The cool, pale material slides over my skin like a gentle breeze. Intricate lace patterns cascade along my arms and down my entire back, leaving me feeling exposed. The skirt onlybillows out slightly, providing enough room for me to walk comfortably, but still clings to my hips in an enticing manner.
“The removal of your old clothes is symbolic,” Mrs. Emerson says. “It represents you shedding your preconceived notions about control and embracing the Order’s authority over you.”
I grip handfuls of my skirt and yank on them. “Why a wedding dress? That’s pretty fucking specific.”
“You’re a bride.” When my eyes nearly pop out of my head, she waves a hand in dismissal. “Relax. The only contract you’re fulfilling is the one you signed, not a contract of marriage.”
“Let me guess,” June says, folding her arms, “the wedding dress is symbolic?”
The older woman nods. “However, not in the way you think. Yes, it’s associated with loyalty, in the way a bride must remain faithful to her husband. But it also represents the power the recruit has over you. If he claims you, he will be your master, and you will be his property.”
I make a choking noise before throwing up my hands. “I’m out, like a vegan at a fucking barbecue.”
“Same.” June marches behind me. “No scholarship is worth this shit.”
“Failure to fulfill your duties doesn’t just have repercussions within these walls.”
Mrs. Emerson’s words have me coming to a halt mid-step. I plant my feet and slowly turn to face her, my heart thundering in my chest. “What do you mean?”
“The power wielded by the Order extends far beyond the realm of academia.” The older woman’s brow furrows, a pitying expression on her face. “Did you really think you could walk away? The founding families of the Obsidian Order are no ordinary individuals. They control industries that permeate every facet of society. Technology, firearms, medicine, finance—their influence is beyond comprehension for those outside its confidentiality.”
The gravity of her revelation has my legs trembling. I reach out and grip June’s hand to keep from falling to the ground.
Mrs. Emerson continues speaking, every sentence like a guillotine above my head, getting closer and closer. “Your actions and involvement within this place are not isolated. The power behind these men is not only extensive but pervasive. You can’t escape it, no matter where you run. It’s better for you to save your energy for the chase in the Bride Hunt.”
“Chase?” I repeat the word in a whisper, barely discernible to my own ears. “What chase?”
Mrs. Emerson nods. “That is the part of the ceremony you were summoned for, bride.”
“But we’re not actually getting married, right?” Brenda asks. She wrings her hands until her skin blanches, similar to the pallor of her face. When the older woman nods, she exhales. “What about the chance to get out of this?”
“If you can make it to the forest’s edge, your contract will be null and void.” Mrs. Emerson shrugs. “It’s as simple as that.”
“And if we can’t?” I ask, my words sharp with fear.
“Then, my dear bride, your recruit will be averyhappy man.”
Chapter 25
DELILAH
The forest is eerie at night.
Ancient trees cast elongated shadows in the moonlight, turning the grass-covered earth into a sea of black. In contrast, Brenda, June, and I stand there, covered in snowy white dresses that are blinding against the dark background.
There’s no way we can hide.
My heartbeat echoes in my ears, growing louder with every passing moment until I’m deafened by my fear. The other girls’ expressions mirror my own, a mixture of horror, reluctant acceptance, and anticipation. No one has said it out loud, but we’re all determined to get out of our contract by reaching the edge of the forest.
If not, we’re fucking fucked.
I glance at the trees, waiting for someone to emerge from the shadows. Although I’ve been waiting for their arrival since I first stepped outside, I’m still shocked when it happens. One by one, each man appears, completely covered in black clothing.
And a mask.
Every single one has a white background with black designs. Some have splotches over the eyes, while others have streaks or tribal-like markings. One has nothing except black dots on it, reminding me of an old-school hockey mask.
I’m sure the masks and the colors symbolize something. I just don’t know what. And have no intention of staying long enough to find out.
