No one says anything for a moment.
Madame K folds her hands. “The Kings have made it known that Miss Bonaccorso is their only heir. Any hint of sabotage, any whiff of disgrace, and they will pull her from Westpoint immediately. If that happens, the truce is dead, and we all lose.”
Rhett taps his glass. “So the contest is to see if Bam can follow orders.”
Dean Marcus says, “Correct.”
I try not to laugh. It’s all theater. The girl is bait, and we’re supposed to play nice while the world watches.
“Anything else?” Rhett asks, still smiling.
Abelard shakes his head. “That will be all.”
We stand as a unit. The Board stays seated. The silence is thick enough to chew.
On the way out, Marcus stops me at the door. “A moment, Mr. Ellis-Black.”
The others go ahead. I stay, arms folded.
Marcus studies me, eyes bloodshot at the corners. “You understand what’s at stake here?”
I don’t answer.
“If you touch her, if you mark her—”
I lean in, just enough to make him uncomfortable. “I’ll play your game. But if anyone else makes a move, I’ll end them. You know that, right?”
He holds my gaze for a long time. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Then you know what to do.”
I walk out, letting the door swing behind me.
We gather in our dorm, in what was once a study, but has since been converted into our darts/smoking room. Julian is already pouring whiskey, straight from the decanter, into mismatched glasses. Rhett takes his with ice; Colton refuses, opting for whatever is in his flask.
“Thoughts?” Rhett says, swirling his drink.
Colton shrugs. “It’s a setup. She’s just here to draw them out, start a war.”
Julian leans back, stretching his legs across a velvet settee. “They want us to look tame. Fuck that.”
I plant myself on the window seat, arms crossed. “We do it their way, just this once. Then we do it our way.”
Rhett laughs, low and dangerous. “You planning to go rogue?”
I shrug. “Just want to see who else is hunting her.”
Julian grins, teeth gleaming. “I bet the Castillos have their own plan. Probably already in the woods, setting traps.”
Colton finally speaks. “She doesn’t want to be caught.”
“That’s the point,” I say. “She’ll run. Hard. She’ll make it a show.”
Rhett raises his glass. “To the Hunt, then. May the best wolf win.”
We clink glasses, but it’s just for show. Nobody here believes in tradition. Not anymore.
I watch the window, watching the sun drop behind the treeline. The world outside is getting darker, colder. The Hunt is coming, and everyone who is in the know, feels the shift.
