—WARNING AT THE ENTRANCE
Instinct keeps my feet moving through the dark Labyrinth until I find somewhere to hole up and regroup.There—a gap between two headless statues concealed in briars.
I squeeze into the narrow space. My back scrapes my bow against the rough stone. Thorns tear at my skin, piercing leather, but I welcome the pain. It’s a distraction from the hollow ache in my chest.
Florienne’s face haunts me—her blue eyes dulled, her spirit broken. I failed her. Again. But this is exactly why I can’t be her king.
My fist slams into the statue, and I bite back a roar of frustration. A coppery tang floods my mouth. I want to tear this entire Labyrinth apart, stone by stone until I find her.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I force myself to breathe, to think. Blackthorne’s men still search for me. Demaya is out there somewhere. Protecting her was Flori’s last wish, but it goes against every instinct in my body. I have to go back to her.
Any time I close my eyes, I see images of that sick fuck taking what’s mine. And the taunts he made—calling me ‘boy,’ as if he knew me, as if he knew I’d let her down before.
I rest my forehead against the cool stone and think back to the day I lost her. The only other person there was the previous Huntsman. I’d always wondered what happened to him after Kasaros took over.
Now I know. Baron Bartholemew Blackthorne is the Huntsman I replaced.
My fingers brush against Kasaros’s mask tucked into my belt. I can’t see it, but feel its painted smile taunting me in the darkness. All this time, I thought I was the only one making a deal for Flori’s future, but the Baron must have made a deal too. He surged to power, riches, and nobility. He knew that claiming Flori might make him king, but it didn’t mean he could keep the crown… no, for that he needed power first.
Bitterness seethes in my soul. My fingers clench around the mask.
I could put it on. Become the monster. Win the Hunt.
Flori would live.
But would shesurvive? I squeeze my eyes shut.
No. She would hate me. Fear me.
The Baron is proof of that.
He was the Huntsman before me. The one who took her. Tore her from her home. Set her fate in motion. And now I know what wearing the mask too long does to a man.
It warps him. Strips him down to his worst instincts until there’s nothing left but cruelty and control.
I force myself to picture it—me in the Baron’s place. Cold. Detached.OwningFlori, notlovingher. My stomach churns with revulsion.
If I claim her as the Huntsman, even with good intentions, what’s stopping me from becoming him?
I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to steady. I would rather die than become that.
Which means there’s only one way forward.
I have to win her without the mask,as myself,or die trying.
A twig snaps nearby. I freeze, every muscle coiled tight.
“There!” a gruff voice shouts. “I saw movement!”
Fuck.
I burst from my hiding spot, scimitar singing as it slices through air and flesh. The mercenary’s eyes go wide as his throat opens in a crimson smile.
More shouts echo through the Labyrinth. I spin, blade ready?—
And nearly take Demaya’s head off.
