I honestly didn’t know anymore.
I was about to meet my worst fear… again. My consent—my control over my own body—would be stripped away with these bits of fabric.
And where was my mate?
Had he abandoned me and agreed to this sick ritual because of the ideologies he’d been raised to believe? No, he hated the Temple and all of their practices, he would not allow this, if he had the choice.
The scratches on the floor led us to veer toward a stone archway, and we entered the ritual chamber.
It was drenched in crimson, like the room itself had been steeped in blood. A dais held an altar and a colossal black bowl containing a steady fire. In the far corner stood a hooded Fae behind a large drum.
Torches flickered along the walls. There were no windows. I had no idea what time of day it was.
Seven black chairs with dramatically tall backs almost met the high ceiling. Six hooded council members sat in them like judges.
To the right, three Fae females dressed in red silk strips like mine knelt facing the wall, their hands chained behind their backs. But Titus, Aurelius, and Cercies were nowhere to be found.
K. ROSÉ
Then I saw the most disturbing piece of furniture I had ever seen. In the center of the room was a chair—if you could even call it that— eerily similar to the table at a gynecologist’s office. This one faced downward and held cuffs and chains: one set for hands down on the floor, and one for each ankle in the stirrups.
Bile burned up my raw throat, and I trembled.
An old council member stood, and though I couldn’t see his face beneath his hood, I recognized his voice, Caddver. His voice sounded viscous and bubbling, as if speech had to fight through layers of rotting tissue. “It seems as though we are going to have to proceed with only six of the council today as Council Member Antonias is still recovering from an injury, what say you?”
In unison the other five replied “Aye.”
He continued, “Very well, acolytes, you may begin by offering the vessels blood to the Great Flame.”
They called me the vessel, as if I wasn’t worthy of a name.
The drummer beat his drum at a rhythmic tempo, and the hooded females brought me to the altar and forced my hand in the air above the fire. The one holding the dagger sliced across my palm and my blood dripped onto the flames in the bowl. The cut sent shots of pain through my nerves.
The pounding on the drums stopped. The amber glow of the flames shifted to indigo, and I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the unnatural sight of purple fire.
The council members applauded and murmured pleasingly among themselves. Caddver stood and placed his fist over his heart. “Praise the Guardians for bestowing fire kind with the almighty flame, the vessel’s womb is ripe, the ritual may begin, bring forth the Kingdom of Flame's top seeds!”
The drummer began beating his drum faster than before—thum, thum, thum. The pounding matched my thudding pulse.
The council, in unison, rejoiced, “Praise the almighty Flame!
Praise the almighty Flame, Praise the almighty Flame”!
A stone door somewhere scraped against the ground, and Aurelius walked in, head held high with a gold crown of razor-sharp, vicious spikes tipped in flames. He was only wearing a red, knee-length silk sheet tied around his hips. When Aurelius stepped closer into view, I barely recognized him; whatever warmth had once lived in his face was gone, replaced by something darker—something eager, as if he intended to savor every second of what was about to happen. He looked at me with a menacing grin. I could tell he was aroused by this—him and the council, these sick, disgusting males were going to enjoy this.
Cercies followed, dressed the exact same way, but he wore the same sort of collar the council put on Titus. He couldn’t even look at me, and I didn’t blame him. I knew he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to do this, and the guilt and shame visibly weighed down his strong shoulders, but that wasn’t nearly as painful as seeing the anguish burning in his amber eyes. My throat tightened and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.
Finally, the High Lord of Flame walked in, dressed in the same silks and crown, the same collar. My heart broke. That collar with the dagger pointed at his throat—that was why he couldn’t save me. We were all the Temple’s prisoners. All but Aurelius. The High Lord’s face was cold and emotionless; he looked at me like he didn’t know me. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t in them.
Caddver stood and began. “Master of Dragons, you have challenged the rank and invoked the ritual of Natural Selection, as is your right under the Holy Law of Flesh. The High Lord will be first tooffer his blood to the Great Flame to determine his place in the seeding order.”
The room was silent, and for several moments there was a heavy pause.
“Lord Titus…” Caddver called, but Titus didn’t respond. It was like he wasn’t even present.
“A-hem!” He shouted this time.
Titus flinched, snapping out of whatever had him enthralled. He stepped onto the dais. The hooded female presented him with the golden dagger, head bowed. He took it and stood with his arm raised over the bowl of fire, then sliced a gash in his palm without so much as a wince. He clenched his fist and blood dripped onto the flame. His eyes looked soulless, his gaze distant.
