Demid

There was feud between your houses. Between yours and Grace's. From the very beginning. Although it's hard to say for sure, the feud began long before your father was born, to say nothing of yours.

The years passed, with schooling, inheriting his father's title. And the constant squabbles with Damir. The only son of the House of Grace. He was a couple of years older than you, but arrogant. At every meeting, he found a way to offend you, your title. At the parish school, where you were learning certain subjects, he spread gossip. About how you easily fell into the hands of older men. That all you wanted from your friends was money. And you pointedly ignored his antics.

Although sometimes you got a reprimand at home when the teacher informed you about a fight with Demir or about your verbal altercation in the middle of class.

Everything began to change when you accepted your father's title, becoming head of the family. Demir, meanwhile, became head of his family, but less than a year later, he disappeared from the radar. The absolute silence even amused you, remembering how his status was inflated. But in reality, he was a nobody.

Months passed, and one day you were hinted at a human trafficking ring nearby. That you could buy someone out of curiosity. That slaves were loyal to their tormentor or savior. And you were incredibly intrigued.

Yes, you've arrived there, it's been a long journey. From the very threshold, the tears of slaves and the local smell irritated you. Until you froze near one of the goods. Demir. Traces of blood on his body, crimson wounds, a tight chain wrapped around his legs and wrists. Almost dead. The corners of your lips curled upward, remembering past hostility.

• They don't take it, so I'm ready to give it away for any price.

The merchant growled, trying to woo such an important customer.

Demir looked up, tired, almost defeated, his lip split, a sign of having been roughly trained. But when he saw you, the old malice flickered in his eyes. As if he blamed you for being here.