He goes back to sterilizing his tools, his movements methodical. The hum of the ceiling fan fills the gap between us, stirring the air that’s heavy with quiet accusation. “What I still can’t believe is that Timothy Maddox is the Baron King,” he says after a beat, not looking up from the tray. “That’s a serious mindfuck.”
Sure as hell was. The King had revealed himself to us after the fire–after we got home from the hospital. He said we’d earned the right to know the truth, that we’d proved our loyalty. It was an honor, sure, but also terrifying. Secrets like that come with a price. They always do. And I’m not sure what the final cost will be.
“I’m still struggling with the fact he’s Remy’s father,” I remark. “You were his roommate, right? Did you ever meet him back then?”
“Yeah, we lived together for about a semester. Until I got pinched and he went hard in on DKS,” he says, “and yeah, once.”
Remington Maddox is known for living his life on the edge. Drugs, sex, tattoos, fights. All of those things definitely make himmore DKS than BRN. “The bloodlines run closer in all of this than I realized.”
Neither Damon nor I have blood ties to the Royals in Forsyth. We were plucked from the student body and tossed into the BRN gauntlet for reasons the King hasn’t fully explained. But the other frats? Their lineage is muddy. That much had been revealed to us after the Hunt as part of our initiation for becoming a leader in BRN. Like Whitaker Ashby being a direct line to the BRN throne. Or that Verity Sinclair, raised in the West End, was Rufus Ashby’s biological daughter. Forsyth doesn’t have a family tree, it has thorny vines.
“Even if you didn’t meet him, do you think the King remembered that you two were once roommates when he recruited you?” I ask.
“I don’t think he misses much, so probably.” Damon glances up, his brow raised. “But from what I saw, there doesn’t seem to be any love lost between those two. I can’t see how it would be related.”
He’s right. The Duke isn’t just solidly with his frat, he’s firmly at the right hand of his own King, Simon Perilini, and keeping his distance from his father’s throne. I also can’t imagine my father marrying someone my age.
“I think we’re all better off not looking too deep at the Forsyth family trees.” Damon tilts his head, reaching for another clamp. “How long do you think this fake honeymoon is going to last?”
The rest of Forsyth thinks the King and his new bride are off on their honeymoon, celebrating their marriage. Those of us in the House of Night know better. Arianette’s locked in that cage for more reasons than simple punishment. She’s also there to keep people from asking too many questions about her involvement with the fire at Strong Manor.
“I don’t think he can stay gone very long,” I tell him. “The last time a King went missing, he was dead before anyone realized it. He’ll want to stay visible.” I take DK in. “Why? It’s not like you’re eager for her to get out of the cage.”
He continues to clean his tools and shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
I narrow my eyes. Jesus. That’s what this is about. “I’m sure you could go in and fuck her, as long as she’s locked up when he returns.”
DK barks out a laugh, loud enough that Ares lifts his head, watching the exchange in silence, eyes reflecting the low light. “That bitch doesn’t deserve my cock,” he mutters. “She almost killed meandyour dog. She can rot for the rest of her life for all I care.”
I’m finishingup an assignment for my engineering class when Ares lifts his head, and a second later, Graves appears in the doorway. Damon glances up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, reading a book, and swings his legs over the edge of the chair. I close my laptop.
“The King assures me you’ve been working on collecting data on the missing girls.”
The King had given us access to his “murder board,” a wall of evidence, information, photos, and questions about every abduction in Forsyth over the past year.
“Yes,” I say, rising from my chair. “We’ve been trying to look at it from a fresh perspective.”
“Have you found anything…” his eyebrow lifts, “... fresh?”
“Not really,” DK admits. “There’s no real identifiable pattern to the abductions–other than the connection to the frats, but that’s not a huge stretch when you consider the population of Forsyth students either in or related to someone in the Greek system.”
“I’m going to encourage you to use your time, energy, and skills to work every angle.” His tone is less ‘encouragement’ and more a command. “Even ones that you’re displeased with at the moment.”
“You mean the Baroness?” I ask, shifting my gaze to DK. He sits on the edge of the couch, expression guarded. “You want us to talk to her?”
“If you think her crazy-assed little brain is going to be helpful, you’re wrong. I already took her to the area where we found her and she gave me nothing.” DK taps his temple. “It’s scrambled in there. Anything of use is locked up tight or vanished.”
The muscle in Graves’ jaw tightens, then releases. “I suggest using a different approach this time, but I’d get started. The King expects results.”
Graves leaves without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. DK and I don’t need to say it–we’ve got our orders, whether we like them or not.
I’m back.
Easing in the door and finding a place tucked away in a dark corner. From the outside, it seems safe. Maybe even respectful. I’m keeping my distance, but really, it allows me time to sink into my fantasies. What I’d do if I could. How much I’d take. Bruise.Hurt.
Most people talk too much. They give themselves away with words, but it’s the silences I’ve always understood best. And Arianette is nothing but silence right now. She’s curled at the back of the King’s cage, wrists loose, eyes half open. No tears, not now at least. No quiet rage–just a steady inhale like she’s counting time through pain.
It’s not enough.
