Love or matrimony was never in my future.
I navigated through the tunnels with Cedric, Nico, Cassian, Emeri, and Brooks. All the Current Night Sons.
Four Elder Sons took the lead in front of us. Their movements were rigid as they walked in sync. Two others lagged behind us.
There were four ritual chambers within the tunnels. Each one had a specific purpose and sat at the end of a different corridor.
We stopped at the door that led to the Aula Cornuum.
Hall of Antlers.
The name was carved into the door in faded Latin. Massive stag antlers had been etched across its surface, and at their center sat a ring identical to the one on my finger. Every Son had one.
One by one, we stepped forward and scanned our fingerprints. A quiet beep followed each one.
With each confirmation, the small screen beside the door flashed the symbol tied to our locker. It registered every Son who walked through the doors.
Mine was a broken halo.
We filed into the circular room and spread into our assigned areas.
Aula Cornuum had been built like a tribunal. Stone tiers rose in a circle, each lined with benches for Elder Sons. The room could hold fifty men, though tonight barely half that number filled the seats.
The tiers curved inward, forcing every eye toward the center, where a long table of black oak waited below. Chairs had been arranged along one side, facing the tiers. Each bore the same antlercrest carved into the door. The benches, the floor, even the iron railings dividing the tiers carried the mark.
The Elder Sons took their places, and the Current Sons claimed our seats at the table below. The chairs were narrow and stiff-backed, built for posture rather than comfort. But this wasn’t a place for comfort.
The Aula Cornuum existed for Selections.
Two nights ago, I’d uploaded Blair’s file into the Fawn System, a private network only Night Sons could access. Every prospective Fawn had a profile there—background, family ties, weaknesses, psychological notes. A catalog of the women we intended to claim.
Though most of Blair’s file appeared to be fiction. I wasn’t about to correct it.
Hers was already the smallest submission I’d ever filed. There was almost nothing on her. The moment I’d hit Submit, every Elder Son and Current Son received the alert.
Before any Fawn Initiation, we held a Selection Hearing.
A formal vote.
Any Son in the room had the right to challenge my Selection.
And if enough of them voted against Blair, she wouldn’t become my Fawn.
It didn’t happen often, but when a Son challenged a Selection, it was usually because he knew something ugly about the girl or her family. The wrong Fawn could be as dangerous as a traitor within our circle. We didn’t allow threats inside our walls.
While we kept the deepest parts of our world hidden, the Fawns knew we existed. That alone made them a liability. Once a woman was brought into our system, she could never truly leave.
I lowered myself into my chair just as a faint light stirred in my peripheral vision. Lights along the tiers flickered on one by one.
I lifted my gaze toward the Elder Sons.
Some showed their faces. Others hid behind masks.
I hated the masks. Reading people was a skill I’d sharpenedearly, thanks to my father. He’d taught me that faces revealed far more than mouths ever could.
Most of the men in the tiers wore masks because they had too much to lose if they were ever identified. They were judges, CEOs, politicians, men who held high positions in the world above us.
The ones who didn’t bother hiding their faces were usually clinging to the glory of their old Night Sons days, desperate to be recognized for what they once were.
