Nyell felt the muscles of his face twitching as he resisted the urge to throw the outfit on the floor. He wanted to do only one thing right now: stomp on it with both feet. But instead, he stood immobile, glaring daggers at the clothing, if it could still be referred to as such. This was ridiculous. He might as well walk around naked. And honestly? It wouldn't make much difference whether he paraded butt-naked or went around wearing that thing.
The loose pants were made out of whitish, almost see-through fabric with a large open triangle on the outward side of the thighs, as if to allow hands to wander where they shouldn't. The metallic belt of the waistband was thin and flexible, and he could tell at a glance that it'd hang low on his hips. The top wasn't any better: it consisted of a collar and falling strands of transparent fabric, which, once worn, would fall over the ribs like a waterfall. It was delicately crafted and embroidered with tinny beads and golden chains. Discreet but beautiful jewelry completed the outfit, which only added to Nyell's annoyance. But it wasn't like his distaste for bracelets and rings mattered in his abductor's eyes. All the bastard wanted was to make him presentable.
"Even if you glare at it all day, I doubt it'll suddenly turn into smoke," Yohan half-chorted, half-snorted. "You're the prized good of today's auction, so you'll have to play the part."
"How about not reminding me?" Nyell sighed, although aware Yohan had a point. "It's going to be so darn hard to keep my head lowered and not hurl insults left and right on our way to the auction hall. I can control my temper only so much."
On the bright side, Nyell wasn't asked to doll up like at the trial, and the clothing wasn't overly complex and challenging to put on. It wasn't like he was shy, either. A bit of exposed skin wouldn't kill him. What ultimately annoyed him was the glaring erotic aspect of the outfit. Its sole purpose was to arouse the audience, and that irked him to no end. But Nyell didn't have much of a choice. He'd have to get out of his comfy clothes and put this monstrosity on sooner or later.
"Well," Yohan scoffed, "I'm surprised you haven't lost your temper yet."
"Honestly, I almost did when the bastard came to visit you," Nyell gritted his teeth, a deep-rooted feeling of disgust rising in the pit of his stomach. "Fingernail marks are still visible on the palms of my hands. Looks like I clenched my fists with a bit too much strength."
"No, really?" The sarcasm in Yohan's voice was dripping, but Nyell still caught a glimpse of a faint, embarrassed smile. This guy… He said one thing and acted one way, even when he obviously felt otherwise deep down. Not like Nyell could blame him, though. His personality would have also grown slightly warped if he had been in his shoes, considering the little he had seen these past few days.
The bastard had come over almost every evening to have some pleasant time with Yohan, and Nyell could do nothing but watch. It was torture. But fortunately, something always happened, and the bastard couldn't go further than some groping and a few kisses, if that gross act of forcing his lips against Yohan's could still be called kissing. Nyell had a hunch that either Dangu or the children purposely created a distraction upstairs, which required the man's attention as the leader and interrupted him every time. His mood soured and his face distorted into an ugly scowl whenever his fun was disrupted, but he thankfully left to take care of whatever commotion the ghosts had caused. He was too cautious to let someone else handle it.
Still, it left a bad taste in Nyell's mouth. Yohan told him repeatedly that it was fine, for it wasn't the time yet for him to intervene and blow his cover. Yohan could go through a few more days of hell if that meant he'd regain his freedom soon. Most of all, he was adamant about seeing the bastard's empire crumble on the auction day. He could not wait to see him fall into despair and watch the panic spread across the audience. It was worth enduring the abuse a little longer. Or at least, that was what Yohan said.
Needless to say, Nyell hadn't been convinced and still wasn't.
"Alright, I should get ready now," Nyell heaved a deep sigh as he undressed. "If I want things to go according to plan, I gotta stop whining like a baby…"
"It'd be better, yes," Miell smiled as he struggled with his own outfit, which made Yohan roll his eyes. He didn't wait for the beastman to ask for help before going to his side and adjusting the waistband on his buttocks, just below his fluffy tail. These pants hadn't been sewn with a beastman's anatomy in mind. "Thanks, it was stuck…"
"Yeah, I can see that."
While Yohan helped Miell with a few more touch-ups, Nyell let his mind wander. Hopefully, he'd make no blunder, and everything would go according to plan.
Over the past few days, Nyell had been planning with Dangu the best course of action that would guarantee the best outcome: no matter what, he wanted to make sure to round up the majority of the smugglers and buyers in one fell swoop. After much deliberation, they concluded that they should wait until Nyell was put up for bid. According to the children, who had been working around the clock and digging around, the rumor had spread like wildfire across the black market. The potential buyers were so excited that they had grown careless. Before this past week, neither Wua'en nor Wue'en had heard anything about the trafficking of sentient beings, which, surprisingly, seemed to have been going on behind the scenes for a few months. According to the timeline they managed to recreate, it began almost at the same time as when the sea started to misbehave. Coincidence? Probably not.
It had been a dutifully guarded secret, as those involved knew very well what would be the consequences of being caught. But that only applied to the werewolves. The foreign lords, dignitaries, and merchants, who were either buyers or sellers, were not fearful. They didn't believe the various stories circulating about Myrven and Layla, deeming them exaggerated. The Lord's aides couldn't be as dangerous as portrayed, could they now? That would be too ludicrous!
They also weren't afraid of Allen, confident that their status as foreigners would protect them. Each and every one of them held the belief that Allen wouldn't risk going to war with other countries because of a few mere smuggled beings, which they often saw as lower than them. Still, some weren't complete fools, and they could tell that trafficking his supposedly fated mate was stretching it. However, the gains outweighed the risks.
The more delirious among them were even thinking of introducing one of their people to Allen later on, using the excuse that some company would help heal his broken heart and that he shouldn't dwell on his mate's disappearance forever. They wanted to expand their influence through the mating ceremony, something they couldn't do with Nyell around. Others were simply salivating at the idea of putting their hands on a beautiful being like Nyell: he would make the perfect addition to their collection. His awe-inspiring appearance on the day of the trial of the Fated Mates was still fresh in their memories, and they could not get it out of their heads. It was almost as if they had been entranced to the point of becoming obsessed.
When Dangu reported the children's findings, Nyell was left with a dropped jaw, wondering just how arrogant and disconnected from reality someone could get. Actions brought consequences, whoever you were. It was clear these foreigners knew nothing of the werewolf society, nor did they take the information provided to them seriously. Nothing from the White Moon tribe's history was hidden, yet they brushed it off as legends or hyperactive imagination. They didn't believe their informants. If they had, they wouldn't be so proactive in seeking death. Unless they did wish to die.
Nyell was speechless. If he had been in their place, he would have thought twice about Allen's lack of reaction. For the time being, the shaman had been telling people that his mate was staying at home these days, resting. He wasn't used to seafood and had indigestion. But he didn't want to miss the festival, so Allen told him to sleep it off until then. It was obviously a load of bullcrap.
Still, the foreigners and werewolves who participated in the illegal trade thought of themselves as the wiser: in their twisted minds, Allen was lying to preserve his image. It'd ruin his reputation if it were to be known that his fated mate had gone missing in his very own territory. Myrven and Layla had been sighted frantically going around the tribe, seemingly searching for something. Their behavior, in their view, was undeniable proof that the White Moon Lord wanted to keep the incident under wraps. Some suspected that he'd declared his fated mate dead after a while, never bringing up his disappearance. For them, everything boiled down to power. A chief couldn't show any weaknesses, even if it concerned his fated mate.
How wrong were they! Nyell knew better than anyone how feral a werewolf could get if someone dared to involve their mate. Honor? Integrity? Reputation? These could all go down the rabbit hole. Yet, it seemed like the werewolves from the White Moon tribe had truly forgotten about their inner beasts' unstable emotional states. Allen was right: they had grown farther and farther away from their roots, only keeping what they deemed useful.
But as for Allen's case, Nyell didn't doubt a second that he hadn't forgotten and was true to his instinct. He acted rational and well-mannered, but that was a facade. Had he disappeared without warning, he knew Allen wouldn't have given a shit about anything, including his duties, and would have ransacked the tribe from the inside out until he found him. The thought made Nyell smirk slightly. If anything, it appeared to him that the White Moon tribe and most of the foreigners knew nothing about the Lord of this land. Not that he was much better, as Allen was shrouded in mystery, but Nyell had come to accept it as a fact.
'I do feel bad for Myrven, though,' Nyell silently chuckled as he fastened the belt on his hips. 'Allen's working him to the bones.'
The familiar spirit still had to keep the preparation ongoing for the three-day festival while simultaneously taking care of the rescued children and women and pretending to be searching for Nyell, even though he already knew where he was. It must have been annoying. Nyell didn't know if Allen had tasked him with other things to do, but he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. There were many things to do in a short amount of time, and Allen trusted very few people to take care of them.
Well, Nyell guessed that was what happened when you were talented in many fields and you had a tyrant as a chief. Even he hadn't been spared, and he was his fated mate!