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The Baron King is never seen without his mask.

“Good morning, Baroness,” the man says with a grin. He’s around my uncle’s age, his blond hair lightly silver around his temples. “We haven’t been introduced yet, but I’m Graves. I work for the King.”

“Good morning,” I reply. “I’m Arianette.”

“Your Barons are waiting to take you to the university and I’m here to take you to them,” he steps back, giving me room to step into the hall. “I also had a message from the King.”

My pulse quickens. “Does he want to see me?”

“No, not today.” His expression turns sympathetic. “He’s a very busy man–”

“Of course.” I pull my sleeves over my thumbs.

“–today is a big day. It will be the first time your peers will see the new Royal leadership of BRN.” He gestures for me to take a turn, leading down another hallway. “He also wants you to understand that it’s imperative that you stay close to your Barons when you’re not at home. It’s important to follow their guidance and orders when you’re in public.”

“I can do that.” I have done that–the throbbing pain in my nipples a constant reminder of the control they have over me.

“But most of all,” his eyes flick down my body and then back up, “remember you’re a representative of BRN and the House of Night. How Forsyth views you is directly related to how they view the King.”

There’s something heavy behind his easy tone. A threat perhaps. Threats are something I understand. “My future husband shouldn’t worry. I am devoted to him and showing Forsyth that loyalty. I won’t cause any trouble,” I promise. “I’ll be a good girl.”

He coughs, his fist rising to cover his mouth. When he recovers he smiles gently and says, “I’m sure you will be, Arianette.”

I follow him down a hallway that eventually leads to an outside exit. At the door he stops and lifts a leather satchel from a hook on the wall. “Something for you to carry your supplies for school in.” The black leather is soft and worn. My fingers run over the stamped pentagram on the flap. I open it up and see a notebook and a case for my pencils and pens. Tucked along the side, I notice a bag with a drawstring at the top.

“Are these…” I ask, heartbeat fluttering. I loosen the string and look inside. The shoes are a rich, warm brown hue, a color that perfectly matches my skin. The satin gleams in the light. “They’re beautiful.”

“New pointe shoes for your class. You’ll find the other items you need as well.”

I grin, the sensation strange after so much time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Arianette,” he replies. “Have a good day.”

If the fact that the King made sure I was taken care of isn’t enough, I’m equally not prepared for that first step outside the house. Other than the Hunt, this is the first time I’ve been outside since I was found by the river–not that I remember that.For the weeks I was held in the crypt there were no windows, and even here the glass is muted with color.

Looking up, I shade my eyes from the sun that is already over the trees, bright and glaring in my unaccustomed eyes. I feel off balance, like a baby deer taking its first steps, and it’s made worse when I attempt to loop the satchel across my body. A sharp pain spreads over my chest from both the piercings and carving.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” I stop in my tracks, looking for the voice coming from across the driveway where Damon stands next to the open door of a big black truck. His eyes are dark–angry–matching the attitude of his all black clothing. A long jacket, shirt, jeans, and boots. Behind him, sitting on the blood red driver’s seat, Hunter peers out.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him without a mask and despite his height, and the tattoos visible just under the collar of his button-down shirt, I’m struck by how boyish he looks. His light brown hair is neat, but looks like the slightest breeze could undo the tidiness. Like his body, his face is lean, nose straight. It’s his eyes that throw me off. Pale blue but intense, like they’re tracking my every move.

“Is this wrong?” I ask, fussing with the hem of my skirt. When I found it crammed in the closet with the other outfits, it seemed perfect. With the way Damon is staring at me… I must have been wrong.

Damon swallows and says, “It’s–”

“You look like a fucking schoolgirl.” Hunter snorts.

I glance down at the black and gray plaid skirt that hits mid-thigh. It’s a little short, but I found thick socks in the dresser drawer, and a cute vintage button-up cardigan with beading around the collar. “I’mgoingto school.”

“You’re going tocollege,” Hunter repeats, like I’m an idiot.

Am I? Am I an idiot?

I’d spent years thinking about what I would do if I was allowed to go to school–real school–not the cold basement room at Strong Manor where all of my classes were held. We had a teacher, Mrs. Whipple, who was old and mean, her temper short as a fuse. Our uniform consisted of khaki pants and a blue collared shirt. No variations.

Even after being admitted to Forsyth, my uncle only allowed me to attend online. My only classes outside of the house were for dance. Somehow in my head this was the outfit I’d pictured. I’m not sure where it came from. Maybe a book or a TV show.

“I didn’t know,” I tell them. “This is my first day and I don’t want to screw it up.”