Prologue

The young knight sat on his bed, wringing his hands as he stared at the door to his room. The snarl on his face was as much from his surroundings as his purpose. He was used to clean rooms, soft beds, good food, and fine ale. It galled him that the dingy, run-down inn was all he could afford after journeying all the way out to this Goddess-forsaken city on the edge of the Great Desert.

Reaching down, he ran his fingers over the pouch on his belt, assuring himself it was still there for the hundredth time that night. The coinpurse was on the verge of splitting its leather stitching, but every coin was already spoken for and none were meant for his personal comfort. He would need to be tight with his remaining money on the way back to Lantaris; paying to have a man killed wasn’t cheap.

His mouth split into a rictus grin as he imagined himself sitting astride his warhorse in full armor one day as a messenger approached. Perhaps Corrin and Balthus would be there as well to share his moment of victory with him. He would take the slip of paper from the messenger and read it aloud so the other two knights would know the deed was done and ogre’s pet was dead. In his daydream he threw his head back, giving thanks to the Goddess and laughing with glee toward the heavens. Back in his room, he caught himself before doing the same thing.

That note would signal the death of his last tie to the large blue-skinned woman. Never again would he have visions of the smirk on her face as she mocked him with that blasted magic shield of hers. Never again would the bile rise in his throat at the memory of her condescending farewell before knocking him to the ground. Never again would he wake up clawing at his bedclothes as the memory of his breastplate caving in and stealing his breath invaded his dreams.

The knight gasped, drawing in great lungfuls of air, the strength of his recollection making him feel like he was suffocating. Once he calmed himself, the grim smile returned. That feeling of terror would never haunt him again once the ogre’s boy was dead.

He stared at the door to his room again, waiting for the guide who would take him to the man who would make things right.

A few minutes later there was a soft rap on the door.

“Enter.”

The knight grimaced at the sound of his voice. When he challenged the ogre it had been clear, full of the Order’s pride and the Goddess’s power. He blamed the raspy, gruff noise that emerged from his throat on the dryness of the air of this desert city. It was easier than admitting his quest for vengeance had stolen his pride. He hadn’t felt the Goddess’s power in a long time and didn’t know if she still watched over him.

A small part of him hoped not. Her Divine Perfection didn’t need to witness him in such a sorry state.

The door opened without a sound and a woman silently slipped inside. The man scowled in dismay at the girl’s appearance.

She turned and closed the door behind her. The cat-girl’s black-tipped tail had oblong stripes across the top and the tail’s pattern continued up until it met the olive skin of her back where the fur ended. Across her skin were darkened spots that must have resembled some kind of desert cat. The girl’s ears were tawny-grey but when she turned around the candlelight shone on the bright white fur inside. Similar to her ears, her front was significantly lighter, comparable in tone to the fair-skinned women back in Lantaris. Rings of the shaded skin made their way down her arms and legs as a few encircled the base of her neck, the largest running from shoulder to shoulder and looking like large see-through necklaces. The backs of her hands and tops of her feet looked normal but her palms and soles were black as coal with the coloration extending partway up her calves and the inside of her arms. Aside from the small black ring adorning the bottom of her ear, her only other clothing was a belt with a few pouches hanging off it and the slave collar around her neck. The candlelight reflected eerily in her eyes as she stood there, patiently regarding him.

The woman was easily the shortest monster girl he had run across, but the way she moved immediately made him think she wasn’t a child. There was also a strict rule in the city about slaves being forced to go nude before they were of age. They allowed every other amoral act within the city walls; he couldn’t fathom why the King’s court decided to stop there.

Slaves were everywhere in this Goddess-forsaken city. Male, female, young, old, fit, or withered, you could see a slave of each kind in just a few minutes of walking down the street. Human slaves were the most common and required to wear a loincloth. Female slaves had tops as well, but it was up to the owners, no laws or edicts required them to do so. The occasional monster girl slave was always completely nude. The day he arrived, the knight was shocked when he saw a large woman with horns and cow or oxen’s legs pulling a small two-person cart down the street. No parents covered the eyes of their children as the naked woman passed. Even a group of boys at an age where girls were becoming interesting didn’t even spare a second glance at the bovine-woman’s massive breasts. It wasn’t long before he realized that the people here didn’t pay attention to the monster girls any more than they would a horse or oxen, they were merely livestock who were able to speak and use tools.

Surprisingly, you wouldn’t find monster girls at any of the city’s brothels, only the poorest and most desperate of men would stoop so low as to sleep with something besides another human. The occasional low-class inn would offer one of the mixed-breeds but only if their human girls were all occupied. This supposedly did not apply to succubi as the most expensive place to purchase a companion for the night was the closest to the palace and staffed entirely by the demonic seductresses.

He wasn’t at the best inn in town, but this place was a far cry from the worst and well above those that would employ the half-human abominations.

“Sir Galen,” said the cat-girl as she continued to study him. It was a statement, not a question.

“You’re a little young and not human enough for my tastes. Leave,” he growled.

“Despite my size I assure you I’m more than old enough,” she replied. “I’m here to lead you to my master, Bozun.”

Her flippant remark made the knight regard her more closely as did the mention of the assassin he was to meet. Slaves were not allowed to talk unless specifically commanded to do so. “Does he mean to insult me by sending one of your kind to fetch me?” Galen asked, scratching at the scruffy beard on his chin. It had been weeks since he last purchased a shave in hopes of conserving his dwindling money.

The woman shook her head as an ear flicked involuntarily. “Slaves are ignored out on the streets, but my master is well known. I will be leading you the back way so as not to be seen.”

Chapter 1 »