Free Claimed & Seduced by Shelley Munro

ambled into the thick of the market, past vendors. On scanning the vicinity, he saw a few people of his acquaintance. Not one cried out in recognition. People saw what they expected to see.
    A band set up and started playing instruments of the like he hadn’t seen before. The band members’ striped skin showed them as outsiders, but their music soon had his foot tapping. A huge group gathered and some of the youngsters started dancing, their arms and bodies jerking and waving to the melody.
    Jarlath listened for a time before skirting the crowd. A young man, red-skinned and scrawny, his hair styled in dreads, bumped against him and attempted to pick his pocket. Jarlath might be a prince, but Ellard’s father, in his position of Head of Security, had taught him well. Jarlath seized the young man’s wrist and tightened his grip to the point of pain.
    “Ow,” the youth howled. “I didn’t do nothink.”
    “You were trying to pick my pocket.”
    “No. No, wouldna do that.”
    Jarlath made a scoffing sound and maintained his grip on the youth. “Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood. I have shopping to do and require someone to carry my purchases. If you’re willing, I’ll pay you two gold coins. I’ll give you one now and one when you help me carry my purchases home.”
    “How far you live?” the youth demanded, his black gaze glinting with sharpness. Jarlath could practically see his brain ticking over, considering the angles and possibilities.
    “I live five mins from here.”
    “You be a toff.” The strident tone wasn’t complimentary. “What happened to your eye?”
    Jarlath found himself grinning, the expression feeling more natural since he’d formed his lips that way many times during the day. “I fell off my beest. You should have seen it before. Do you want the job or not?”
    “Yes.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Cristop.”
    “You may call me Lath. I find myself hungry,” Jarlath said. “Come, we will eat before we start our tasks.” He released Cristop, half expecting the youth to flee.
    “You promise coin now.”
    “Indeed.” Suppressing a burst of humor, Jarlath pulled a single coin from his pocket and tossed it to Cristop. He snatched it cleanly, surveyed it with close attention then shoved it into the depths of a pocket.
    The youth gestured to the right. “The best food stall is this way.”
    “Perfect,” Jarlath said.
    The scent of roasting fowls grew stronger.
    “I will wait here,” Cristop said.
    “No, you will eat with me. I don’t wish to eat alone.” He located a table and sprawled in a seat.
    Cristop perched on the other empty seat, prepared for flight.
    “Ah there is a server.” Jarlath signaled for service and pretended to study the menu while he waited.
    In reality, Cristop drew his attention—the hungry expression on the youth’s face.
    Lynx had attempted to persuade his father to set up a program to help homeless youngsters, but the king had listened to his council and built a stadium in which to host cage fighting and arena sports. While it was true, the fights brought money to Viros, the currency flow lined the pockets of the rich instead of filtering down to aid those who needed help.
    “You!” the chubby server snarled, his shout jerking Jarlath from his musing. “Get out before I summon the guard.”
    Cristop jumped to his feet and edged back to dodge the man’s fist.
    “Enough,” Jarlath snapped. “The boy is in my hire. We intend to order a meal before we go on our way.”
    “Payment first.” The server planted beefy hands on his hips, his sneer displaying a golden tooth. “Show me your currency.”
    Jarlath growled under his breath, channeling a grouchy Ellard. The server broke first, dipping his gaze. “We will have two roasted fowls.” Jarlath tapped his finger on the menu. “No, two of this set menu with the fowls, the savory and the sweet to finish. Two barley drinks.”
    “That will be twenty-five dinars,” the server