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Chapter 1

RORY

There’s nothing more depressing than spending your last night alive rehearsing your death.

Yet here I am. Doing just that. Dressed in pearls and lace with my hair curled perfectly, half tied back by a velvet crimson ribbon.

I’m their pretty little lamb ripe for slaughter.

Their means to an end.

Deep in the garden, heedless of the cloud-thick sky threatening to open up on us, drunken spectators indulge in food and drink while lounging at decorative tables that have been set up for their viewing pleasure. They watch from a few feet away with hazy, bloodshot eyes as the king’s witches walk me through tomorrow’s grand event.

“Sacrifice, you’ll stand here with your father,” says the witch presiding over the rite. She’s one of the king’s favorites—loyal, beautiful, and downright cruel. A traitor to her kind, but a hero to ours ever since she and her coven swore their fealty to mortals during the Crimson War. When the Treaty of the Five Kings had been signed, her coven was granted clemency so long as they continued to strengthen the five kingdoms. And strengthen they did. Through sacrifice.

At my hesitation, the witch’s emerald eyes flash as bright as the lightning streaking across the sky. “Get to your marker, Sacrifice.”

Sacrifice. Being addressed as such isn’t as jarring as it once was though it still grates. As a child, I couldn’t understand why those outside our immediate family referred to me as “Sacrifice” while my sister, Vivian, was always addressed by her given name. One night, I asked my nursemaid why she never called me Rory. She merely tucked me into bed and said, “It’s far easier to lead someone to slaughter when you don’t use their name, dearie.”

Father replaced her shortly after that.

I begrudgingly cross the garden to a small wooden signpost and ball my hands into fists. This entire rehearsal is nothing but a spectacle for Father to worm his way into the inner circle of the lords and ladies residing in King Joal’s court. Entirely pointless beyond furthering his own agenda.

“Father!” Vivvy shouts.

At the sound of her voice, Father rushes out of the manor’s back door and under the arbor. The nearly full moon washes over his pale skin, transforming it into something dreary and pallid, as if he’s a cave monster come to haunt the gardens. “I was just making sure everything is set for tonight, Vivian.” He kisses her cheeks. “Brutus will escort the sacrifice to Gild the Lily to finalize her sacrificial attire after we’ve finished here, so you’re now free to train with the other hunters.”

“Just Brutus?” I ask cautiously. “Surely another guard could accompany him?”

I do have favorites when it comes to my jailors. The ones who are easy to look at with sweet smiles and even sweeter gambling addictions I sporadically extort. I can’t remember how often they’ve looked the other way for a little slip of gold or the promise to have an unpaid tab wiped clean. If Father’s ever noticed his coffers a little lighter in the morning than when he went to bed the night before, he hasn’t said so.

“Too many guards will draw attention, Father,” says Vivvy. She tilts her chin toward the guard looming against the wrought-iron gate. “Brutus is discreet.”

I almost snort. Brutus is as discreet as a siren in a desert. He’s a lout of a man, horribly ugly, and far too handsy when assigned to me without a partner who will keep him in line. I eye his bulky form and fight back a scowl as his stomach-churning grin widens. He’s the last person I want to spend my final night on earth with. Besides, his overbearing presence will likely ruin my carefully constructed plans to sneak away for an hour and forget all about tomorrow while I get laid at the West Quarter’s brothel. Would I prefer to frequent a classier establishment in the East Quarter? Of course. Can I? Of course not.

As Adelphi’s Sacrifice, I’m meant to remain pure, untouched.

Lickerish is the only place in the capital renowned for their… discretion.

“I agree,” Father says to Vivian. “After you finish training, you will take the carriage to retrieve them. With tourists pouring in from the other kingdoms, I want to eliminate as many potential risks as possible.”

She dips her head in silent acquiescence as Father slithers over to me with a look of pure elation creeping across his face.

I have always hated how much I favor him. From our slightly wavy dark hair and slender frames to our full lips and angular jaws. I used to think Father preferred Vivvy because she takes after our late mother, all blonde hair and pretty brown eyes, so dark they’d pass for bonbons from the local confectionery. But that isn’t the case. His preferential treatment always comes down to what he stands to gain: wealth, status, and glory. Things I can only offer him by dying.

He takes my hand and drapes it across his arm. A calculated movement that’s all for show. I’m a prized cow, and he’s now holding my leash.

“Are you sure another guard can’t accompany Brutus?” I ask quietly. Considering the last time Father assigned the bastard to me I woke to the sound of him touching himself beside my bed, I’d rather not be left alone with him again. “I told you he⁠—”

“I know what you told me, and after further investigation, I just don’t believe you.”

I exhale my frustration through my nose. “Why would I make something like that up?”

He purses his lips the way he always does when he’s about to point out something he dislikes about me or acknowledge some way I haven’t measured up to his expectations of a docile, obedient sacrifice. “You should be grateful I’m even letting you out of the house tonight.”

At that, laughter drifts throughout the garden, swirling around the trees and through the hydrangea hedges as various lords and ladies gossip about the rite, me, King Joal’s late wife, and whatever else pops into their air-filled heads. Nothing they speak about is even remotely interesting or accurate. The rite isn’t a wonderful time-worn tradition. I am most certainly not a virgin. And Father didn’t deny requests from over a hundred lords and ladies who wished to attend tonight.

My gaze drifts over to the onlookers, and the scowl I had held back loosens just a fraction. Vultures. Merely here to boast about their proximity to Adelphi’s Sacrifice.