“Excellent.” Stone pushed open the doors to the dining hall. “By tomorrow night, they won’t recognize themselves.”
That was the plan. Jack learned from personal experience that a fresh start had a way of speeding along the recovery process of a brutal past.
The first day tended to be the most trying for the tributes, but once they settled in and got some rest, they’d understand more about what was expected. The goal was to have them mentally and physically prepared by the end of The Becoming ceremony tomorrow evening.
The dining hall was a study in controlled extravagance and Gothic luxury. Tapestries depicting various hunts hung from the stone walls, a classic backdrop as servants silently moved in and out of the hall with flawless efficiency, laying out side dishes and filling glasses.
“Fucking starving,” Hunter said, as they filled the seats around the long, dark oak table set with crystal and silver that flickered in the candlelight.
Jack took his seat, pausing as a servant placed a napkin in his lap. “Thank you.”
The servant blinked, clearly unused to being acknowledged. “Sir.”
Another servant appeared with a basket of bread, and Jack nodded to her as well. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.”
Stone and Hunter exchanged glances but said nothing. They’d long since learned Jack’s peculiar habits when it came to staff. He never judged anyone by their station, said thank you when propriety demanded it, and remembered names whenever possible.
No one knew why he did such things. They didn’t know there would always be a dirt poor kid inside of him. That shouldn’t matter. Good people deserved respect. Bad people deserved justice.
The meal arrived in courses—seared scallops with champagne foam, followed by a consommé that tasted of earth and autumn, then a main of venison with blackberry reduction. Masculine fare, beautifully presented, designed to fuel rather than indulge.
Just after the main course was served, came a note from Nick, sealed and delivered on a silver tray.
“The numbers, I assume.” Stone lifted his glass and waited for the news.
Jack tore open the note and briefly skimmed. “Yes.”
“Where do we stand?”
“Fifty-two tributes confirmed and en route. Three didn’t show for transport.”
“Cold feet,” Hunter chuckled.
“And two that didn’t pass the physical.”
“Pity for them.”
“I’ll see that they’re compensated for their efforts.”
“Hold on,” Hunter said, in a thick Russian accent. “There were sixty-two tributes. You said three didn’t show and two didn’t pass the exams.”
“Yes. One was pregnant and the other drew some red flags during her psychiatric evaluation.”
“That should leave fifty-seven tributes, am I wrong?”
“Yes and no. Fifty-seven tributes, but only fifty-two does. Five are stags.”
“Ah,” the brothers said at once.
The majority of the hunters preferred women, but there were a few men who had other tastes. “Honestly, there should have been more stags. They typically walk away with the most profit.”
“The glory of being the rare find,” Hunter said with a chuckle.
“Sounds like you need more male tributes in the future,” Stone teased. “How many hunters?”
Jack grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. The thought of hosting another feast, once again, left him uninspired. “Fifty-four. We had a last minute cancellation.”
“Oh?” Stone’s green eyes sparked with interest. “Do tell.”
