Chapter 37: The Shopping Spree
The cobblestones of the market square were still damp from a morning rain, reflecting the chaotic colors of awnings and stacked spices. The air was a thick stew of scents—sizzling lamb, overripe fruit, strange incense, and the underlying musk of a thousand unwashed bodies. Ana clung to Minalan’s arm, her grip tight, her body humming with a current of pure, unadulterated joy.
“It’s all so much,” she breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the sprawling labyrinth of stalls. The basket from the milkmaids was gone, vanished into the same unseen space where Minalan had stored the pouch of coins.
“Then we’ll have all of it,” Minalan said, his voice a low rumble beside her ear. He guided her through the press of bodies, his easy confidence parting the crowd. He seemed taller here, more solid, the mundane world bending unconsciously around him.
He stopped at a stall piled high with silks and velvets. “Pick,” he told her.
Ana’s fingers, usually so steady for spellwork, trembled as she touched a bolt of deep emerald velvet. “This,” she whispered. “It would please you.”
Minalan didn’t even ask the price. He simply glanced at the merchant, held up a gold coin that hadn’t been in his hand a moment before, and tossed it. The merchant’s eyes bulged as he caught it. The entire bolt of fabric shimmered and then collapsed into nothingness, stored away. Ana let out a soft, thrilled gasp.
This was their rhythm. They moved from stall to stall, a slow, devastating wave through the market. A vendor selling rare inks and vellum? Ana pointed, Minalan conjured coin, the items disappeared. A jeweler with moonstone earrings that caught the light? Bought and stored without a single word of haggling.
He bought her practical things, too. A set of finely balanced silver scales, a crate of glass phials that clinked softly as they vanished, bundles of rare herbs that filled the air with a sharp, green smell. Each purchase was a confirmation of his power, a testament to her worth in his eyes.
In a quieter alley, they found a bookseller whose shelves were crammed with leather-bound volumes, their spines cracked with age. Ana dove in, her sorceress’s instinct taking over. She pulled out a tome on elemental binding, another on psychic wards, her excitement a physical force. “These are… these are texts the Arcanum would kill for,” she said, her voice hushed.
“Then they’re yours,” Minalan said. He leaned against a bookshelf, watching her with a faint, possessive smile. He produced a small, heavy purse this time, the gold within glinting, and handed it to the stunned bookseller. The entire stack of books Ana had gathered dissolved into the air.
She turned to him, her composure finally breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, not of sadness, but of an overwhelming, devotional love that threatened to crack her ribs. “You see me,” she choked out, pressing herself against him in the dusty, paper-scented space. “You see what I want, what I need, and you just… give it to me.”
“It’s what you’re for,” he murmured into her hair, his hand sliding down to cup the heavy curve of her breast through her dress. A warm dampness immediately spread on the fabric where his thumb brushed her nipple. Her body was always ready for him, always responding. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as a fresh trickle of milk soaked into her bodice.
They continued, Ana now floating on a cloud of delirious happiness. She bought a ridiculous, feathered hat and perched it on her head, laughing. She bought a bag of sticky honey pastries and fed one to Minalan, licking the sweetness from his fingers with a worshipful intensity. She bought a set of silk underthings, holding them up for his approval. “For you to take off,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him.
He bought a heavy, hooded cloak of black wool, draping it over her shoulders himself. “The nights are getting colder,” he said, his fingers brushing her neck, and the simple, practical care in the gesture made her want to weep all over again.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the square, when they passed a stall selling weapons. A group of men, their arms thick with muscle and cheap tattoos, were laughing loudly, jostling each other. One of them, a brute with a broken nose, looked Ana up and down, his gaze lingering on her lactating breasts, clearly visible beneath the damp spots on her dress.
“Hey sweetheart,” he leered, stepping into their path. “You look like you could use a real man. That boy doesn’t look like he could handle you.”
The other men chuckled. Ana froze, not in fear, but in a sudden, cold fury.
Minalan didn’t change his expression. He just looked at the man, his gaze flat and calm. “Move,” he said, the word quiet but carrying.
The brute grinned, showing yellowed teeth. “Or what, pretty boy? You gonna cry?”
Minalan’s hand flicked, almost too fast to see. There was no flash of light, no roar of power. The man simply choked, his hands flying to his throat. His eyes widened in terror as he struggled to draw a breath that wouldn’t come. He dropped to his knees, his face turning a mottled purple.
His friends fell silent, their laughter dying in their throats. They stared from their gasping friend to Minalan, who hadn’t moved a muscle otherwise.
“He can’t breathe,” one of them finally stammered.
“I know,” Minalan said. He looked down at the man struggling on the cobblestones. “The air doesn’t want him anymore.” He waited a beat longer, letting the man’s thrashing grow weaker, then flicked his hand again.
The man collapsed, gulping in huge, ragged lungfuls of air, sobbing with relief.
Minalan turned his gaze to the other men. They flinched back as one, stumbling over themselves to get away. He then looked at Ana, his expression softening back into that same easy calm. He offered her his arm again.
She took it, her heart pounding not with fear, but with a fierce, triumphant pride. She leaned close, her body pressed against his as they walked away from the scene, leaving the terrified man weeping on the ground.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
He didn’t reply. He just guided her towards the edge of the market, the sounds of commerce fading behind them. The shopping spree was over. The demonstration was complete. And Ana knew, with every fiber of her remade being, that the real work of the evening was about to begin.
The market's chaos faded behind them, replaced by the wider, cleaner streets of the merchant quarter. Ana’s heart still hammered from the confrontation, a thrilling echo of his casual power. "I thought he was going to die right there," she murmured, her hand tightening on his arm.
"He was irrelevant," Minalan said, his gaze already fixed ahead. "This is what matters." He stopped before a shop front that was all polished dark wood and leaded glass, its windows displaying a single, breathtaking gown of sapphire silk. A discreet silver sigil beside the door marked it as an establishment for the city’s elite.
The moment they stepped inside, the air changed. It was quiet, cool, and smelled of cedar and expensive perfume. A tall woman with severe features and immaculate posture glided forward, her eyes doing a quick, dismissive assessment of their travel-worn clothes. "May I help you?" she asked, her tone implying they were lost.
"We need a dress," Minalan said, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere. He looked past her, at the gown in the window. "That one."
The woman, whose nameplate read 'Madame Evette', offered a thin, condescending smile. "That is a commission piece, young sir. The price is—"
"Get it," he interrupted, his attention finally settling on her. He didn't raise his voice, but something in his calm composure made the woman’s smile falter. "And anything else she wants to try."
An hour later, Ana stood on a low dais, transformed. The sapphire gown was a masterpiece, its fabric whispering against her skin as it hugged her newly enlarged curves before cascading to the floor. It was cut low enough to showcase the deep cleavage his magic had gifted her, the fabric straining slightly over her full breasts. Madame Evette’s demeanor had undergone a complete revolution; she was now a flurry of obsequious activity, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the hem. "A perfect fit," the woman breathed, her earlier disdain replaced by awe. "It is as if it was made for you, madam."
Minalan watched from a velvet chair, one leg crossed over the other. He didn't smile, but his approval was a tangible heat in the room. "We'll take it," he said. He stood, and a heavy purse appeared in his hand, its leather bulging. He tossed it to the stunned madam. "Keep the change."
The restaurant, 'The Gilded Quill', was all muted gold light and the soft murmur of refined conversation. A maître d' with a spectacularly waxed mustache initially tried to direct them to a smaller table near the kitchens, his eyes lingering on Minalan’s simple tunic. "I believe the balcony table is free," Minalan stated, not asking. He gestured to the empty, coveted table overlooking the city’s glowing spires.
"Sir, that table is reserved for—"
Minalan’s gaze met his. The maître d’ stopped speaking, his mouth slightly agape. A faint sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. "Of course," he stammered, bowing slightly. "Right this way."
They were seated at the best table in the house. Ana felt the weight of dozens of eyes from the other diners—men in embroidered waistcoats and women dripping with jewels. She saw the subtle shifts, the raised eyebrows, the whispered questions behind silk fans. Who is he? The young man showed no discomfort, no awe. He ordered for them both without looking at the prices, requesting the oldest vintage in the cellar and the chef's full tasting menu.
When the sommelier presented the wine with reverential pomp, Minalan simply nodded. He conjured a single, ancient-looking gold coin to pay for the astronomically expensive bottle, placing it on the table with a soft, definitive click. The sommelier’s eyes widened, but he took the coin without a word, bowing deeper than he had to any of the nobles in the room.
Throughout the meal, Ana floated in a haze of divine pleasure. Each course was a new revelation—seared scallops on a bed of spiced pear, a consommé so clear it seemed to hold light, a venison so tender it melted on her tongue. But the true feast was the man across from her. He listened as she spoke about the arcane texts they’d acquired, his questions sharp and insightful, proving his understanding went far beyond brute force. He was, she realized with a jolt, brilliant.
"You're staring," he said, a faint smirk touching his lips as he swirled the deep red wine in his glass.
"I'm memorizing," she replied, her voice soft. "This night. The way the light hits your jaw. Everything." Her body thrummed with a low, constant ache, her breasts feeling heavy and sensitive, a reminder of the purpose that awaited her later.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "The Duke two tables over has looked at you seven times. He’s wondering if you’re a foreign princess I’ve stolen." His eyes glinted with amusement. "He’s also terrified of me."
She didn't need to look. She could feel the man's nervous, flickering attention. "Let him wonder," she said, lifting her chin. She belonged here, at this table, with this god. The dress, the food, the wine—it was all just a beautiful prelude.
He paid the bill with another casually conjured stack of heavy gold marks, leaving a pile of them on the silver platter that made their waiter gasp. As they stood to leave, the entire restaurant had grown quiet. Every noble, every server, watched the unassuming young man and his devastatingly beautiful companion depart. The maître d’ practically bowed them out the door, his earlier arrogance completely shattered.
A private carriage Minalan had seemingly summoned from thin air waited at the curb. He handed her in, his palm a warm brand on the small of her back. The door clicked shut, sealing them in plush, dark silence. The sounds of the city were suddenly muffled, distant.
He settled into the seat across from her, the shadows carving the sharp lines of his face. The composure he had worn all evening now seemed like a thin veil over something immense and waiting. He didn't speak. He just looked at her, his gaze traveling from the elegant sweep of her neck, down over the sapphire silk stretched tight across her chest, and lower.
Ana’s breath hitched. The divine pleasure of the evening condensed into a single, sharp point of anticipation. The real work of the evening was finally here.