by D. D. Chance
“Riven District,” Celia supplied, her white teeth flashing in a quick smile. “It’s sort of a prison quadrant of the monster realm, meant for outcasts, scuzzballs, and other bad actors. For you to have found your way here from the human realm means you’ve been cursed, most likely.”
Oh, for freak’s sake… “Cursed by who?”
Celia shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe that High King of yours, yeah? But the district isn’t such a bad place, once you get used to it. There are only two rules, really. One, every one of us is free to live here as long as we want, so long as we pay the tithe, and two, we hate humans.”
She grinned as I snorted a laugh. Maybe she wasn’t human after all. “I didn’t think there were enough humans in the monster realm to hate,” I offered drily.
“I…” Celia tilted her head, her catlike eyes unfocusing as she thought. “You know, I’ve never thought about that, but you’ve got a good point. Either way, you’re gonna be hunting fodder for the Luacra. They’re who run the place, and I don’t even think you being a witch will impress them all that much…though it might.”
She pursed her lips, regarding me with more interest. “Wait, does your High King boss guy own you, by chance? Did he throw you in here to teach you a lesson or something?”
“No.” The hard, beautiful face of Aiden, the king of the Fae, flashed into my mind, and my invisible crown weighed a little more heavily on my brow. I’d left Aiden in the middle of a battlefield, but I’d helped him out a lot before that. We’d had a whole thing going…right up until I’d snuffed it out. Maybe not my brightest move, but I’d just wanted to get back home. It wasn’t my fault that I’d found my home on fire. “At least, I don’t think so. Would that be better?”
“Well, you’d have value, then, more value than someone would get from the joy of killing you outright.” Celia’s eyes brightened. “Maybe the warden could sell you back to whoever you ran away from. That’d be good.”
I couldn’t help myself, I gaped at her. Beyond the insanity of her words, something about this barmaid/shifter was seriously beginning to ping my fire-abraded nerves. I knew her, I thought. From…somewhere. I did. “I thought this was the monster realm,” I muttered. “This place sounds insane.”
“Well, I mean it is, but this isn’t the open territories of the monster realm, it’s the Riven District. That makes it…sort of different. And not always in a good way. If you’re a human here and you don’t want to get eaten or sold, you gotta have a skill you can barter with.”
“Well, maybe I could teach?” I hazarded. “Like, teach magic, I mean.”
Celia’s eyes flared, then her face went carefully blank. “No you can’t. No one can teach magic,” she said with total certainty, making her sound exactly like my ma. “That’s not how magic works.”
I shrugged, though I also hadn’t missed the quick, avaricious gleam in her eyes. “Then I guess I’m screwed.”
“I mean…we could try it, I guess,” she said, now making a good show of rolling the idea around in her head. “It’s not like we have much choice. The only way out of the district is to go through the warden. But if you can throw some magic fireballs or something, maybe start working up some of that crazy. If the Luacra guards decide to put you on the menu, a bunch of drunken dwarves are gonna be the least of your problems.”
To read what happens next, be sure to check out TEMPTING THE KING—and don’t make any promises to the Fae along the way!
About D.D. Chance
D.D. Chance is the pen name of Jenn Stark, an award-winning author of paranormal romance, urban fantasy and contemporary romance. Whether she’s writing as Jenn or D.D., she loves writing, magic and unconditional love. Thank you for taking the adventure with her.
www.ddchance.com
Copyright © 2021 by D.D. Chance
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Cover design by B Rose Designz.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
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