PROLOGUE

VEIL

I t was impossible to prepare for the harrowing feeling of awaiting my own sacrifice.

Naively, I always assumed I would sense when death would come to collect my soul … like a shadow merging with my own.

Immaterial, but nonetheless there.

Waiting.

Stalking.

But nothing prepared me for today.

To gaze true evil in its eyes—one blue, one green.

I thought I knew. I thought I had a good grasp on the depravity of this city, far too similar to the one I’d left behind a month ago.

It was an incomparable feeling to have to dine in the presence of evil while pretending to be under their spell. It was as disturbing as letting a thousand spiders crawl over me without moving a single muscle or making any sound.

I feasted with those who never saw it coming. Fools. Just like myself. And feigned pleasantries, as if fear weren’t dousing me in gasoline while I sat far too close to an open flame.

I watched in horror as the six heirs of Pravitia dined in excess at the table beside us, animals gnashing on meat and bones while they spoke callously about the upcoming sacrifice. Their faces devoid of any worry lines, a psychopathic flawlessness to their dewy skin.

Now I stand in the middle of a hedge maze, lined up like cattle with the others, facing our slaughterers. A shiver crawls down my spine as I watch them leer, practically salivating at the thought of our deaths. Nausea roils in my stomach. I want to scream. I want to wail. Something. Instead, I do nothing but wait.

I should have fought harder when the blond with the mismatched eyes found me in the city square. But something came over me when I felt the hard tip of his knife press into my ribs.

I froze. I let fear overcome me.

Then I was shoved into a limousine, and the bearded one began his … hypnosis? I couldn’t quite tell—the one thing I was sure of was that it seemed to work on all the other captives but me. Their eyes became dazed, glazed over as if drugged, and a foreboding chill racked my body.

I wish the waxing moon weren’t so bright as I stand here.

I wish I could stop seeing the disturbed hunger in their eyes as they continue to stare at us. As if still starving after their gluttonous meal. But I wait, caged and terrified under a forced but placid expression.

I feel the air shift. Like an invisible veil has been lifted. And by the whimpers beside me, I surmise that the one who hypnotized us has finally broken the spell the others were under. I pretend to be just as shocked as the rest of them while I furtively glance around, trying to plan a feeble attempt at an escape.

My gaze catches on my kidnapper; he’s staring straight at me.

“Boo,” he says with a sneer.

An unnatural sting washes over me. I realize then, somewhat late, that he’s the one I’ll be running from. He is the presence I should have sensed, not death— him .

Someone clears their throat. It’s the bearded one, his gray-blue eyes as dark as the night sky.

“I suggest,” he says with a slow drawl, “you run.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before adrenaline surges through my body and I bolt toward one of the hedged paths, my bare feet pounding into the soft, wet grass.

I hear a laugh rise into the night. It’s a hateful, wicked thing, and somehow, I know it’s emanating from the man who captured me.

The one who is bound to capture me again.

The blood roars so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear myself breathe. It feels like I’ve been running for hours, days, a lifetime. My feet are bleeding, my legs so sore that they’ve gone shaky and weak. I don’t know how much longer I can last. I’m a rat in a maze, a lowly nothing, destined to be squashed under a shoe.

As I silently turn a corner, I slam my hand over my mouth and try to swallow a distressed scream at the sight of a body. Or at the sight of what is left of it …

The only thing I can properly discern is black hair, sticky with blood, but the face is indistinguishable, cruelly pummeled and macerated—bludgeoned to its very last breath.

I bite down into my palm as tears burn my cheeks, anguish pulsing through my veins as I imagine my own agonizing fate at the hands of one of the ruling families.

They are hardly human. Just a sick, animated rendering of the gods controlling this city.

My mouth fills up with saliva. I’m about to be sick, but I swallow it back down and run as far away as I can from the massacred corpse.

I turn right, then left, the air burning my lungs, my hair matted with sweat. I slow down. Listen. There’s no sign of life, but my body buzzes with the maddening knowledge that I am not alone in this maze. I stumble over a raised root and can’t help but swear under my breath, blindly grasping at the small branches of the hedge as I turn another corner. The hard bark digs into my palms, but I pay it no mind. Not when my mind is racing with all the tormenting possibilities of my eventual capture.

I barely have time to lift my gaze before a hand flies out from the darkness and catches me by the throat. Those mismatched eyes glow like blazing coal.

He found me.

My scream is visceral, the fear unholy, and my first instinct is to try to turn my body away from him. My impulse backfires, and I pitch backward, bringing us both down to the ground with him landing on top of me.

I react like a trapped animal. Thrashing under him, bleating like a dying goat, avoiding his eyes as if they would hold power over me.

His laugh is dark and twisted, a strand of blond hair falling over his forehead, followed by a few tsks . “Don’t think you can escape me now,” he says, and his voice feels like being dunked into an icy bath.

“Get off me, you monster!” I shriek.

I’m still trying to fight him, even after he’s managed to pin my legs under him and slam my wrists over my head.

His body grows still, and mine does too. My eyes land on him as he tilts his head to the side, sniffing the air before his piercing gaze returns to mine.

“Say that again,” he orders.

I’m momentarily confused, surprised by the change in his demeanor. It’s a fleeting feeling, and soon enough, I renew my attempt to fight him off. “Let me go!” I yell.

His eyes narrow as he lifts a manicured brow while his fingers tighten around my wrists, his many rings digging grooves into my skin. “Who are you?” he says slowly.

My fighting wanes, the confusion returning.

Who am I?

“I — I’m—” I stop, feeling ridiculous that I even considered answering his question, and I begin to struggle under his grasp again. “Let me go!”

His expression falters, and I’m convinced my mind is playing tricks on me—some desperate last wish before he kills me—because he appears to be deliberating.

Then he lets me go. Pushing himself off the ground, he jumps back up onto his feet.

I immediately skitter backward, stunned but nonetheless fearful.

This is a trap. It must be a trap.

For a long pregnant pause, we stare at each other. The sweat beading my forehead turns cold against the night chill. Under his ripped linen shirt, his tattooed chest heaves with rapid breaths. Then, finally, he speaks again, resolve in his tone. “Two rights, one left, and another right.”

I’m stunned, the words taking far too long to sink in.

Is he—is he telling me how to escape?

Impossible. I don’t dare move.

He pouts; it’s mocking but playful, and my terror only intensifies.

With one hand on his hip, he leans closer and flicks his other hand my way. “Run, run, run, little rabbit, before I change my mind,” he singsongs, his lips curling into a bloodcurdling grin.

This can’t be real.

This can’t be real.

I scramble to my feet and run for my life.

It’s much too literal, my legs pumping as hard as they can, and I can’t bear looking behind me, for fear of seeing him prowling after me. I expect him to follow but I at least need to try.

Then I see it—a small opening in the maze.

My laugh is crazed. I don’t dare slow down.

He let me go.

He let me go.

I repeat the words over and over again as I run and run and run, successfully escaping my fate.