“This entire Brotherhood is family, son. They are counting on you to fulfill your duty as a Sinclair.” I brushed a light hand through his thick hair, keeping my smile light.
“Did you also...” His eyes darted to the girl on the altar. “Do this?” I nodded. “Did Mother know?”
My laugh was soft as I stood. “You’re too young to understand right now, and someday you will, but I met your mother courtesy of the ritual. When you were born, your mother decided to stay with me despite the periodic ritual and the reason she prepared you without divulging its secrets.” She accepted my fate and made it hers, an admirable woman if there ever was one. I held his hand and walked him over to the altar. “Sinclair men can’t fall in love, son. The curse is real, and we have all tried to do our part to break it. Now, we must welcome you into the Brotherhood to join us in our attempt to break this curse.”
“How do I break it?” Saint looked up at me, determination set in his jaw.
“When they turn fifteen, each Sinclair boy must take a virgin to bed, and even though the ritual is held yearly, you only participate every five years.”
“Are you saying I have to have sex in front of them?” He tipped his chin at the members in the pew.
I chuckled at his shocked expression. “Nothing to be ashamed about. We all had to do it.”
“But, father,” his voice dropped an octave as he leaned closer. “I’ve never had sex before and now I’m to do it in front of them.”
I lowered to my haunches once more. “That cock in your trousers will respond naturally once you see her.” I nodded my head toward the covered girl. “She was chosen and prepared for you, Saint. You have two choices. Take this girl now with just the seniors present, or you can join us in the ballroom and take her in front of the entire Brotherhood.”
He looked around, anxiety stiffening his shoulders before his gaze found mine again. “Here.”
“Good boy.” I stood and pointed to the altar. “Take off your clothes, remove the sheet, and climb onto the altar.” He hesitated for just a moment. “I’m right here, son,” I coaxed.
“This?” He touched the timeless, gray filigree mask that obscured his face apart from his lips and chin. Even his intelligent eyes sat hidden behind a thin mesh. Worn by Prince Sebastian Winthrop, it had been carefully stored since his death until I came of age and was allowed to wear the mask. Why? My father never explained the reason to me and I never bothered asking. Upon agreement by the Brotherhood, we decided it would be Saint’s to keep until he no longer desired ownership.
“The Brotherhood has many rules. Our identity must always remain a secret. Just as we never know whom we invite to the ritual, no Brotherhood member is allowed to remove the mask of the girl he chooses.”
Slowly, he undressed. For his age, he took pride in his body. His morning and evening swim ritual since he was seven had given his muscles definition made prominent by his regular gym use. Speaking from my experience and aware he was a younger version of me both in looks and personality, I knew without a doubt that my son would break hearts as he grew. Hopefully, he’d catch love where it fell after we broke the curse.
I glanced over to the girl. Her eyes shifted from my son’s body to meet mine, filling with gratitude. Perhaps stemming from the fact I’d kept my promise. She was brought to us as a gift, displaying the typical signs of panic. It took me less than the usual thirty minutes to calm her down, promising no harm would come to her and emphasizing that she was part of something so magnanimous it defied reality. Not many would believe Sinclair’s backstory. Then again, not many were privy to it either.
“You need to wear this as well.” I held out the diamond pendant attached to a chain.
“When held against the light, the dazzling diamond pendant looked like the moon lived inside it. Held against the darkness, it looked like the sun lived inside it.”Words quoted by Snow, the woman our ancestors called the white witch to whom Prince Sebastian Sinclair Winthrop had bequeathed the pendant.
“Why?” My son lifted curious eyes from the pendant to meet mine.
Smiling, I touched his cheek lightly. “One day, I will explain everything you need to know.”
With a nod, he allowed me to place the pendant around his neck—the very symbol of the curse our family carried. Ironically cast by Snow herself. In his defiance of the love his son discovered during battle, King Sinclair Winthrop rejected their love and, in doing so, angered Snow, who turned out to be a white witch. It was said that throughout their era, white witches were known for performing pure magic unless betrayed, then their wrath was far more powerful than a black witch. Throughout history, Sinclair men had to wear the pendant on their first initiation into the Brotherhood.
Saint examined the pendant as our priest stepped forward. Dressed in a black cloak like the rest of the Brotherhood in attendance, he circled Saint, swinging a polished brass censer from a gold chain, letting the frankincense smoke curl around my son while reciting a Latin prayer. Saint’s curious eyes found mine, a frown creasing his brow. I offered him a comforting smile.
When the priest stepped away, I moved forward. “It’s time, son.”
With a quick look between me and the girl, Saint walked over to the altar and removed the sheet. I heard his astonished gasp as he raked a slow gaze over her body. She was a beautiful girl, her smile urging him to climb onto the altar and kneel between her spread legs. He watched her briefly before his gaze shifted to me, excitement hidden beneath that veil of uncertainty.
“Touch her,” I encouraged.
His gaze drifting back to the girl, he placed a hand on her leg. She shivered, her soft moan adequately audible. His finger lingered over her clean-shaven mound and I heard his nervous laugh.
I took a step forward, bringing me to the side of the altar. “Saint.” He looked up at me. “When you touch her, do it like you want to know who she is. Literally and physically. Like you want to get to know her better, every inch, every curve, every scar. Not because you want something from her.” I smiled. “A woman’s beautiful body might be pure bliss to a horny man, but it deserves appreciation and reverence. While this is your first and last time together, it should be just as special for her as it should be for you. Forget it’s a ritual, son, and enjoy the moment.”
He nodded, leaning over her. Glad that he wasn’t rushing to get it over and done with like so many of the boys I’d seen before, I was surprised when he dropped a gentle kiss on her lips and then ran his hand slowly over her body from her ankles up to her abdomen. He paused at her perky breasts allowing just one finger to circle her hardened nipples. She whimpered, her eyes closed, and it pleased me that my son was not greedy for a woman’s body, that with time he would learn to please her before he took pleasure in her body.
Some might call us monsters for buying virgins to do our bidding, but the night of my ascension, I took a vow that whatever the Brotherhood did in the name of breaking the fatal curse hanging over our heads like an impending doom, the girls would not be harmed.
A promise I introduced the moment I became head of the Brotherhood. Every member pledged allegiance, secrecy, and respect, swearing never to manhandle or hurt any of the girls brought to us. While the scarcity of virgins wasn’t an issue, we never solicited girls under eighteen. It was another written rule that no one could break. If they did, the punishment was either outcast or penitence in varying forms, agreed to and accepted by all.
Not only had I changed my father’s dictate to suit my heart, but I ensured the girls had a choice to participate and received a little more respect than my father’s harsh, uncaring manner.
