Milana stared stubbornly at the ground, trying not to think too much of where she was, or of all the eyes that were currently studying her naked body.

"Turn," snapped the slave master to her, and she dutifully did a slow spin so that all her prospective buyers could get a look at the 'whole package'.

Milana was the last slave in her batch to be auctioned today – she was the crowning glory, the one expected to fetch the most money.

A classic Vongolian beauty, her large blue eyes, bee-stung lips, and high cheekbones had earned her a lot of unwanted attention in her lifetime.

Coupled with her pale, flawless skin and her full figure, Milana was what one would call a "house slave."

Another piece of furniture to decorate the house, to cook and clean and look after children.

And to keep her owners company during the night.

Facing forwards once more, Milana looked up, and her gaze caught on a man standing at the back of the group.

Clad in dark reds, the cut of his clothes was obviously styled after the fashions popular in the Vongola Empire to the North, and the sight of him made Milana's heart clench with homesickness. She had been away for far too long.

The man, who was wearing a hood that obscured the top half of his face, had bought seven of the slaves in Milana's lot today, all of them Vongolian.

Milana had heard the slave master talking to his companions earlier that day, before the auction had started, and they had seemed extremely pleased to see the man there.

Apparently he was quite famous among slave traders.

He apparently worked for an eccentric, wealthy old man who had a fetish for Vongola slaves, and he always paid extremely well.

But because he seemed to always be buying slaves, there were rumours that his employer was extremely cruel to the ones he did buy, that the men would be worked to death, and the women executed after a night in his chambers.

Milana hoped that he would not be the one to buy her. Hoped with all her heart that someone else might finally be able to outbid him.

But she hoped in vain.

Less than ten minutes later, despite all the people fighting tooth and nail for her, the red-clothed man had won once again, and his lips were twisted up into a vindictive smile.

Milana shivered as she was walked over to join the rest of his new slaves, trying not to cry.

She wasn't ready to die yet!

She still needed to find a way to get back home!

The crowd began dispersing around them, now that the sale was over, and two men stepped up to surround Milana and the rest of the slaves that had been bought by the red-clothed man.

She kept her gaze fixed firmly to the ground, still blinking back tears, and was therefore extremely startled when a heavy cloak was settled onto her shoulders.

Looking up, she saw that it was one of the guards that worked for the red-clothed man.

He was dressed similarly, only his clothes were in dark yellows and golds.

She couldn't see his eyes because of the hood he wore, but his lips were stretched into a kind, almost fatherly smile, despite the fact that he couldn't be more than six years older than her.

She looked away, not feeling comfortable with seeing such a friendly expression on a man who worked for her future murderer.

Looking around at the other slaves, she saw that they were also being outfitted with cloaks, handed out by the yellow-clothed man, and a companion of his dressed in blues.

Once the slaves were all covered up, their hands were tied before them with ropes, so that they wouldn't escape.

"I am very sorry for this," whispered the yellow-clothed man as he knotted the rope around Milana's fragile wrists. "I promise you, it will all be better soon."

Milana didn't reply.

She decided right then that she hated this man.

She hated him for how sincerely upset he seemed that he was tying her up.

Because if he did care, he wouldn't be doing it in the first place.

Before he moved on, he reached out a hand to ruffle her hair gently.

"You remind me so much of my little sister," he said, his voice soft.

"Does your sister know what you are doing today?" spat out Milana, looking up at the man with venom in her eyes.

"She does," replied the yellow-clothed man. "And she tells me every day how proud she is of me."

"Then she's a monster," replied Milana. "Just. Like. You."

The smile disappeared from the man's face, and his arm twitched, as if he were about to hit her.

But in the end, he simply turned and walked away.

"You will thank me for this later," he said, sounding so sure of himself.

It grated on Milana's nerves.

"Like hell I will!" she yelled after him, but he didn't seem to hear her, or else he didn't seem to care.

And then, once all the slaves were tied up, they were walked over to a lavish, covered carriage.

The ride to their new home was long, and throughout the whole trip, the red-clothed man who had bought them and his two companions were exceedingly good to the slaves, periodically asking them if they were comfortable, if they needed anything, if they were hungry.

And with each gesture of kindness, Milana found herself hating them more.

How could they be so kind to the slaves if they were just taking them to their deaths?

It seemed like an act of such inhuman cruelty.

And then, after a day and a half of traveling, the carriage came to a stop in front of a large, cozy wooden villa near to the Millefiore-Vongola border.

When the slaves stepped out of the carriage, blinking in the sudden brightness and looking around confusedly, the red-clothed man addressed them.

"We will be stopping here to have you all properly clothed and made presentable for your Master. You will be untied, but it is strongly advised that you refrain from attempting to escape. Not only is it in your best interest to reach our final destination, there are no other people for miles around here, and the forest is populated with wolves."

Milana snorted to herself.

Sure, it was in her best interest to reach her new "master's" house. Bull fucking shit.

But for now, she would comply.

She would play the part of the obedient, docile slave, until she could find the right chance to escape over the border, which couldn't be more than a mile or two away.

She was so close to home, she could practically smell it.

As one, Milana and the other slaves were marched into the villa, and into a room that was full to bursting with racks upon racks of new clothes.

Vongolian styled clothes.

Stepping forward with stuttering steps, Milana ran a hand over the fabric of the nearest shirt, feeling a sob well up within her.

It had been so long, so, so long since she had seen clothes like these, let alone worn them.

And suddenly, she didn't even care if they belonged to the despicable man who had bought her.

Because they were Vongolian clothes, and that was all that mattered.

After more than ten minutes of searching, she finally settled on a pair of tight-fitting black pants, and a comfortable, dark blue tunic.

By then, the others had also all chosen their outfits, and they were all soon led out of the room of clothes and into another one.

A dining room.

With a table laden down with some of the most mouth-watering food Milana had seen in her life.

She could even see a bowl of soup at the other end of the table that she knew immediately was a special dish from the region she had grown up in.

"I know you must all be starving now," said the voice of the red-clothed man from behind them, "But I will have to ask you to wait a few moments more before you dig in.

Turning around to give him a snarky reply, Milana saw that he had taken off his hood, and she felt betrayal shoot through her upon seeing his distinctly Vongolian features.

His silver hair, like liquid moonlight spilling to his shoulders, and his stormy grey-green eyes told her he must have been from the Storm region, where more than half the people had that colouring.

"Why...?" asked a man to Milana's side, his voice full of the same betrayal she felt.

The Storm man's lips twitched slightly at the corners.

"You will understand soon," was his only reply, and Milana felt like exploding.

Soon, soon, soon.

That was the only thing they ever said

Well how soon was it going to be?

Suddenly, there was a soft chuckle from the doorway, and a chastising voice.

"Don't tease them, Hayato," said the new voice, and Milana and the others turned to look at who had just entered.

He was a man clad in burnt oranges and dark ambers.

His lips were pulled into a sweet smile, and as he stepped forward, he pulled off his hood to reveal disheveled brown hair that stuck up every which way, and sweet caramel eyes.

"I apologize, your Highness," replied the Storm man, Hayato. "It won't happen again."

Milana's eyes widened, and suddenly, her heart was beating so fast, she was afraid it would beat right out of her chest soon enough.

"Y-your highness...?" she stuttered, her mouth going dry and hope springing to life in side her. Could it be?

The man's eyes turned to her, and Milana's breath caught in her throat when she saw the fire burning in them.

"You have gone through too much," he said, his expression sad, and he stepped forward to touch a tender hand to Milana's cheek. "But you are safe now. I promise."

Tears burned at the corners of Milana's eyes, her suspicions having been confirmed, and she finally let go of all the years of pent up loneliness and hurt inside of her in great, wailing sobs.

Collapsing into the man's open arms, she clutched tightly to him, thanking whatever Gods had answered her prayers.

She had been saved.

After so many years of torture and loneliness in a foreign land, she had been saved.

And by none other than her future king, Tsunayoshi di Vongola.

The End.

SkyGem: Wow. Well, that was quite an interesting fic to write. But I really like how it came out. It isn't often I get to write in this kind of world. Anyways, please do leave a review guys, and let me know what you thought!