Chapter 84: The biting
Back at the banquet, Belle found herself unable to keep her eyes from straying toward the lady seated before her. A quiet scoff escaped her lips as she noted their striking resemblance. Was this some twisted declaration? She wondered. Was he trying to tell the world that she belonged to him, or was there some other motive behind this display?
"This is beginning to resemble an obsession," Hezekiah remarked, drawing Belle’s attention away from the scene and back toward the grand hall.
"I do hope you do not assign meaning to every little thing," Quinn interjected, his voice laced with amusement. With a wide, self-satisfied smile, he dropped his gaze upon Belle, his smirk deepening at her evident displeasure. His intention was clear, to show Hezekiah that no matter his efforts, Belle’s heart was a conquest he would never claim.
"Let us move on," Belle said, swiftly entwining her fingers with Hezekiah’s and offering him a smile that fooled no one. Hezekiah saw through her pretense with ease. He knew she was battling a tempest within, but for once, he chose selfishness over consideration. Why should he bear the weight of her emotions while she remained oblivious to his own?
"Lord Sparrow, a widower," Hezekiah continued, introducing Belle to the many distinguished guests in attendance. By the time he was done, she had been acquainted with more people than she could remember.
Belle longed to ask why the gathered nobles did not collectively acknowledge the king, but she held her tongue. This was a werewolf kingdom, after all, things were bound to differ. It was strange enough that Hezekiah does not wear a crown; she would not be surprised if there were countless other peculiarities yet to be uncovered.
Before long, the banquet’s main event commenced. Servants brought forth the first course of the evening, and as the feast unfolded, Belle’s attention was drawn to a peculiar sight—well-dressed young boys and girls being paraded before the nobles. One by one, they were bid upon.
At first, she assumed they were prisoners of war, perhaps rebels awaiting punishment. But that theory crumbled the longer she observed. ’Why are they so young?’ She thought, her unease growing. The more she watched, the deeper her disgust took root.
"Is this some sort of tradition?" She asked, her voice tinged with irritation as the realization dawned upon her. This was nothing more than a slave auction. Young lives being sold off like mere possessions.