Page 22
“Drink,” I say, voice flat.
Kendrick’s jaw tightens. His eyes flick to me, then to Hunter, then back to the cauldron. “I’m not doing this. I’ve proved my loyalty to the King. I’ve done my time.” His head tilts, and his eyes glint in the torchlight. “How do we even know what you’re saying is true? That the King would want this, and it’s not some kind of coup?”
The room goes still.
Hunter’s hand tightens on the cup, but he doesn’t move yet. I step down from the platform, boots echoing. “This isn’t optional, Kendrick. Everyone drinks. Everyone swears.”
He shakes his head once, slow and stubborn. “I said no.”
I watch the conflict twist across his face. The ritual is working on him even without the cup. His tongue is loosening whether he wants it to or not. I lean in close. “You’ve got one chance to explain yourself before I let Hunter pour it down your throat.”
His breathing turns shallow and the words start spilling out like the tincture is already burning through him. “I knew Mateo was up to something,” he blurts. “A few weeks back, he started asking me questions about where the King was going to be. What time. Whether Arianette would be with him. Routes. Schedules. He wanted me to spy. Feed him details.”
Murmurs ripple through the men behind him.
“He said it was for his own safety. That, after what happened with Will last year, we had to be careful. I told him to fuck off,” Kendrick says, voice cracking now. “I told him I wasn’t doing that shit. But I–I didn’t say anything to anyone else. I didn’t warn the King. I didn’t warn you. I just kept my mouth shut and hoped it would blow over.” His eyes are wide, panicked. The ritual has him now, dragging every buried truth into the open. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t help him. But I didn’t stop him either. I just stayed quiet.”
The chamber is dead silent except for the torches.
Guilty of nothing active. Guilty of everything that matters.
“I should cut your tongue out and make it so you can never speak again. But I want you to be able to tell people why you were kicked out of BRN. Admit what you did. You’ll be the warning to any others that consider crossing the House of Night.”
The words fall heavy in the sacred chamber. I can feel the shift in the room–the cold disgust rolling off the loyal men like heat from the flames. Kendrick’s shoulders slump in defeat.
“Remove your pin,” I command.
Kendrick’s hands shake as he reaches up and unfastens the silver pentagram from his collar. He holds it out to me like an offering. I take it and toss it onto the stone altar with a sharp clink. It means nothing to him anymore.
“Hold him down.”
Jace and Slade move instantly. They grab Kendrick by the arms and force him down onto the altar, pressing his back against the cold marble. He struggles for a moment, but it’s useless. They rip his shirt open, exposing the BRN tattoo inked across his chest.
I walk over to the brazier burning in the corner and pull out a heavy iron poker. The tip glows a vicious, angry red. The heat radiates against my face as I carry it back.
Kendrick’s eyes widen in terror. “Please… Damon… King… don’t—”
I don’t hesitate, pressing the searing iron directly over the tattoo, grinding it into his skin with slow, deliberate pressure. The smell of burning flesh fills the chamber instantly. His scream tears through the rotunda, raw and guttural, echoing off the stone walls. His body jerks violently beneath Jace and Slade’s hold, but they keep him pinned.
I hold the iron there until the mark is completely obliterated–nothing but charred, ruined skin remains where our symbol once was.
When I finally pull the poker away, Kendrick is sobbing, gasping for air, his chest a ruined mess of blistered flesh.
I lean over him, voice low and ice-cold.
“You are no longer a Baron. You are nothing. And every time someone looks at what’s left of your chest, they’ll remember what happens to traitors.”
“Get him out,” I say quietly.
Hunter moves fast, but Slade is there first, his massive hand clamping down on Kendrick’s neck, while the other twists his arm behind his back. Kendrick doesn’t fight–he’s already broken–but Hunter points toward the heavy chamber doors anyway.
Slade drags him out, and Hunter follows, the heavy wooden doors slamming shut behind them.
I turn back to the rest of the line, all of us too aware of what just happened. The ritual isn’t finished, and for me? There’s no out. The instant I put that ring on my finger, I became someone new. There’s no more hiding from my responsibilities or staying disconnected.
I’m not just a Baron, I am the House of Night. For now and for as long as I need to be.
“Next,” I say, voice cold and final.
