Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

Chapter 1

Mara

The communication crystal pulses against my palm, its blue glow casting eerie shadows across the vault's stone walls. My fingers curl around it, feeling its warmth seep into my skin. Two years of cleaning this estate, memorizing every nook and shadow, have led to this moment.

"Just like we planned, Diane." The whisper escapes my lips before I can stop it.

A pouch of gold clinks softly as I tuck it deeper into my satchel along with the crystal and the vault key. The vault's treasures gleam around me - jewels, ancient scrolls, artifacts that would fund a small kingdom. But the crystal... this is what matters most.

Footsteps echo closer, each tap of boots sending ice through my veins. I dart into the shadows, my bare feet making no sound against the stone floor. My back soon presses against the cold stone wall. A spider skitters across my hand and I bite back a yelp. The musty air fills my lungs as I try to steady my breathing.

The sound of my master’s voice—cold and venomous—breaks the silence. “Check the vault,” Wlloza orders. “Something feels… off.”

Dark elves and their damned senses. My nails dig into my palms as I edge deeper into the shadows. My pulse quickens.

"Two years of being the perfect servant. Did you really think I'd forget what you did to her?" I mutter to myself.

The memory of Diane's screams floods back. No. Focus.

The guards' boots scrape closer, echoing off the vault's walls. My heart pounds in my throat. No choice now. I bolt from my hiding spot, sprinting past their shocked faces.

"Stop her! Thief!" they shout behind me.

My bare feet slap against the cold stone as I race down the corridor. The satchel thumps against my hip, gold coins jingling with each step. The weight drags at me, but this fortune is my only chance at freedom.

I skid around a corner, my shoulder slamming into the wall. A wooden door looms ahead. I crash into it shoulder-first, the impact jarring through my bones. The hinges groan as I wrench it open.

Night air hits my face, carrying the city's putrid breath - sewage and rot and unwashed bodies. The moon hangs low over the rooftops, casting long shadows across cobblestone streets.

An arrow whistles past my ear, thudding into the wall beside me. Stone chips spray my cheek.

"Keep running, just keep running." My lungs burn with each gasping breath.

"Foolish girl! You cannot escape me!" Wlloza's voice rings out behind me, closer than it should be.

My foot catches on an uneven stone. The world tilts sideways as I sprawl forward. My palms scrape across rough cobbles, skin tearing.

A shadow falls over me. No. Not when I'm so close.

I roll, yanking a dagger from my sleeve. The blade flashes in the moonlight as I slash upward. Steel meets flesh. A thin red line appears on Wlloza's perfect cheek.

His violet eyes blaze with fury. "You dare-" he snarls.

I don't wait to hear the rest. I duck under his reaching arm and plunge into the crowd of the night market. Bodies press against me as I weave through the throng, the stink of sweat and fear clinging to my skin.

The crowd of the night market provided cover, but with every step, pain sears through my ankle, a stark reminder of my recent tumble. Blood from my scraped palms sticks to the satchel's worn leather, and I can feel the crystal's steady pulse against my chest.

Across the way, a dark elf carriage stands, its driver embroiled in a heated exchange with a vendor. The carriage's door is ajar, an invitation I can't ignore. I slip inside, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as I fold myself into the cramped, hidden compartment beneath the seat. The space is tight, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and old velvet.

My heart thuds in my ears as I clutch the satchel to my chest. The gold coins within clink softly, a sound that seems deafening in the hushed interior of the carriage. My fingers trace the pale, jagged scar on my wrist, a testament to Diane's final, desperate act to free us both. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down, along with the tears that threaten to spill.

"I'll make him pay," I whisper into the dimly lit space, the words a mantra that fuels my resolve. "For Diane. For everything."

Time loses meaning as the carriage sways and jostles over the uneven cobblestones. When it finally comes to a halt, I dare to peek through a narrow gap in the compartment's panels. The lowtown sprawls before me, its warren of narrow streets and dilapidated buildings a stark contrast to the opulence of the dark elf estates.

I wait, listening for any sign of the driver or passersby. When all remains quiet, I ease the compartment open and slide out, my muscles protesting after being cramped for so long. The satchel feels heavier somehow, its contents a burden and a blessing all at once.

The lowtown looms around me, its shadowed alleys and bustling markets a world away from the life I've known. I pull a discarded cloak tight around my shoulders, the coarse fabric scratching at my neck. It's a poor disguise, but it's better than nothing.

I merge with the flow of the crowd, my limp disguised amongst the throng of weary bodies. The lowtown is a cacophony of sound—vendors hawking their wares, the distant clink of a blacksmith's hammer. It's disorienting, yet there's a vibrancy here that's absent in the sterile halls of Wlloza's estate.

A group of dark elf soldiers marches by, their armor gleaming in the lantern light. I press myself against a grimy wall, holding my breath as they pass. Their presence here is a reminder that even in the lowtown, I'm not safe. Not yet.

As the soldiers round a corner and disappear from sight, I release the breath I've been holding. My gaze falls on a tavern across the street, its sign swinging gently in the evening breeze. The Hound's Tooth, it reads, the image of a snarling beast painted beneath the words.

A plan begins to form, the gears of my mind turning as I consider my next move. The tavern could be a goldmine of information—or a trap. Either way, I need to know more about the world I've stumbled into, and the patrons of The Hound's Tooth might just hold the answers I seek.

I pull the hood of the cloak further over my face and step off the curb, my eyes fixed on the tavern's entrance. A pair of burly minotaurs guard the door, their eyes scanning the crowd with a practiced ease. I approach with caution, my steps measured and deliberate.

"Evening, gents," I say, forcing a casual tone. "Heard this is the place to be if you're looking for a good time."

One of the minotaurs grunts in response, his gaze lingering on the cloak's hood. "Depends on what you're looking for," he rumbles, his voice deep and resonant.

I offer a small, secretive smile. "Information, mostly. And maybe a drink, if the price is right."

The other minotaur chuckles, his massive shoulders shaking. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Go on in, but mind yourself. The Hound's Tooth isn't known for its gentle clientele."

With a nod of thanks, I slip past them and into the tavern, the heavy door closing behind me with a resounding thud.