“Can’t you lift it higher? No one can see properly!”

Faded blue-gray eyes slowly shifted downward.

<50 Ferns>

Less than half the price of the pony tied up at the next platform.

50 ferns would fetch no more than five loaves of that same bread. That was her price.

“I said, hold it higher!”

At the threatening lift of his rough hand, her frail shoulders quivered. 

Then, her frost-reddened fingers, cracked by the winter wind, clutched the price tag and pulled it up to her chest.

“Hopeless. Always so slow.”

On a narrow wooden platform barely wide enough for both feet, Celia stood for what seemed like an eternity, her gaze directed at the frayed hem of her yellowish chemise. 

With every passerby, her husband tried to sell her off, weaving lies as effortlessly as breathing.

“This is only her second marriage.”

“Mm… is that true?”

“Of course. With the gods ever watching, how could I dare lie?”

“I’ll… look around a little more.”

As a sharp-eyed customer left, her husband exhaled a sigh and plopped down onto a small stool. Enveloped in a thick coat, he yawned repeatedly before succumbing to drowsiness.

For a brief moment, Celia glanced at her drowsing husband before allowing her lifeless eyes to wander upwards to the sky, now tinted a deep blue.

‘If only I could be sold today.’

If luck wasn’t on her side, snow would fall tomorrow—yet even the half-dead pony beside her drew more eyes than she did.

‘So cold.’

Her hold on the placard faltered, as though it might tumble from her grasp at any moment. At that moment, a middle-aged man with a thick beard ascended the steps, stroking his chin. Four heavy thuds shook the wooden boards before his thick lips opened to speak.

“You there.”

At his words, her husband sprang up to his feet, hastily wiping away the drool from the corners of his mouth as he forced a smile.

“Haha, a rare woman indeed!”

“How many times has she been wed?”

“Only twice!”

“Twice, yet such a price. There’s no defect, is there?”

Caught off guard, her husband forced a laugh. Then, he drew out a silver pendant from his chest.

“As you can see, I am a priest of the Temple of Mephisia. I was set to depart for my ordination, but pressed by a lack of funds, I had no choice but to come here. The gods themselves shall testify to my words.”

A blatant lie. Once again, Celia bore witness to the absence of the gods.

She had been wed at sixteen. Over the past decade, she had taken five husbands. Should this man buy her, he would be her sixth husband.

“…If I may ask, for what purpose?”

“I seek a wife to care for my children. Though, she seems a bit young.”

“Haha, age doesn’t determine whether or not you’re good with children, does it?”

“True, but still…”

At the man’s hesitation, her husband urgently gripped both of Celia’s shoulders.

“Don’t be fooled by appearances—she cooks, cleans, sews, and runs the household well! Taking care of children would be no problem for her.”

By now, being treated like an object no longer stung. Her present husband had bought her to ward off his nightmares, so he was selling her off simply because the nightmares persisted. Even that stirred nothing in her anymore.

‘When will this end?’

Celia glanced at her toes, turning violet with cold.

‘If only my heart would stop beating right now…’

Her second husband had also died suddenly, so perhaps it wasn’t a completely hopeless wish. However, as if to crush that slender hope, her heart pounded vigorously beneath her ribs, asserting its existence.

After the bearded man left, two or three more came and went, but none chose to buy her.

“Damn it, no luck today. Let’s go.”

Rubbing his frozen hands, her husband seized her wrist and yanked. Her feet, stiff from standing still, faltered with each step.

“Why are you always so slow? We must be back before the evening prayer. Hurry!”

Nodding, Celia forced her numb feet to move. However, after no more than three steps, her toes curled inward.

‘Ah, I’m going to fall.’

As she felt her body tilting, Celia helplessly lowered her eyelids.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

A low, resonant voice brushed her ear. She fell, yet no pain followed.

“What—what’s the meaning of this?!”

At her husband’s outcry, Celia opened her eyes to find herself cradled in someone’s arms. She struggled upright, aided by unfamiliar yet careful hands.

“Didn’t you see? I caught someone about to fall.”

“What I meant was, how dare you touch another man’s wife!”

Celia didn’t manage to see the face of the one who helped her. All she could do was bow her head.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Just follow me.”

But her husband caught her wrist again, wrenching her back toward him.

“Wait.”

A tall figure stepped forward, blocking the way. Her husband hesitated momentarily, then defiantly raised his chin.

“What insolence is this?!”

“Keep that repulsive face to yourself. I don’t have the stomach for it.”

“You—!”

“Enough. Let’s make a deal. I’ll pay you fairly.”

“Don’t mock me! Who would trade with a brute like you…!”

“Twenty ducats. How about it?”

The stranger lifted his chin, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

Celia’s breath hitched in her throat.

His hair was as dark as midnight, a rarity in all of Ikela. His features were so perfectly balanced they defied the boundary of gender, and his eyes burned gold, gleaming like a predator’s gaze in the night.

Odd. She had never encountered someone with such a striking appearance, yet there was a peculiar sense of déjà vu that made her heart flutter.

‘It’s probably just my imagination.’

In his golden eyes, she saw her own shabby reflection. She stared, unable to look away, until his brow creased faintly.

“You shameless thing!”

Sensing her gaze, her husband yanked her wrist hard.

“Where do you think you’re looking?!”

Celia lowered her head in silence.

Her husband cleared his throat loudly, adopting a pious tone.

“Whoever you are, a woman like this is no fit companion for someone so young. As a servant of the gods, I advise you to step aside.”

However, his overly earnest tone was betrayed by his eyes which darted greedily over the stranger’s fine leather gloves, fur-lined coat, and tailored trousers.

The dark-eyed man, sharp as a blade, wasn’t fooled by such shallow and ugly greed.

“As one of the gods’ slaves, is this enough to satisfy you?”

He tossed a heavy pouch at him.

Her husband caught it awkwardly, nearly dropping it. As he felt its weight, his narrow eyes widened in disbelief. He ripped it open, then went still.

“…Huh.”

His gaze shifted back and forth between the gold and Celia. Then, his throat bulged with a heavy swallow.

“… No taking it back later!”

“Stop wasting time and hand over the marriage contract.”

With a broad grin, her husband shoved a crumpled marriage contract into the man’s hand.

“See for yourself!”

Scrunching his nose as if disgusted by a foul smell, the man didn’t even unfold the marriage document before stuffing it into his pocket.

“Now get lost.”

Clutching the gold, her husband shoved Celia roughly toward her new buyer.

“Heh! Farewell!”

‘Ah—’

Stumbling, she fell again into the stranger’s hands. In a daze, she watched as her fifth husband disappeared into the distance.

‘Sold.’

As the short, round silhouette disappeared down the alley, a sharp voice cut above her head.

“What are you staring at? Do you have any regrets about that pig of a man?”

Slowly, Celia lifted her gaze.

Up close, he was even more beautiful.

“Whatever the case, you’re mine now. You won’t be going back to him.”

She nodded quietly. It wasn’t as if her consent was needed.

‘What does he expect of me?’

Their eyes met briefly before the man frowned. Celia stiffened, bracing herself, anticipating his next words.

‘Do I not appeal to him now that he’s seen me up close?’

When his hand rose sharply, she flinched and squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Why hasn’t he struck me yet?’

Instead, a crack split the air. 

She cautiously opened her eyes to see the price tag shattered and lying on the dirt floor.

‘That…’

Caught by surprise, she touched the empty spot near her chest, blinking in astonishment.

‘So it wasn’t me that he disliked, but the price tag?’

For the first time, bewilderment flickered across her face.

With a sharp click of the tongue, he removed his velvet coat. Draping it wide like a cloak, he set it over her shoulders.

“Ah—”

Warmth seeped into her chilled skin, carrying the scent of tobacco leaves and a strong woody spice. It was overwhelming.

“W-why…?”

“It’s cold.”

If it’s cold, shouldn’t he be wearing it himself?

“I’m all right. You should wear it.”

She hastily moved to remove the coat, but he tugged the collar inward and fastened the top buttons.

Her hands rose to undo them, but his command cut her short.

“Don’t.”

He bent slightly to meet her eyes. A faint smile tugged his lips as his long finger pressed against the gold button.

“Unless you’d rather walk home half-naked.”