Auction for Her Heart

A primal scream clawed its way up Aisling's throat, dying strangled on her tongue. The figures surrounding the carriage were unlike anything she'd ever encountered. Their cloaks, a ragged black that seemed to devour the light itself, billowed in the wind, revealing glimpses of grotesque weapons and hardened faces etched with a hunger that went far beyond the need for coin.

But before she could react further, Kylian was out of the carriage. He moved with the effortless grace of a predator, his dark coat swirling around him like a storm cloud. The cloaked figures, a moment ago menacing and intimidating, fell to their knees the instant he stepped onto the snow-covered ground.

A low murmur of reverence rippled through them, a stark contrast to the murderous glint in their eyes moments before. Aisling stared, dumbfounded, as Kylian strode towards the figures, his expression unreadable.

"Took your sweet time," he drawled, his voice laced with a deadly calm that sent shivers down Aisling's spine.

"My Lord," one of the figures rasped, his voice rough with fear, "the Council sent assassins. We dispatched them… accordingly."

Aisling's stomach lurched. Assassins? Council? What was Kylian involved in? She stole a glance at the ground around the carriage. Her breath hitched in her throat. Scattered around the pristine white snow were bodies, their lifeless forms a gruesome testament to the battle that had just transpired. Blood, a dark stain against the snow, reeked in the frigid air.

Kylian glanced back at the carnage, a fleeting flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing his face. "See to the bodies discreetly," he ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. Then, his gaze landed on Aisling, his expression softening.

"Don't worry, my love," he said, his voice a low rumble. "These are just my… shadow guards. The Council has been itching to get rid of me for as long as I can remember."

He scooped her up into his arms before she could protest, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the icy air. "No need to stain your beautiful dress or your delicate shoes," he murmured, his voice a husky caress.

Aisling clung to him, both out of fear and a strange sense of security. His possessiveness, usually infuriating, now felt strangely comforting in the face of the unknown dangers that surrounded them.

As he carried her towards a towering structure that dominated the snow-covered landscape, Aisling finally recognized it – the village hall. But this wasn't the dilapidated, deserted building she remembered from her childhood visits. This was a grand structure, adorned with intricate carvings and glowing with warm light from within.

The carriage door clattered shut behind them, the sounds of the outside world muted. Kylian pushed open the massive oak doors of the hall, and Aisling gasped. The vast space was filled with people – villagers from Westmarch, all dressed in their finest clothes. A wave of noise washed over them – excited chatter, nervous whispers, and a palpable undercurrent of respect, even a hint of fear.

Shame burned in Aisling's cheeks. Here she was, being carried around like a helpless doll, when she was supposed to be the Baroness of Westmarch, projecting strength and leadership. But instead of the disgust and disdain she'd grown accustomed to, she saw… something different. The villagers weren't whispering and staring with malice. Their eyes held a mix of awe, respect, and even a flicker of… fear.

Fear of her husband, no doubt. The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. These people weren't scared of her. They were scared of the powerful, enigmatic creature she was married to. A creature who could command legions of dark warriors and inspire fear in the very Council that ruled the land.

Kylian, oblivious to her internal turmoil, carried her towards a raised platform at the front of the hall. He set her down gently, his hand lingering on her arm for a fleeting moment before stepping back.

The crowd quieted instantly, all eyes fixed on them. Aisling straightened her dress, her chin held high despite the tremor in her legs. This wasn't how she'd envisioned her first official act as Baroness, but then again, nothing about her marriage to Kylian Hawkrige had been conventional.

Taking a deep breath, Aisling met the gazes of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong through the vast hall. "People of Westmarch," she began, "I stand before you today…" Her voice trailed off, her mind racing. What was she supposed to say? What did it even mean to be Baroness of a village controlled by a creature who could command legions of dark warriors and inspire fear in the very Council that ruled the land.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement at the back of the hall caught her eye. A tall, imposing figure stood leaning against a pillar, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement in the warm glow of the torches. It was Valaric, Kylian's rival and the infuriatingly handsome vampire who always seemed to appear at the most inconvenient moments. He wasn't part of the villagers, so what was he doing here? He caught her eye and gave her a slow, infuriating wink, sending a jolt of irritation through her. She rolled her eyes, silently wishing he'd disappear into the shadows from whence he came.

Just then, Kylian stepped forward, his voice ringing out through the hall. "People of Westmarch," he began, his dark eyes sweeping over the crowd. "I stand before you not only as your Lord, but as your protector. These are troubling times, and the Council's… benevolence leaves much to be desired."

He paused, letting his words sink in. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, their faces etched with worry. The Council's neglect was no secret, leaving the villages vulnerable to roaming bandit gangs and supernatural threats.

"Therefore," Kylian continued, his voice dropping to a deceptively silky smooth tone, "I propose a change in the usual, rather… tedious process of tax collection."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Tax collection was bad enough, but something new could be even worse.

A slow smirk spread across Kylian's face, sending a shiver down Aisling's spine. She knew that look – it usually meant trouble, and expensive trouble at that.

"Instead of the usual coin collection," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, "we'll be holding an… auction."

A low murmur of confusion replaced the initial fear. An auction? What could be more expensive than taxes?

Kylian's eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "This auction," he explained, his voice taking on a theatrical edge, "is for something far more valuable than gold – your very safety. You see, the Council may not care if bandits raze your homes or monstrous creatures roam your fields. But I, your Lord, do."

Panic flickered across the faces of the villagers. Kylian's words were a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the village walls.

"So," he continued, his voice dropping to a low growl, "the starting bid for my protection… shall be tenfold your usual tax contribution."

The hall erupted in chaos. Ten times their taxes? That was an absurd, exorbitant sum! Many villagers wouldn't have enough left to survive after such a payment. Aisling's heart ached for her people. This wasn't protection – it was extortion!

Fury bubbled in Aisling's chest, threatening to erupt. Ten times their taxes! This wasn't protection, it was highway robbery! She opened her mouth to blast Kylian, to demand he reconsider, but a sharp look from his dark eyes silenced her. It wasn't a physical threat, but something deeper, a silent command she found herself inexplicably obeying. She huffed, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

Kylian gestured to an official at the front, a man with a nervous sweat clinging to his brow. "Begin the auction," he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion.

A scramble ensued as the villagers were ushered to their seats. Aisling found herself perched on a plush cushion beside Kylian, her temper warring with the growing unease in her gut. As soon as they were settled, she bombarded him with questions.

"Kylian, are you insane? Ten times their taxes? They'll have nothing left!"

He remained silent, his gaze fixed on the bustling crowd. A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched, the only hint of his inner turmoil.

"Kylian! Are you even listening to me?" Her voice rose in frustration.

A slow smirk played on his lips. "Always, my love," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "Especially when you're this passionate."

His words did little to soothe her anger. "Passionate? This is about the future of Westmarch, not my… passion!" She abandoned the futile attempt at communication, her mind racing for solutions. There had to be a way to help the villagers, a way to get a fair price for their protection.

Meanwhile, Kylian watched Aisling's indignation with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. He enjoyed pushing her buttons, seeing the fire ignite in her emerald eyes. He knew she wouldn't stand by idly – that fierce protectiveness was one of the things he loved most about her. Besides, there would be ample time for apologies later, perhaps nestled between her silken thighs as the moon cast its silvery glow on their room.

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the hall, outlining the terms of protection and the starting bid. The villagers, faces etched with fear and desperation, began their hesitant bids. Kylian's lips curved into a sardonic smile. He'd known they wouldn't readily cough up such an exorbitant sum. The years of neglect by the Council had left them impoverished. But there was a reason, a reason he knew all too well. Those reasons would be revealed later, a secret buried beneath the surface of this seemingly docile village. A secret he'd share with his fiery Baroness, of course.

For now, he'd let them squirm, let them understand the precariousness of their situation without a powerful protector. And he, Kylian Hawkrige, would be the only one who could offer them salvation, albeit at a hefty price.