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Here, our fate would be decided. Eight of us prisoners would be released—free to start our lives over. Forgiven for whatever heinous crimes we may have been convicted of.

I only need to be one of the eight, I reminded myself.

When I first added my name to the Offering Ceremony, I only focused on the idea of being free, making a way for myself without the constraints set by another. A daydream of a life under my full control … without the betrayals and disappointments of the past holding me down.

Having served four of my twenty-year sentence, I didn’t think I would survive another sixteen years in the women’s wing. It was only now, confronted with reality, that my mind wandered to the dark possibility—the chance that I would be sent off to the Keeper.

No . I need to stay positive.

An elderly man with pale blue eyes, swathed in a heavy burgundy robe, walked to the center of the dais and cleared his throat.

“As many of you know, the Kingdom of Vitahex has thrived for the past two centuries. This success is a direct result of the ward protecting us against the invasion of Slips. ” He spat the last word like a curse.

“These protections have been afforded to us by an alliance with the Keeper. As agreed to in those terms, and in order to sustain the strength of our defensive ward, an offering is required.”

The minister spread his hand and stretched an arm in our direction. “One human female, born in Vitahex, between the age of twenty and twenty-five, must travel to the Obsidian Fortress so her blood can be used to maintain and strengthen the ward. She will become the Blood Offering.”

His attention fell to us. Slowly, he scanned our faces like it was the first time he noticed our existence.

“You nine ladies have volunteered to enter your names in the drawing for this honorable cause. Today, eight of you will be granted freedom for your bravery. One of you will be bound to uphold the blood bond and sent to the Keeper directly. … A noble sacrifice.” He motioned to his attendants.

The first man, a younger servant dressed in palace livery, went down the line, handing each of us a scroll made of thick cream paper. Another man brought forward a wood table supplied with ink and quills, and arranged it before us.

The minister continued, “One by one, you nine will need to repeat the oath and sign your name. To ensure the chosen one fulfills the contract, you must provide your signature on the parchment and bind it with your blood.”

Another attendant emerged, setting out a lush, red pillow. Resting on top were nine silver needles—one for each of us.

The sight sent my heart skittering, and I knew Mallory felt the same by the way she tensed beside me.

“Once signed, if you try to withdraw, your death will inevitably follow.” The minister’s thick eyebrows crinkled as he peered into our eyes. “Do not doubt the power of a blood contract.”

Starting on the right, we were to be called up one at a time.

First in line was Rose. Accurately named, she looked so sweet, but you quickly learned to keep your distance because she was the meanest of the bunch—swift to draw blood, and enjoyed doing it.

If there is any such thing as fate, she will be the one chosen , I thought. I would never voice that kind of belief aloud, but I didn’t feel ashamed for having it—maybe prison had made me more cynical than I realized.

The minister read the contract. Rose’s voice rang through the hall as she echoed his words.

Picking up a quill, she signed her name, and after a slight hesitation, she plucked a needle from the pillow and jabbed her finger.

Scarlet splotches fell over the cream parchment.

She stepped back into the line, her hand clutching the life-binding scroll.

The next girl took her place.

Blood fell to parchment again … and again, the ritual repeated. My palms began to sweat.

Before I knew it, it was my turn to approach the pedestal.

The minister read the script.

My voice wavered as I repeated the oath.

“As a woman between twenty and twenty-five years of age, born in the kingdom of Vitahex, I pledge my life and blood to uphold these vows. I willingly volunteer my name to be entered as a candidate for the Blood Offering. Should I be chosen, I will travel to the Obsidian Fortress and freely offer my blood to the Keeper, ensuring the ward protecting my kingdom is secured. If I am not chosen, I will be free to leave the palace today and return to an honest life of my choosing.”

My pulse beat loudly in my ears. I spread the thick paper on the table and picked up the quill. With an unsteady hand, I wrote out my name.

The quill’s tip scratched across the surface as I swooped out the final ell .

Laying down the feather, I reached for the needle. I didn’t give myself time to doubt and quickly pricked my finger. A bead of blood formed on my skin. I watched it build into a crimson pearl. For freedom, I thought . Exhaling, I turned my finger, and squeezed three drops over my signature.

In an instant, the blood was absorbed. It vanished into the fibers, becoming completely invisible. The contract had been sealed.

With a sudden sense of dread, I rolled up my pledge and rejoined the line.

Mallory was the last to sign. I found myself holding my breath as I watched her stick herself with the remaining needle. Her eyes closed and lips moved as she pressed her thumb down on the paper. She paused a moment before looking up. With a pinch in her brow, she returned to my side.

“Nine lives, bound by blood,” the minister declared to the crowd. “Which one of these women will be required to uphold the oath?”

Standing with rigid backs, grasping our life altering scrolls, anticipation overflowed as we waited for fate to play its deciding card.

“Now, for the most crucial step.” The minister’s voice boomed through the hall.

“The selection of the Blood Offering!” He lifted a large gold urn, its sides engraved with moths and flames.

Tilting the opening toward the audience, he proved the container was empty.

A murmur of replies satisfied him and he moved toward the line, pausing before Rose. He held out the vessel.

Lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders, Rose glared at the old man. Despite her defiant stance, her hand shook as she raised the scroll. The paper fell into the space below, making a faint thud as it met the bottom.

With more outward hesitation, the next six women added their names.

The minister positioned himself in front of me, eagerness in his eyes.

I lifted my blood binding oath— stars shine on me— and dropped it in with the others . At that moment, that gold urn was the only thing that existed. My entire world was held within its delicate craftsmanship.

My gaze was transfixed on the elaborate object as the minister stepped to my left side.

Mallory dropped her scroll into the urn’s depths.

Returning to his platform, the elderly minister brought a lid over the top of the vessel and held it out in front of him. With the skill of a seasoned performer, he shook the contents vigorously; the action jolted me back to the present moment. The mob cheered him on.

He walked to the other end of the stage and repeated the motion. Another deafening outburst roared through the chamber. His stance grew tall and wide with gratification. He was enjoying this moment of suspense while the tension gnawed at my belly.

Pausing at center stage, at last the old man addressed the king and queen. “Your Majesties, which one of you would like the honor?”

Slow and steady, the queen rose. Her ample dress spilled over the floor, surrounding her in rich, silk brocade. The onlookers bowed their heads.

The minister stepped close. With a deep bend, he leaned in and removed the lid, presenting the collection of shuffled scrolls to Queen Trinstar.

Time slowed.

The queen reached in with her pale, thin fingers—each wreathed with an obscene amount of gold and gemstones.

As if I could will it into being, I envisioned my scroll tucked safely at the bottom. I will not be chosen, I repeated.

The queen took her time, leisurely stirring the contents and playing to the crowd. With a flourish of her wrist, she pulled out a single roll of parchment and held it high for all to see.

The throng’s applause thundered. With an approving nod and a twinkle of pride in her eyes, she surveyed the crowded assembly hall.

Several agonizing moments passed before the room settled.

The queen commenced, “The woman I am about to name shall be remembered as a vital citizen of our kingdom. Her name will be etched among those brave souls who have sacrificed for our plight against the Slips.”

Finally, she lowered her prize. Slender fingers unfurled the paper. A satisfied grin pulled at the corners of her mouth and her lips parted.

A name rang out, slow and loud, foreign on the queen’s tongue. “Nova Winterspell.”