I turn away, each step like tearing open a wound. Behind me, separated by glass and fate and my own desperate bargain, Flori continues her first days in captivity.
And I begin mine as a monster.
Chapter 11
Florienne
When the masks fall away, even Gods hold their breath.”
—WHISPERED BY PRIESTESSES ON HUNT NIGHT
The Huntsman’s body spasms against me, a motion that leaves his mask fluttering as he gasps for breath. I still grip his cock inside his breeches, sticky and wet. At first, I think it’s just from his release, but then more warmth floods from above. I glance up, horrified. A sword protrudes from his leather jacket.
No. It can’t be.
He falls to his knees with a groan, collapsing on me, revealing the triumphant figure behind him. The Baron wears his dark hair slicked back. Clean armor clings to his broad shoulders. His cold eyes gleam with victory, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as he yanks his sword free.
I struggle to hold the Huntsman upright. He’s bleeding out. Because of me. Because he tried to protect me. I’ll be damned if I let the Baron take what’s mine without a fight. Because deepin my heart, I know the truth has been staring at me this whole time. The Huntsman is no stranger. I don’t care what he claims. He’s the boy who tried to save me all those years ago.
While the Baron is busy sheathing his sword, I pretend to fall under the weight of the Huntsman. It’s not exactly a lie. He’s heavy. But it’s the perfect opportunity for me to take a page out of Demaya’s book and steal the curved weapon at his hip. It releases easily, almost jumping into my palm as though eager for retribution.
Blue hair whips across my face as I straighten, hiding the blade behind my back to confront the Baron. Let him underestimate me like all the rest. Let him think me weak, helpless, his for the taking. He’s about to learn just how wrong he is.
“Florienne,” he croons, stalking closer. “Sweet, foolish girl. When will you learn? There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.”
Something familiar about his cruel laughter trails ice-cold fingers down my spine.
“You belong to me.”
“I belong to no one,” I counter. “Least of all you.”
“Still so defiant, even now. It’s almost admirable.” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the twisted briars, the blood-soaked altar. “But look around you, little queen. Your protector lies broken at your feet. What hope do you have left?”
“More than you know,” I hiss through gritted teeth, circling him warily, weapon behind my back. My gaze shifts to the crumpled figure, my chest tightening at the sight of his blood collecting on the ancient stones. The Baron’s right. He can’t protect me anymore. But maybe, just maybe, I can protect him.
“Why?” The question tears from my throat, raw and aching. “Why do any of this?”
“You truly are naive, aren’t you?” the Baron scoffs, prowling closer, boots crunching on scattered petals. “Power, Florienne. It’s always about power. And you, my dear, are the key to it all.”
He lunges, but I’m faster.
With a cry of fury, I swing the weapon with every ounce of strength, every shred of will. The sharp crescent blade slices his temple and hits bone. The impact shudders up my arms, knocking the weapon free from my weakened grip.
The Baron staggers, eyes wide with shock, blood trickling down his face. For a heartbeat, he sways. Then he crumples, body thudding in a graceless sprawl.
My ragged breaths and the relentless drip, drip, drip of blood are deafening in the silence.
I should feel triumphant, vindicated. But all I feel is hollow. I turn away and stumble to the second unconscious form—I know it’s him, it has to be him.
“Hold on, Dray,” I whisper.
I peel back his blood-soaked jacket, assessing the wound through his pale shirt. Dark warm liquid pulses past ragged edges. I slam my palm over it, but it’s a foolish effort when he’ll just keep bleeding from the other side. The sword cut him right through.
There’s only one way to keep him alive, but it’s going to make me weak.
The smiling mask gives me pause when I look at the Huntsman’s face. That damned wretched mask. Doubt slides into my mind. He insisted Dray is dead. What if this is all a trick and I make myself weak?
The Drayven I knew hated the Bride Hunt. Why would he devote his life to ensuring it continued? Why would he capture innocent women? I think of Demaya, how she told me she’d evaded capture for half a decade. This man bleeding out seized her liberties and delivered her to the Pen. Why, when itwent against everything that made him good and kind and the Drayven I loved?
