หวานสวาทเจ้าสาวสิบเก้ามงกุฎ

The day was dark despite it being one of the most celebrated instances during the year. Heavy dark clouds billowed in from the West, and with it came the thick heady scent of rain threatening to pour and disrupt the occasion.

Inayah peered up at the sky and sighed lowly, pressing into her friend sitting beside her on the wagon whose wheels bumped on the weathered road it tread.

"It's so cold, " Anita whispered and Inayah agreed, wordlessly securing an arm around her friend and pulling her close to her side. The nuzzled against each other's sides in tensed silence as familiar rooftops slowly came to view.

Thin wisps of billowing smoke rose from thatched roofs, and soon came the drifting banter of children and adults as they moved about - from their homes towards the main hall.

Inayah exhaled a cloud of warmth that wicked into the cold dull evening air. She was exhausted but knew that sleep, especially now, was almost forbidden.

The slave market held annually at the village as girls born and raised within the middle and lower class were to be sold to the highest bidder at the auctions.

Myriads of girls would be attending from the ages of eleven to nineteen being the oldest and possibly the most ready for marriage.

Inayah's gaze listless wandered over the barren crop land, dried out corn husks billowing lazily in the wind.

She knew the time had come for her to be auctioned off a slave, the money given to her poor-ridden family. Despite the fear that leaped in her throat, there was relief and certain warmth in knowing that her value, though small, would ease their burdens.

It had been two days since they last ate a proper meal, with winter fast approaching all crops had been to ice over and her father had gone off to a far market in search of meat. They would need food soon.

Inayah thought of her youngest brother, Zahir -- wide brown eyes that glistened over with tears at the sight of her retreating, small wiry hands that had clutched at the hem of her skirt, cheeks flushed from the strain of weeping as Inayah bade her mother and him a final goodbye.

Her chest clenched and she grit her teeth to prevent further crying.

It would be futile, anyway.

The past was behind and all that lay ahead was this life.

The wagon drew to a jostling, shaky halt and both girls leaped off, hands still clutched tightly together, so tight their knuckles paled ghost white. They automatically began to move towards the wooden building where the auction would take place.

Inayah pursed her lips into a thin, grim line as her gaze cast dubious self-conscious glances at the numerous girls all lined up outside. They wore their best outfits, and most seemed to be within the middle-class family range. Perfectly combed hairs pulled back into neat ponytails or let fall in soft golden ringlets around their faces.

Suddenly, a pair of calloused hands pressed over her eyes and she felt unfamiliar body heat against her back. The figure remained silent. Inayah stiffened, scrunching her nose in order to catch a proper scent of the person.

Something warm flooded her chest as her grim mouth curved upwards in a smile. "Oscar, " she spoke and the hands dropped to her shoulders, squeezing encouragingly.

A mouth pressed against the shell of her ear minutes later; "I will be inside, waiting." And then he was gone.

The interior is warm. Inayah is placed at the back of the line, much to her expectation, not that she was complaining and silently watches as the auction begins.

The prettiest girls go first, bagging just enough money - somewhere between twenty five to thirty silver coins. As the line depletes so does the amount and by the time Inayah is climbing the stage, she expects nothing more than a meagre five silver coins.

Her heart judders and she curses the lack of refinement and beauty in her. It had never bothered her before, tomboyish looks - swamp brown eyes, a cluster of sunburned freckles from toiling beneath the malevolent sun and singed brown hair that burned at the edges when her brother recklessly played with a candle.

Her hands and legs were neither smooth nor pale - bronzed and littered with scars and dried scabs she had nervously plucked at on the way to town.

"Inayah Ziniat, " the auctioneer announced with less enthusiasm, "hails from the ziniat family." He gestures for her to spin and she does so slowly, self consciously.

All the while, Inayah is vaguely aware of someone's stare.

Timidly, she peers up from beneath her long lashes, scanning the crowd of disinterested people, her mouth twitches at the sight of Oscar standing by the door smiling wide at her. It did not matter who she was sold to, he would always have her heart, and as long as they remained in the same village--

"Are there any bidder-" the auctioneer was cut off by a low, sonorous voice.

"Forty silver coins."

Inayah almost fell off the block as there were gasps and loud whispers.