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5

Arianette

I’m notfoolish enough to think I can escape.

Even if I could, where would I go? Back to the Manor? Never. It wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m arranged to marry the King and there’s no escaping that either.

They don’t know that though, and a strong hand grips each of my biceps as we navigate our way back to the ceremonial circle. Half of the Shadows guide us, the swish of their dark robes against the leaves and dirt, a parade through the forest with fire-tipped torches.

The other half trail behind, two carrying the limp body.

The farther we get from the body, the more I wonder if I've done the right thing. The fine piece of cloth I tore from Armand’s shirt is still clutched in my fist. I didn’t even notice the button until Damon shoved me on my knees. I needed an anchor of some kind. A talisman to connect me to this world.

Disassociating has always been easy for me. A crutch. I’ve always been told that I’m impulsive. Reckless. Even with all thediscipline. The dance classes and structure. I’ve never been able to control all sides of myself. But a killer?

I wouldn’t have thought so, but maybe I’m different than I was before I was taken.

That man… the one whose blood I spilled, he was no ally of my King. I did what was right. What was loyal, but I know not everyone sees what I see.

His death has already led to consequences. I feel them in my aching jaw and scraped knees. If I felt control when the knife was in my hand, I lost it when the Baron invaded my mouth. I can still taste his seed, bitter and salty, hardened like a rock in my belly.

“Were you serious?” I blurt, stopping at a felled tree. The trunk is massive, the bark thick and peeling, like it’s been down for a while. Raising my foot to climb over it, I wobble and must take too long, because fingers tighten on my left bicep, and I’m lifted into the air by one pair of strong arms and passed over to another.

On the other side, Hunter asks, “Were we serious about what?”

“That you won’t tell the King what I did.” I look over my shoulder and see the body swaying like a hammock between the two Shadows. His mask is fully down around his neck, revealing the sharp cut of his cheekbones, hollow and pale. He was handsome, his bone structure similar to the friends of my uncle. The people I entertained. The Shadows navigate the tree trunk and Armand’s arm falls off of his chest. No one picks it up and his fingers trail across the dirt.

“I want to say you’ve paid your price,” Damon replies. “But you’ve also revealed your true nature. You’re dangerous, Sister. It’s a risk not to tell him.”

I rub the button, remembering how the light snuffed out of Armand’s eyes. “Please don’t. I don’t want him to be angry with me.”

“You maybe should have thought of that before you murdered one of his hand-picked Barons. A man who took an oath of loyalty three hours ago,” Damon points out.

Being raisedat the Manor taught me how to be quiet. How to study the men and women that came in the door. Children in my position learn quickly how to assess the people around us. Are they good? Bad? Manipulative? Dangerous?

None of that prepared me for The Hunt. For being chased through the woods by men who have the right to hurt me. I still haven’t seen either of their faces, and it plays tricks on my brain. I know them better by their eyes, the piercing darkness that Damon pins on me, sharp as the arrow in his bow. Hunter’s are lighter. Blue? Gray? They change with the light. That may be all I know of their faces but I do know them. The weapons between their legs, those are imprinted in my brain. I know that the one I choked on turns a blistering red when it’s engorged and is wide enough to split the corners of my mouth. Hunter, the one that watched, his looked thick in his hand, growing longer with each stroke.

In that moment, I know that they both got something they wanted–no–needed. And that’s the only reason I think I may have a chance to survive the rest of the night. This is confirmed by the look shared by the men over my head, and Damon confirms it saying, “As long as you’re a good girl, then we’ll keep your secret.”

I think he means obedient, because no matter how much he wants me to be good, I’m not. That may be the only truth I know.

“Can you?” he asks, lifting my chin with his dirty finger.

I nod. “I’ll be good,” I promise, and it’s enough that he believes it, even if I don’t. Satisfied, he grabs my bicep again and we continue forward. The rest of the walk back is quiet, until the Shadows part, and we’re back where it all began.

My attention goes straight to the King, waiting patiently on his throne. Regina sits by his side, her fingers casually combing through the hair on the back of his neck. A drink sits on the arm, a warm amber liquid halfway to the rim. I know from experience that drinks like this can bring out the worst in men. Does it have that effect on the King? Or does he have more control over himself than others?

I track the moment he sees Armand. His lifeless corpse is the end of our little parade. Regina’s eyebrow lifts, her dark eyes leveling with mine. Heat runs up my neck and I twist uncomfortably. Exposed by my own impulsivity.

Whatever the King thinks about me, or the blood splatters soaked into my skin, my puffy, swollen lips, or the scent of sex he must be able to smell on my breath, he keeps it to himself. Instead, he looks at the body and says, “I’ve lived through many initiations, many hunts, and I do my best to stay out of the details of what happens in the dark hours of the night. I’ve seen many Barons and their Baroness return in a state, often bloody and broken. Traumatized and tormented. It’s all part of the process,” he leans forward, “but this is the first time one of my Barons has returned dead. Does anyone want to speak to what occurred out there?”

“He,” Damon starts, then pauses, “Armanddisobeyed your command.” I watch, shocked, when he reaches into one of the deep pockets in his pants and pulls out a scrap of fabric. He holds it in his fist, gray and dirty. “He defiled her, forcing her on her knees and feeding her his cock. He was going to take her virginity next, but we got there before he could defile the Baroness.”

His words slither like a snake, both truth and lies.

The King's focus shifts to me. “Is this true?”

I consider the truth, that Damon was the man that violated me. In turn he’d reveal that I was the one that killed Armand. I don’t want the King to have a reason to send me back. That’s the last thing I want, so I nod, the lie caught in the tangles of my throat.