The woman, who had been positively gleeful at the prospect of owning Dael, suddenly looked less than enthusiastic about owning a boy with a black eye and blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
The old scarred man, on the other hand, looked delighted. He handed the guard a fistful of gold coins, and then the guard unlocked the cell, tugged Dael out into the cluster of nobles.
“You gonna transport him?” the guard asked.
The man with the scar said, “I always do. My own way.” And he swung a fist.
Dael didn’t even have a chance to dodge.
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