Page 44

T he dorm suite is bathed in a hazy afternoon glow as I push through the main door, keycard clutched in my hand. I don’t bother announcing my presence to the cluster of guys huddled in the kitchenette, conversations halting as they catch sight of me striding past.

Things have been awkward since my scathing outburst at Arius earlier in the week over his offer to buy me a new bag. He’s become more withdrawn and sullen than usual—and that’s really saying something for that brooding prick.

Sweeping an impassive glance across the tense assembly, I can’t help but roll my eyes when Arius promptly averts his gaze like a scolded child. With a terse huff, I stalk towards his bedroom, the only place that’s felt like any semblance of sanctuary lately.

The heavy door clunks shut behind me as I clutch the ratty duffel containing my meagre belongings. Scowling, I toss the weathered satchel onto the rumpled bed covers, sinking onto the plush mattress with a weary sigh.

Flopping onto my back, I stare up at the lofted ceiling for several long minutes, thoughts roiling through my addled brain. Before I have a chance to truly process any of the tangled emotions swirling in the muddied depths, a soft rap against the door draws my attention.

“It’s open,” I call out with an audible sigh, struggling to hoist myself into a sitting position. As if I’d have any means of locking the damn thing even if I wanted to. Arius would probably just break it down for funsies and giggles.

The door clicks open to reveal none other than Rhys looming in the entryway, unease flickering across those rugged features. Apparently I’m not the only one caught off guard by this little impromptu audience.

“What’s up?” The curt query slips out before I have a chance to rein in my defensive tone. My gaze tracks Rhys wandering further into the space, jade eyes roving over the scattered clothes and lingerie littering every available surface.

Fuck, he’s judging me. I knew this would happen eventually.

Cheeks flushing with a mixture of ire and uncomfortable embarrassment, I haul myself off the bed to begin frantically scooping the offending garments into my arms. A warm hand clamps around my wrist before I can gather more than a blouse and some leggings, prompting me to freeze and glance up.

“It’s fine,” Rhys murmurs, holding my gaze with an unexpected gentleness softening those hard edges. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t judging you, . That’s not why I’m here.”

Clearing his throat with an audible rasp, Rhys releases my captured limb and takes a measured step backwards. “Do you have a moment to talk? I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Letting out a sardonic laugh, I can’t help but snort derisively. “Do I have a choice?”

Those full lips flatten into a grim line at my flippant remark. “You don’t have many around here, princess,” Rhys retorts in that infuriatingly even cadence. “So you’d better take the ones you can get.”

Rolling my eyes, I pivot towards the battered duffel bag stuffed into the corner, shoving the garments inside. Silence stretches between us until Rhys clears his throat again, dispelling the heavy tension weighing down the air.

“Why haven’t you unpacked your things yet?” He asks in that insufferably calm tenor, as if making casual conversation over tea. “It’s been weeks. This has basically become your room. Hell, pretty sure Arius has taken up permanent residence on the couch.”

Pausing to glance up at his towering figure, I consider brushing off the inquiry with a curt dismissal. Something in those verdant depths stays my tongue, prompting me to exhale a weary sigh.

“It’s just… habit, I guess?” My gaze skitters away, fixating on a loose thread dangling from the duffel’s strap as I worry it between thumb and forefinger. “Unpacking means getting comfortable, like I’m settling down somewhere permanent. And I… I don’t really do that. Stay in one place for very long.”

A weighted silence drapes over us as Rhys studies me with an inscrutable expression, no doubt processing my candid admission. His brow furrows ever so slightly as his gaze flits to the battered duffel bag and back.

“Why don’t you feel comfortable here?” Rhys asks after a beat, tone measured yet probing. “You have every luxury and creature comfort available. I mean,” a soft chuckle escapes him, “we even have room service at your beck and call.”

I can’t help but snort at his obvious incomprehension regarding my perspective. Shrugging one shoulder dismissively, I toss back, “Would you feel comfortable in a cage, even if it was made out of diamond?”

Rhys’ lips purse contemplatively before he hums a soft acknowledgment. “No… you’re right. Of course not, that was rather uncouth of me. I apologise.”

“Exactly.” With a dismissive shake of my head, I shift my focus back to the towering figure looming over me. “So, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

Those emerald depths glitter with something indecipherable as Rhys straightens his spine, one large palm gesturing towards the rumpled bedding. “Would you mind having a seat? I’d rather not loom over you like this.”

Despite my instinctive desire to bristle at the presumptuous request, I find myself carefully studying Rhys’ impassive mask. Of all the arrogant bastards strutting around this hellhole, he’s been the least invasive since my arrival. More content to linger in the shadowed corners, observing with that inscrutable stare while the others blustered and provoked.

Until now, that is.

With a measured nod, I make my way back towards the bed, perching on the very edge as Rhys settles a respectful distance away. One booted ankle crosses over the opposite knee as he regards me with those damnable eyes.

“You have another Trial this weekend,” Rhys states without preamble, dashing any hope of this serving as a casual chat. “And it’s not going to be as… easy as the last one.”

Fucking great.

I can’t quite suppress the aggravated eye roll that contorts my features. “Then why are you even bothering to give me a heads up this time?” I gripe sourly. “I thought the whole point was to disorient and debase me as much as possible.”

That harsh cupid’s bow dips into a contemplative frown as Rhys exhales an audible sigh, broad shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “Things are changing, . Arius doesn’t—”

“Arius can take that silver spoon he was born with and shove it up his pretentious arse so far he fucking chokes on it. Wanker hasn’t even looked at me in three fucking days,” I snarl with vitriolic menace, immediately cutting off whatever bullshite excuse is about to dribble from those infuriatingly lush lips.

Rhys blinks slowly a few times, clearly awaiting the end of my venomous tirade with infinite patience. When no further acidic barbs seem forthcoming, he clears his throat and endeavours to start again.

“As I was saying, Arius doesn’t feel entirely… comfortable… with this next Trial.” A muscle ticks along Rhys’ taut jawline as I openly scoff my derision. “We need to come up with some kind of plan or strategy to make it as painless as possible. For you.”

The implication that my comfort or wellbeing factors into their twisted machinations is enough to render me utterly dumbstruck. Like a stunned owl, I blink rapidly at Rhys’ impassive silhouette, certain I must have misheard or misjudged his meaning.

Since my arrival at this wretched penitentiary masquerading as a prestigious academy, not a single syllable from any of my captors has hinted at the slightest iota of autonomy or agency. Curfews, surveillance, restrictions on who I can interact with after classes—my every waking moment has been a series of bars and locks disguised as gilded splendour.

Like I said: a pretty cage is still a cage, no matter how you dress it up.

And now, Rhys—the most ruthlessly brooding and inscrutable of my personal wardens—seems to be suggesting I’ll have some kind of… input? A role in determining the parameters of whatever fresh hell awaits this time?

With a shuddering inhale, I force myself to meet Rhys’ steady, impenetrable stare. “Okay,” I murmur, struggling to keep my tone even and composed despite the riot of emotions buffeting me from all sides. “What… what do you need from me?”

Rhys regards me with a measured expression, clearly choosing his next words carefully. “We don’t need much, just your input on what you’re… comfortable with.” He pauses, letting that weighted statement hang in the air. “The Trial is going to be a Hunt—predator and prey, designed to test the… resilience of the target under duress.”

I can’t quite stifle the derisive snort that escapes at his clinical description, though I refrain from interrupting further. Allowing Rhys to continue unimpeded seems the wisest course.

“Hansley will insist on having the entire ordeal monitored and analysed by the Council,” he explains with a grimace. “Which means we need to make it as authentic and high-stakes as possible without…”

Rhys trails off, clearly hesitant to voice the unspoken implications lingering between us. I give a solemn nod to indicate I understand the subtext—this needs to be convincingly real, without actually descending into the depths of brutality they’re notorious for.

“All four of us are required to participate,” Rhys continues after clearing his throat. “Myself, Arius, Jace…” His brow furrows slightly as he exhales. “… and Hayes.”

That has me frowning in confusion. “But Hayes is gay?” I can’t resist questioning. “I mean, I know he dabbles but… Arius told me it was rare?”

The sharp downturn of Rhys’ mouth conveys more derision than I’ve witnessed from the typically stoic man all evening. “Hansley and the Council don’t particularly care about such trivial details,” he sneers. “As the eldest of his bloodline, Hayes has certain responsibilities and duties to uphold, regardless of personal… proclivities.”

My stomach roils with disgust at the implication, lips pursing into a tight line. Forcing someone so clearly homosexual to engage in heterosexual acts against their nature is just downright diabolical. I open my mouth to voice my vehement objection, but Rhys quickly steamrolls over any potential outburst.

“Arius is going to lead this Hunt, naturally,” he states in a tone that brooks no argument. “And he intends to make it as quick and painless as possible, for everyone involved. But we need you to play along, at least initially.”

Exhaling a rattling breath through flared nostrils, I level Rhys with a flat, unamused look. “Isn’t that essentially what I’ve been doing for the past… five weeks?” I drawl sarcastically. “Just… going along with whatever fresh hell you bastards have cooked up?”

Rhys meets my challenge with an equally deadpan stare. “You may not be actively fighting against us,” he allows with maddening equanimity. “But you’re certainly not making things easy, either.”

One dark brow arches pointedly as I bristle, immediately opening my mouth to protest. Before I can muster the words, Rhys is pressing on in that infuriatingly even cadence.

“Hansley might be a manipulative bitch,” he says, mouth curling into a sneer of undisguised loathing. “But she’s far from stupid. Ambitious and ruthlessly intelligent, that one. If she suspects you’re simply placating us, there will be consequences.”

A protracted sigh exhales through my nostrils as I purse my lips contemplatively. As much as I loathe admitting it, Rhys raises a fair point. Hansley seems disturbingly adept at sniffing out even the barest attempt at deception or defiance from her victi— I mean, students.

“What exactly does Arius have planned so far?” I ask at length, deciding a more collaborative approach might be the wisest recourse in this situation.

The very corners of Rhys’ eyes crease with the ghost of a smile—the first I’ve witnessed absent drunken revelry or sadistic amusement at my discomfort. “That’s probably a discussion better suited for when we all convene later,” he demurs with an infuriatingly neutral tone.

My teeth worry at my lower lip as an unexpected pang of guilt twists in my gut, Rhys’ noncommital response allowing unwanted thoughts to bubble forth unbidden. Ducking my chin, I fixate on my fidgeting fingers clenched in my lap, unable to meet those inscrutable depths.

“I’m… surprised Arius would even want to talk to me,” I murmur, voice pitched low with a bitter edge. “After the way I snapped at him the other day over that stupid bag…”

Rhys lets out a contemplative hum, head tilting ever so slightly as he regards me with that damnable penetrating stare. “Is that what this is about?”

A curt nod is the only confirmation I can muster, jaw clenching as the mortifying memory resurfaces with vivid clarity. Squeezing my eyes shut against the sting of shameful moisture prickling in the corners, I force myself to recount the humiliating encounter in a strained rush.

“He, uh… he offered to buy me a new bag for my laptop. Asked if it was sentimental.” My chest constricts as the scathing barbs I hurled at Arius replay in my mind’s eye. “I might’ve… maybe gone a bit overboard telling him to mind his own fucking business and quit trying to solve everything by throwing money at it.”

Bracing for Rhys’ scornful rebuke, I flinch when a rusty chuckle rumbles from the man instead. Reluctantly cracking one eye open, I regard him with naked confusion as amusement dances across those rugged features.

“You seem to have this notion that Arius is some emotionless, marble statue incapable of giving a fuck.” Rhys shakes his head slowly, mouth curved into a wry smirk. “Trust me, love, nothing could be further from the truth. Man’s got a bloody heart beating beneath all that aristocratic stoicism, whether he wants to admit it or not.”

My brow furrows as I pluck at the edge of a ragged cuticle, mulling over his cryptic intimation. “Could’ve fooled me,” I grumble at last. “With the way he acts like such an aloof, unfeeling prick most of the time…”

That infuriatingly serene expression slips somewhat as Rhys levels me with a reproving look. “If Arius offered to do something like that, it was out of genuine concern. Probably one of the few gestures he allows himself to show he gives a damn about your wellbeing and wants to ensure you’re comfortable here.”

The derisive scoff that bursts forth is utterly unbidden, features twisting into a scowl of derision. “I don’t need fancy things or frivolous bullshite purchases to be comfortable,” I retort with a sneer. “Especially not from that arrogant wankstain who seems to relish lording his wealth and privilege over everyone around him.”

My ire rapidly dissipates under Rhys’ patient, unwavering stare. A weighted pause stretches between us before he simply shrugs one broad shoulder, forestalling any further protests.

“Alright,” he concedes mildly. “Just… try not to be so quick to assume the worst about Arius’ intentions, yeah? Despite that craggy veneer, he’s not nearly as callous or self-absorbed as he’d like everyone to believe. Arius is under a lot of scrutiny.”

With an inscrutable lingering look, Rhys pushes to his feet and moves towards the door without another word. As his fingers curl around the handle, he pauses to glance back over one shoulder.

“, I… I would highly advise, at the very least, against antagonising him further before this Trial,” Rhys remarks in a tone of careful neutrality. “Could make an already volatile situation that much more… precarious for you if he goes into this with the wrong headspace.”

The understated warning hangs heavy in the air even after he slips from the bedroom, leaving me to stew in a soupy mess of guilt, frustration and simmering indignation over his implications about Arius.