Whatever that means.
I, in fact, am very aware that not much exists outside of the Brotherhood at Eulogia, especially when it comes to my family. We’re founding members, heirs to a patriarchal Legacy regarded with the utmost seriousness. Members of the Brotherhood of Death rarely fraternize with anyone outside of the Society unless it’s for a golden “F”. Family or fucking.
Ford looks bored and won't stop checking his Submariner. Dex, on the other hand, is scanning the room for trouble, noting who’s returned from their Alpine or Amalfi escapes this summer.
Ford rolls his eyes. “I guess I can fuck a lacrosse player,” he mutters, pulling our great-grandfather’s flask engraved with a skull and bones from his breast pocket, taking a swig. “I do love their anger.”
I roll my eyes back at him. “Okay, disgusting. Anyway, how are your courses? Any professors you enjoy so far?”
They both stare at me, arms crossed, with a very twinlike, annoyed look on their faces. Of the three of us, I’m the only one who actually attends classes.
Dex wanders away without a goodbye, and Ford looks off, distracted again.
I can tell he’s already fallen down the dark hole that comes with traveling to our Estate. I, on the other hand, have always been a strategist. I refuse to let the dread sink in until we’re pulling through the iron gates sporting our family name:Huntington-Russell.
“Save it 'til morning when we're in the car heading home, Ford. No use in prematurely exposing yourself to the inevitable pain of tomorrow,” I say quietly, knowing he can still hear me over the music and chatter of the dorm party.
“Fine, fine, my little Mar-tini. It’s only fair you have a bit of fun before Father chooses a husband for you,” He exhales with the weight of supposed indignation, though we both know his influence rivals Father’s.
I shiver at Ford's reminder. We’re descendants of one of the founding members of the Brotherhood of Death, with a commitment to quite an old pact made before a few wars. My mother once told me they signed the deal in blood. I like to think that’s just a rumor, but with what I hear about the Society, I’m never quite sure.
“I prefer to ignore the certain future of my less-than-willing nuptials and instead demand a glass of wine from my dear big brother,” I smile sweetly, tugging on his coat sleeve. He ignores my request with a bored look and shakes me off.
“I’m going to bed,” I huff, fully aware of how petulant I truly sound as I stomp my loafers across the room to the makeshift bar atop a grand piano.
A Victorian Steinway piano used as a dormitory bar. How fitting for Eulogia.
Campus buildings are organized into dormitories, with four large suites per floor that connect to a central shared space, typically used for hosting events. Only two families havetheir own private floors within the buildings: The Huntington-Russells and the Tafts.
My brothers share our suite but mainly reside in The Brotherhood’s residence, a private building on the edge of campus that neighbors the Tomb, where all their secrecy is kept, leaving me living alone, aside from the frequent, often dramatic visits from Ford. He usually storms in at dawn, furious about an issue he refuses to explain. After a string of expletives or helping himself to whatever vodka he can find, he collapses onto one of the many vacant chaises he insists on using instead of the room prepared for him.
Our private Huntington-Russell residence is under tight security, as our family is one of the wealthiest on campus next to the Tafts. We've never hosted in our quarters, and to my brothers’ great pleasure—and my mother's dismay—I've never desired a guest, let alone a social event.
The Taft family, like ours, is composed of politicians, presidents, and cabinet members. Unfortunately, they’re also impressively dull for people with that many titles. I’ve only known the older generations in passing, never intimately, but if the current generation is any indication, they’re all insufferable. One of the elder Tafts once groped me at a Society mixer when I was twelve. No one said anything, of course. They never do.
His granddaughter, Fanny Taft, is currently flirting desperately in the corner. I look over to see her leaning so far forward that her breasts are tumbling out of her already intentionally sheer blouse as she chats with another Bonesman, Archibald Franklin. Archie is smirking as he looks at her chest. Not at all shocking, as out of all the Bonesmen, he’s the most notorious flirt. Stelle Renbrook leans forward as well, joining the battle for attention. Archie and I have known each other since we were children. He’s incredibly close to my brothers and practically grew up at our Estate.
Dex is in the corner of the room, playing cards with another Bonesman. They’re intensely focused on their hands of cards and cigarettes. I realize as I pour myself a glass of wine that there’s nothing here for me at this party any longer.
Fine. I’ll take it back to my suite across the lawn and finish it with the last of my Niccolò Machiavelli. I’m nearly through, and while I’m not quite plotting to overthrow a government, perhaps only my father, I am ready for something a touch less exhausting.
I wave a small goodbye to Ford and Dex, knowing they’ll see me even though they've both slithered off to different sins. My brothers' eyes are always on me, even when I don’t think they’re looking. I’m sure all of the Bonesmen are watching me, too. Controlling bastards.
Balancing the long-stemmed glass of wine, I slip out of the party and head home without the procession of goodbyes I could have said to classmates I don’t particularly like. I’ve never been one for close friends, and this evening wasn’t going to result in finding one.
There's a slight chill in the air as I pull my cardigan tighter over my shoulders and look up to admire the moon. It’s large in the sky tonight, illuminating my pathway brighter than the evenly spaced gas lamps along the path.
I didn’t expect to enjoy the party, but I thought I could suffer through it a little longer than I did. Regardless of my lack of social desire at Eulogia, I still have an image to uphold. My knack for avoidance usually wedges me into the category of spoiled ultra-cunt, and I prefer it that way.
I have enough trouble at our family estate, I surely don’t need to create more at my home away from it. The worse they think I am, the better. It keeps them at a safe distance.
My footsteps echo across the brick path as I spot a tall figure just ahead, standing beyond the glow of the lamplight.I don’t know if he’s menacing because of the shadows, or just because he’s massive. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to make a decision.
A cloud of cigarette smoke suddenly swallows me as I pass, the thick plume hitting me square in the face. I double over in a coughing fit, eyes already stinging with tears. A firm hand claps me on the back, too hard, and presses a crystal tumbler of ice water into my hand.
Without thinking, and far more naïve than I’d care to admit, I take a grateful sip. As if karma were waiting for the moment, the sharp burn of alcohol hits my mouth, and I immediately spit it out all over the stranger’s chest.
It’s clearly not water.
