Graves tilts his head, studying me. “Do you really care?”
“Of course I do. We’re married. He’s my priority.”
He pours a drop of milk into his tea before asking, “Was he your priority when you ran away, set that fire, and killed your uncle?”
The question hits like a slap. I flinch, gripping the edge of the table. “That wasn’t–” I start, then take a breath. “I wasn’t running from him. That was about…”
The excuse flounders on my tongue. Not because there isn’t one, but because there are too many. How I failed to please the King on our wedding night? Or the disgusted way he looked at me the morning after? Did I do it because of the way he took the rod and used it on me? And then there is Damon and Hunter, and the way they came after, soiling and spoiling me.
I take a deep breath, those wounds still raw, especially after today. “I would tell him if he ever spoke to me again. If he even acknowledged I existed.”
“What’s done is done.” He picks up his teacup and takes a sip. “You didn’t hear this from me, Baroness, but keeping you locked up like this—it’s wearing on the house. The boys need balance as they focus on the work the King has challenged them with. But right now, anger is festering within the frat, making them distracted. Caging betrayers isn’t our way. That’s the practice of East End.”
I study him, uncertain whether to feel hopeful or insulted. “So what am I then?”
“An exception,” he says quietly. “And exceptions always cause cracks.”
The wind moves through the tree leaves, and something painful twists in my chest.
“They hate me,” I admit, eyes stinging. “And everything I do makes it worse.” I swallow, “Today was proof of that.”
Graves watches me over the rim of his teacup, eyes half-shadowed. The air between us hums with something unspoken until he finally says, “You caused a wound that needs to be healed, Arianette. So deep that your Barons and every Shadow can feel the disturbance it caused.”
My fingers tighten around the cup, the tea has gone cold. “How do I do that? I can’t bring my uncle back. Or un-set that fire.”
“You aren’t the first Baroness to cause destruction.” He gives me a small grin–gentle, almost proud. “A certain personality is required to take on the role; therefore, there are measures in place for acts like yours. A way for everyone to move forward.”
Hope stirs in my chest so quickly it hurts. “What is it? What can I do?”
“It won’t be easy.” His gaze meets mine. “Like the Hunt, the rites and rituals come at a cost.”
“I’ll do it. Whatever it is.” My voice shakes, but I mean it. I survived the Hunt. A kidnapping. My childhood and a fire.Them.Whatever these men want to throw at me, I can handle it. I know I can.I will.
He studies me for a long moment, the civilized tea and snacks forgotten between us. “You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
I can’t handle another day like today.
Graves nods once, as though sealing a pact. “Then I’ll set it in motion,” he says quietly, rising from his chair. “And you will prepare yourself for the ritual ofNoctis Crucem.”
The words linger in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, like smokethat refuses to clear. Graves reaches for one of the tiny sandwiches and takes a bite–every motion steeped in civility and quiet decorum.
Something tells me the ritual, theNoctis Crucem, will be anything but civil.
I’mawake when the iron door rattles and opens with a creak, the sound cutting straight through me. Heavy footsteps meet me before the masked men grab for me–they’re here. This is it.One stuffs a gag, rough and thick, into my mouth, while the other shoves a blindfold over my eyes. The men, I know they’re men, theyalwaysare in Forsyth, smell of smoke, incense, and liquor. I know better than to fight. Fighting only gets me in trouble, and more trouble is the last thing I need.
I let them drag me across the floor. My thin shirt and panties do nothing to soften the movement, and I wince with every bump and scrape. Behind me, I hear the sound of the metal door of my cage latching shut. I think of the fire. The screams. The way I ran. The way Hunter could barely speak to me in the hospital. The way Damon looked in the bed next to mine, his skin peeling and raw. His lungs fighting for every breath.
I deserve this.
The ground changes beneath me: stone to soil, soil to moss. A low drum begins to throb somewhere ahead, steady as a heartbeat. The forest hums. I hear whispers, rustling fabric, the clink of metal. Then I’m lifted–arms spread, legs pulled apart—pressed against something rough and cold.Hard.It bites into my back as the ropes pull tight, binding me open to the forest around me. It’s cold, winter is quickly approaching, and nothing but thin cotton protects me from the elements.
My blindfold is ripped off, and then the gag. I blink, taking in the firelit darkness around me. This isn’t the ceremonial circle from the hunt; this is somewhere new. Different.
I’m surrounded by men, the Shadows dressed in robes, faces covered in bone. I search for my King. For my husband.
“He’s not here.” The voice is clear, but with an edge, like a razor. Hunter. “There’s no one here to save you this time. No rules or contracts. No impending wedding. You’re ours now, Baroness.”
