Silence. Four sets of aristocratic eyes traveled from the dwarven wife, to the tall, calm, beautiful human male leaning against the carriage with his arms folded, and back again.
Raven, playing his role to the hilt, gave the pale imp woman a slow smile and a look that promised absolutely everything and committed to nothing at all.
The imp woman's gray cheeks went dark. She fanned herself with her shawl.
"Made for it," she whispered.
"Like a bred thing," the fox stole woman murmured, her slit pupils widening. "A whole race of them."
"He is looking at me," the imp hissed to Vestria. "Vestria. He is looking at me."
"He is a toy, Pulchra, compose yourself."
The auction house bell rang across the square, deep and resonant, and saved the fabric of society from tearing right there.
