has just offered to pay for a night with you, Snow,” Darius informs me, turning his glower in my direction, as though it’s somehow my fault.

  My eyes bug. Surely this is a joke? Because there’s no way this man, with his simple spun clothing and his unassuming demeanor, can afford the price Darius asks for such a thing. Even the exotic and incredibly wealthy Prince Achmed could only afford to monopolize one of my nights with private dances, wine, and conversation. An heir to the throne of an entire nation still couldn’t pay the sum Darius asks for me. An exorbitant sum because Darius knows no man will ever pay it. It’s his failsafe, his assurance that he’ll continue to be the only man who has even known the inside of Snow White.

  Yet this man says he can pay that sum and will. Who in blazes is he?

  “I’ll send in wine and food,” Darius continues in a sullen monotone. “When you’re finished supping, ring if you need me.”

  With that, he turns, seizes the doorknob in a fist already shaking with rage, and exits, slamming the door behind him. I will pay for this later. And I’m afraid I’ll pay for it in ways I never have before.

  Why did Darius ever agree to this when it’s clear he doesn’t want to? Clearly, there is a price for everything…

  I turn my attention back to the stranger. He actually smiles at me, and it’s like watching day break against the sky. His smile makes me absurdly hopeful. For what? I’m unsure.

  “What an unpleasant little man,” he murmurs, almost to himself. When he turns those piercing tawny eyes on me, the air batters around in my lungs again as my mind scrambles to remember just how to breathe. The man tilts his head curiously at me, observing me with no more than casual interest.

  “Yes,” I say, unsure of what more I should say. If anything.

  “Why do you stay with him?”

  It’s my turn to lift a curious brow. It seems as though the stranger genuinely doesn’t understand. He waits in silence for me to respond, as if this question is an important one to him. Can’t he see just how helpless Darius has rendered me? Can’t he see that I rely on Darius for everything? For my very life?

  But that’s going to change soon, or so I’ve promised myself. One of these days, when I save enough coins, I’m going to leave this wretched place. I’m going to steal away into the dark and I’m never going to look back. Without a drug to sustain me, I’ll have a wretched few weeks while I go through withdrawals. And, presuming I survive those withdrawals, I won’t have any other option but to flee Ascor. Too many people know my face here. Too many people know to whom I belong. All it would take is one lech to come after me and any gainful employment I’m able to accept would be stripped away. Staying with Darius isn’t a good option, but it’s the only one I have… at present.

  I allow the stranger a shaky smile in lieu of a response. Scooping out a small portion of my precious winnings, I offer him a bump. “Would you like some?” I hope he’ll say no.

  The man stares at the powder with a vaguely disgusted expression. That would be a ‘no’, then. Unthinking hurt flashes through me, though it’s completely ludicrous for me to care what this stranger thinks of me. He’s paid for one night, after all. I’m now his whore and in the morning, he’ll be gone and I’ll never see him again. I should probably just be grateful he’s even bothering to try to make conversation.

  We stand in strained silence for a few minutes until Darius returns. I discreetly take the bump of coke, not looking up to see what this stranger thinks of it. In the background, I hear Darius as he drapes a table. I turn to see him smoothing the bumps of a linen cloth and then he places two glasses onto the table, alongside a platter of grapes, melon, figs, crackers and cheeses. My stomach does a joyful little pirouette at the sight of the fare being laid out. A growing part of me doesn’t care what this man does to me, so long as I’m allowed some of the meal. It’ll be the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks, maybe even months.

  “Enjoy,” Darius bites out before backing out of the room again. He glares at me in a way that promises punishment when this man leaves tomorrow. I feel my stomach drop down to my toes.

  When the stranger and I are alone again, the man gestures at the two chairs beside the table. “Sit and eat. You look famished.” As if to lead by example, he sits down and smiles up at me.

  I hesitate, even as my stomach yearns toward the food and growls audibly, embarrassing me. The man offers me an understanding smile and waves toward the food once more.

  What if he’s baiting me like a dog, and intends to hurt me the second I lay a finger on the meal? After all, I haven’t done anything to earn such a reward yet. Perhaps, if I sat on his lap? If I pretended to be more interested in his cock than I was in the food? Yes. That would entitle me to a bit at least, wouldn’t it?

  He watches with concern as I stumble away from the vanity, still unsteady from the morning’s withdrawal. I’m already feeling miles better than I was, but it appears I’m a few apples short of a full cart.

  The man inhales in what appears to be surprise as I sink onto his lap. His tawny eyes fly open wide as he stares down at me, even as those strong hands settle at the small of my back, keeping me from sliding off his lap.

  “What are you doing?” His voice is a low, melodic murmur. I blink coquettishly up at him, forcing my lips to twist into a playful smile the way Darius has instructed me. Not only do I dance, but I have to pretend all my visitors… arouse me. And Darius has taught me how to wear such an expression.

  “I’m sitting on your lap,” I purr. “Unless you want me to move?”

  There’s a glint of dark humor in those fathomless eyes for a just a moment before his hands slide beneath my ass. They don’t curl around my flesh and squeeze, the way I expect. He just lifts me carefully and deposits me on the chair beside him. It’s all done so effortlessly and with such amusement, that I don’t feel the sting of rejection as strongly as I expect. He selects a piece of cheese from the platter and offers it to me.

  I don’t understand what I’ve done to offend him. I looked at him the way Darius taught me to and I tried to show my interest by sitting on his lap. Yes, I’ve earned a reward in the form of a piece of cheese, but I feel like I’ve done the wrong thing, all the same.

  “As lovely as you are, I prefer to keep this… arrangement professional, for the time being.”

  Professional?

  “You really should eat,” he continues. “You’re dreadfully pale.”

  At last, a genuine smile stretches my lips, even as I’m offended by his words. “Eating won't help that, I’m afraid. I’m as pale as a fucking shade and always have been.”

  He chuckles at this. “Good thing a Shepherd hasn’t come for you yet.”

  I’m fairly sure Darius would beat off any Shepherd or Shepherdess that came to the door with their gilded lantern hung from a crook, priest in tow, with the intent to take my soul. The bastard would still try to sell me even if I died. But I’m not counting on meeting my end with the grim-faced reapers of souls just yet.

  I should be so lucky.

  “Darius wouldn’t even let a Shepherd take me without paying.”

  The man snorts once in amusement and pops a grape into his mouth, chewing to disguise the distinct sound of his laughter. I take a tentative nibble on my piece of cheese and close my eyes when the sharp bite of cheddar washes across my tongue.


  Gods above, it’s been so long since I had a decent meal.

  We sit in silence for another minute or so.

  I’m most of the way through the wedge of cheese when he finally speaks again.

  “My name is Herrick. Herrick Vorst.” He watches my face for any flicker of recognition, as if he’s accustomed to people knowing who he is. I bob my head once, hoping he’s not going to grow angry when he realizes just how ignorant I really am. But I haven’t heard much other than whispers of gossip and rumors at the tavern since I came to live here at sixteen.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say honestly, even if I’m surprised and confused he hasn’t even tried to touch me yet. But I’m also grateful. Even if I end up fucking him at the end of the night (which is assuredly going to happen, considering he paid for me), this meal is still a kindness I hadn’t expected to enjoy.

  Herrick cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing on me again. I honestly don’t understand what he’s trying to puzzle out when he looks at me like that.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, finally.

  “Snow,” I start, figuring that’s the answer he wants—the thrill of hearing it repeated to him—that he will be the first man, outside of Darius, to bed the famous Snow White. As that realization hits me, I can’t hide the anxiety that flows through me.

  What if I disappoint him? What if I’m as terrible at fucking as Darius tells me? What if I get yet another beating at this man’s hands?

  “No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “Don’t give me your stage name, please.”

  “I don’t understand,” I start. What does this man want from me? Every time I try to give him what I think he’s asking of me, I’m wrong!

  “Some of those simpletons might believe you’re really called Snow White, but we both know better.” He takes a breath as my heart starts pounding. “What’s your name?”

  I swallow the last of the cheese thickly. I don’t know why he’s asking me this?

  It’s just your name! I think to myself.

  But, somehow, telling him my name feels more intimate than having sex with him. Thousands of men have seen me in the last few years, but only one of them knows my given name. Darius. If I tell this man my name, it would make him privy to a secret only Darius knows.

  And it’s that last thought that spurs me to give Herrick Vorst an honest answer, because I dislike the thought of dying one day with only Darius knowing my true name.

  “Neva Valkoinen.”

  “Neva,” he repeats, wrapping his tongue around the contours of my name as though it tastes sweet. Then he laughs a little to himself. “So, perhaps I’m the simpleton, eh?”

  “Simpleton?” I ask, frowning at him.

  He nods. “Your name really does mean White Snow.”

  I grin, despite my trepidation. This man is far smarter than a casual observer would be led to believe. “Yes.”

  “How did you arrive with a name like that?”

  “Well, my parents came up with it,” I answer.

  “I meant how did you get your stage name?”

  “Oh,” I answer. “Darius spent days poring over books, trying to come up with a stage name for me that sounded appropriate. He thought it would be clever to play off my actual name.”

  “A clever thought for an idiot,” Herrick responds.

  I immediately feel the smile on my lips. “You should watch what you say,” I whisper to him, confidentially. “You never know who could be listening.”

  He nods and smiles fully, making me realize he has a dimple on one side of his mouth.

  “Point taken,” he says.

  I drop my gaze to the plate of food as my stomach growls again. He motions to it and this time, I stand up and help myself to each type of fruit, five crackers and another few wedges of cheese.

  I return to the chair he set me in and face him again, only to find his eyes already focused on me. “You must be very well-traveled to know what my name meant.”

  His eyes grow a touch more guarded, though his amused smile doesn’t fade. “You could say that, I suppose. I’m a merchant, after all.”

  A merchant? Interesting. “And what is it that you peddle, Mr. Vorst?”

  What could he possibly sell that would allow him the means to buy me? This man is strange. Then it occurs to me he must have stolen his way into my bed. Not that I care.

  “I didn’t come here to discuss the mundane details of my business, Neva,” he says, rather hurriedly and I realize he’s ready to claim his prize. My anxiety increases tenfold and I nod as I put the plate of untouched food on the side table, next to the chair.

  “Okay,” I say as I face him expectantly.

  But he doesn’t move from his seated position. “Sit.”

  “Okay,” I say again and sit, completely unsure of what to say or do. This Herrick Vorst is the most confusing man I’ve ever met. And he makes me nervous.

  “I came because you pulled me here,” he says.

  “More like the sign outside pulled you here,” I amend, taking a brave stab at humor now that he doesn’t appear too volatile.

  He shakes his head slowly, and a few strands of that perfect golden hair escape the leather thong at the base of his neck. It’s distractingly touchable, and I fold my hands primly in my lap to keep myself from touching him.

  Somehow my hunger is forgotten for the time being.

  “No. You pulled me here,” he insists.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was trying to find the concentrated mass of magic that was hiding in this seemingly unremarkable tavern.”

  “Concentrated mass of magic?” I repeat, shaking my head. What is he talking about?

  He nods. “Yes. It felt familiar, and I was expecting to find an old friend within these walls. Imagine my surprise when I found a little witchling on stage instead.”

  My brow creases as I try to make sense of these bizarre words. Magic? Witchling? What in the name of Avernus is he talking about? There hasn’t been a witch in any of the seven principalities of Fantasia for over a decade. Everyone knows that!

  All the noble houses signed off on the decree in the only show of solidarity they’ve been able to display in a hundred years. The only magic users still around are the Shepherds, and they only remain because souls have to go somewhere after death. Not even the royals want spooks hanging around their cities.

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

  He sits forward and reaches out, seizing my hand with enough suddenness to draw a startled yelp from me. He smooths his fingers over the back of my palm in a soft apology before he returns his gaze to mine and clasps my hands tightly in his, earnestness in those unnatural eyes.

  “What… what are you doing?” I ask, suddenly afraid for the first time since he walked into my room.

  “I won’t hurt you, Neva,” he says in a soft voice. “I just need to know what you are. It’s important that Guild members are hidden away in these troubled times.”

  “Guild members?”

  He nods. “It’s clear you have a connection to Tenebris. I just don’t understand why she’d leave you exposed like this.”

  I draw my hands away, and smile up at him sadly as I take a deep breath. He’s clearly mistaken me for someone else. Hopefully he won’t be angry he’s paid so much money for me when he thinks I’m someone else. I’m not sure if I should break the news to him or if Darius should.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” I say and then inhale deeply. “Clearly you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  “No,” he starts but I shake my head.

  Hmm… this could cause quite the ruckus because I’m more than sure Darius won’t give Herrick his money back. And since that’s the case, Herrick might as well have his chance to enjoy me, given he spent an ungodly amount of money to spend the night in my bed. I stand and walk to him. I might as well get this over with.

  “Unfortunately, Darius isn’t the typ
e of man to refund you your money.” I take another deep breath as I approach him, placing each of my hands on the chair arms on either side of him. “I apologize for that, but I would like to try to make it up to you. If you’d kindly let me do my job, I’ll…”

  Herrick stops me before I can sling a leg over his lap. His broad, calloused hands brace my waist and I come to a stop with my face inches away from his. I’m sitting on his lap and he’s close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles the loose strands of hair near my ear. My gaze dips unwillingly to that perfect bow-lipped mouth, and I wonder what it would be like to feel that mouth on mine.

  “I should go,” he murmurs quietly. “I’ve upset you.”

  “Go?” I repeat, suddenly disappointed even though I can’t fathom why. “You haven’t even kissed me,” I remind him.

  “It’s okay,” he starts.

  “But,” I say. “You paid enough gold for that privilege… and more.”

  His gaze dips to my mouth just briefly and I see hunger in his eyes. When I blink again, his eyes are unreadable, his smile enigmatic.

  “Gold is abundant and something I can easily find, Neva. A kiss must be earned, not bought.”

  He finally smiles widely enough to flash teeth as he lifts me off his lap and sets me on my feet, and I take a wary step away. His canines are sharp enough to unnerve me. He can’t be a vampire, surely. His skin is sun-kissed and his eyes are too bright. Still, there’s something inhuman there.

  “You ought to be careful about offering things like kisses to men like me,” he says and there’s a warning in his eyes.

  “Why?”

  He leans in just enough to tease my cheek with those soft lips. The whisper that traces the shell of my ear makes every part of me go warm and shivery.

  “Because men like me are selfish and would steal you away.”

  In the next breath, he pulls away and is halfway to the door, throwing me a cheery, “Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Valkoinen.”

  “But,” I start again.

  He motions to the plate of uneaten food. “Do eat the rest of your supper before that odious man returns.”

  The door closes behind him with a barely audible click and I sink into his abandoned chair, my heart beating wildly in my chest.