Chapter 42: Eiravelle Was In Danger

Eiravelle continued to walk the streets, her steps were slow and unsteady, her body was aching with exhaustion and hunger. She had been wandering for hours, had lost track of time, had lost track of where she was going.

The streets of Solkanaia stretched before her like an endless maze, their twists and turns leading her deeper into parts of the city she had never seen before.

This part of Solkanaia was known for its night market, a bustling collection of stalls and vendors that operated after dark, selling everything from food to trinkets to things that were better left unspoken. But beneath the surface of the night market, hidden in the shadows and the alleyways, was an illegal underground market, a place where people traded in things that were forbidden by law, where lives were bought and sold like commodities.

Eiravelle did not know this. She was just trying to find a place to stay temporarily for the night, a place where she could rest her weary body and think about what to do next.

But she remembered she had no money in her pocket.

The realization hit her like a physical blow, made her stomach clench with a mixture of hunger and despair. She had fled the Arthion manor without thinking, had run without considering what she would need to survive.

She had no coins, no possessions, nothing but the child in her womb. She was alone in a city that had turned its back on her, and she had no way to provide for herself.

She approached a vendor, a woman who was selling bread and buns from a small stall. The smell of fresh-baked goods wafted through the air, making Eiravelle’s stomach growl with hunger.

She had not eaten since the morning, she did not had anything to drink since she had fled from the alphas who had pursued her. She was weak and dizzy.

"Uhm... Madam," Eiravelle said, her voice was soft and hesitant. "Can I have a piece of bread?"

The vendor looked up, her eyes were taking in Eiravelle’s disheveled appearance, the dirt on her clothes, and the exhaustion in her eyes. Her expression shifted from indifference to disgust, and she waved her hand dismissively.

"Leave me alone," the vendor said, her voice was sharp and cutting. "You’re a misfortune! You’re staining my buns!"

Eiravelle flinched, the words were striking her like physical blows. She could not help but bite her nails as she looked at the bread and buns, her hunger was gnawing at her insides. She was really hungry, and she did not know where she would get money.

She had no skills that could earn her coins, no connections that could help her find work. And she knew that she was running out of options.

How stupid of you, Eiravelle. You could have taken sister Arielle’s pouch of Kanaia coins.

The words ran through her mind as she regretted not taking money with her before she confessed her pregnancy to her father. She had been so focused on facing the consequences of her actions, so determined to take responsibility for her mistakes, that she had not thought about what would happen after.

She had not considered that she would be cast out, would be left to fend for herself in a world that had no place for her.

She turned away from the vendor, her eyes are stinging with tears that she refused to let fall. She had cried enough, had shed enough tears to fill an ocean. She would not cry anymore. She would find a way to survive, would find a way to provide for herself and her child.

"Young lady, are you hungry?"

The voice came from behind her, gentle and kind. Eiravelle turned to see an old man approaching her, his face was weathered with age but his eyes were warm with what looked like sympathy. He was dressed in simple clothes, had the appearance of a grandfather, someone who might offer comfort and kindness to a stranger in need.

"Perhaps do you want a full meal?" The old man added, his voice was soft and reassuring.

Eiravelle smiled widely, relief flooding through her. She nodded eagerly, her hunger was overriding her caution, her desperation was blinding her to the warning signs that she should have seen.

"Follow me," the old man said, and led her to a nearby food stall.

The stall was small, tucked away in a corner of the market, its wooden tables and benches were worn with use.

The old man gestured for her to sit, and Eiravelle immediately sat down, her body was sagging with relief. She had not realized how exhausted she was until she was off her feet, and she had not realized how much she needed to rest.

"There, there, sit down," the old man said, his voice was soothing.

He disappeared behind the stall for a moment, then returned with a tray. On the tray was a bowl of rice, a bowl of hot soup, and a cup of water. The food was simple, but it looked like the most delicious meal Eiravelle had ever seen.

"T-Thank you, mister!" Eiravelle said, her voice was filled with gratitude.

She took a bite of the rice, then another, eating faster and faster. She ate like someone who was afraid the food would be snatched away from her, like someone who had not eaten in days. The rice was warm and filling, the soup was savory and comforting, the water was cool and refreshing. She had never tasted anything so good.

"That would be ten Kanaia coins," the old man said.

Eiravelle paused. Her mouth was still full of food, her cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk’s. She took the time to chew and gulp, her mind was racing, and her heart was sinking.

"M-Mister..." She said, her voice was trembling. "I... I don’t... Have..."

She was not able to finish. The old man’s face changed, his warm expression shifted to something cold and hard. The kindness that had drawn her in disappeared, replaced by something that made her blood run cold.

"You don’t have money?!" The old man yelled, his voice was rising with anger. "Then why are you eating?!"

The words echoed through the market, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Eiravelle felt small, felt exposed, and felt the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her. She clasped her hands on her lap, trying to make herself smaller, trying to disappear.

"I... I thought... This is... Free..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She felt ashamed. Everyone was looking at her now, was watching as the old man yelled at her, was murmuring among themselves. She could see the recognition in their eyes, could see the way they whispered to each other, and could see the judgment and the contempt.

"I... I... I..." Eiravelle stumbled on her words, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Then someone whispered to the old man, and he smiled widely in a way that made Eiravelle’s skin crawl.

"I see..." The old man said, his voice was taking on a sinister tone.

He reached out suddenly and pulled Eiravelle’s chin up, turning her face from side to side as he examined her features. His eyes traveled over her face, her neck, her body, assessing her like she was livestock at an auction.

"You have beauty," he said, his voice was thoughtful. "Surely that face can be sold in the slave market."

Eiravelle was shocked to hear that. The words did not make sense at first, did not register in her mind.

Slave market? Sold? Beauty? The concepts swirled in her head, refusing to connect, refusing to form a coherent picture.

"W-What—" she started.

She did not get the chance to finish. Two men suddenly appeared, their hands are grabbing her arms, holding her in place. They were strong, their grips were like iron, and no matter how much she struggled, she could not break free.

"I suppose you can pay for the meal by selling your body," the old man said, his smile was widening.

Eiravelle shook her head frantically, her eyes were wide with terror. This could not be happening. This could not be real. She had only wanted something to eat, had only wanted to survive. She had not asked for this, hadn’t deserved this.

Before she could react, one of the men covered her nose with a cloth. The cloth smelled strange, smelled like chemicals, and Eiravelle’s head spun. She tried to struggle, tried to scream, tried to do anything that would help her escape. But her body was not responding, her limbs were growing heavy, and her vision turn blurry.

She thought of her child, of the life growing inside her. She thought of Arielle, of the sister who had always protected her. She thought of Qazaethel, of the alpha who had held her in the forest, who had made her feel safe and loved.

Then the darkness claimed her.

The people who saw what happened just stayed silent, like it was nothing. They had seen scenes like this before, had witnessed the cruelty of the underground market, and they had learned long ago that it was safer to look the other way.

They did not intervene, did not try to help. They simply watched as Eiravelle was carried away, as her limp body was taken from the market.

"Go and take her with the other omegas!" The old man ordered.

The men nodded and carried Eiravelle away, her unconscious form disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway. The old man turned back to the table where Eiravelle had eaten her first bite of the rice, and began to clean it, wiping away the evidence of what had just happened.

And that time, as they took her, dark elite soldiers passed by.

They were searching for Eiravelle, had been searching for hours, their eyes are scanning every face, every corner, every shadow. They asked the vendors, asked the bystanders, asked anyone who might have seen an omega matching Eiravelle’s description. But no one told them where she was. No one pointed them in the right direction.

The people of the market had seen what happened, had witnessed Eiravelle being taken. But they said nothing. They were afraid, afraid of the men who had taken her, afraid of the underground market, afraid of the consequences of interfering. So they stayed silent, their faces were blank, and their eyes had averted.

The dark elite soldiers was left with no choice but to leave the area, their search continued in other parts of the city. They did not know that they had been so close, had been within arm’s reach of the omega they were searching for.

And Eiravelle, unconscious and helpless, was carried deeper into the underground market, toward a fate that no one would have wished upon their worst enemy.

The night continued, dark and cold, the city of Solkanaia slept soundly in its bed. But somewhere in the depths of the illegal market, her life and her future was being traded for coins.

The search continued, the elite soldiers moving through the streets, unaware of what had happened.

And the child in Eiravelle’s womb, the child that was the heir to the throne, the child that was Qazaethel’s, waited for its Oma to wake up.

The waiting was the hardest part.