Page 10 of Outcast’s Vow

The women – “We will follow.”

The men – “And now we ask for your hand in marriage.”

The women – “We will accept.”

The words make me sick in my stomach.

Opposite me, Baptiste delivers his scripted words in an unemotional monotone.

What is he thinking about under that steel front?

With our dirty, stained wilderness outfits and solemn, exhausted glares, my partner and I are not at all like the people lined up with us. The other Chase participants all murmur and exchange excited comments, while Baptiste just fixes on me like I’m some curious ancient artifact he’s dug up in the desert.

I can get a better look at him now that we no longer have a gun pointed at us. He’s classically handsome in a dark way. His green eyes are cold but pretty, peering out from an angled and sharp face. Even though he’s draped in outdoor gear, I notice an athletically muscular frame under the clothing.

And, yeah, he’s tall.

There’s been word swirling around the other Castaways daughters that Baptiste is in the running to be made Elder one day. The only thing I know about his background is that he wasn’t born into the Castaways, but that he’s created his own fortune. He’s earned his right to be in the Order through sheer hard work and one-in-a-billion talent.

Okay, let’s see if I can dent that steel.

“Having fun, Baptiste?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even react to my tease. He just continues to stare at me.

This is the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with? This silent man who just calmly faced up against a loaded gun? Who just casually knocked a man out cold?

After the vows are spoken and the ritual is complete, Elder Beckett leads us further down the beach to a new setup. Music plays from a band flown in from Mexico. Drinks and canapes are served, and candles flicker as the stars twinkle in the clear night sky above.

Baptiste wordlessly strolls straight to the end of the party, as far away from the center of everything as possible and just stands there.

He doesn’t get a drink. He doesn’t eat anything. He doesn’t dance.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have much desire to dance with the man, even if he offered.

“You could ask me if I want a drink,” I say to him, keeping my perfect posture as proof I’m not getting affected by his aloofness. “That would be the courteous thing to ask your future bride.”

Baptiste’s eyes turn from the party to meet mine.

“Would you like a drink, Your Highness?”

“Not now that I’ve had to prompt you.”

“I see. Noted.”

Pause.

God, this is awkward.

“You must be in love,” I tell him.

An eyebrow raises in curiosity at my statement.

“In love?”

“Ah, it’s nice to finally get a reaction from you.”

“You’re saying I’m in love, Sylvie?”