Page 7 of The Never List (Never List #1)

Rylee

I’m not sure if I’m breathing.

I can’t hear anything but the static roaring in my ears. I glance down at the diamond-encrusted numbers on my pin, wanting above all to be remembering my number wrong.

But I’m not.

Everything inside me is frozen. I’m certain I’ve fallen into a nightmare. That has to be the only explanation. There is no way tall, dark, and dangerous just said my goddess-damned number.

“Rylee.” Ivy’s voice pops the static, my ears crackling as the sound of applause shakes the world around me. “Rylee,” she says again, a more-than-fake smile on her face as she tries to catch my focus.

I blink until she’s not so blurry and immediately throw my arms around her.

“They’ll kill me,” I whisper into her ear, tears filling my eyes. Panic storms my body, making me tremble against her. I hope anyone who is watching mistakes the tears for joy, not terror. “They’ll kill me for deceiving them, Ivy,” I whisper again, and her grip on me tightens. “If they find out I’m— If they find out what I am—”

A swell of fear crashes over me like an icy tidal wave.

I cling to Ivy, glancing over her shoulder and beyond the crowd, toward the balcony. We’re hundreds of stories up, but I could jump. I could jump and use my powers to slow my fall.

I could run.

“There’s no chance,” Ivy says, reading my eyes. “Don’t you dare take yourself out of the game like that.”

I swallow hard, and Layce comes to our side, hugging us both, buying us more time and shielding our mouths from the ogling crowd around us.

“You make them fall for you,” Ivy says, voice more determined than I’ve ever heard before. “You make them fall for you so fucking hard, they won’t be able to survive without you, you understand?”

I part my lips, shaking my head. “How—”

“Whatever it takes, Rylee. You do it. That’s the only play here. And if— when —you succeed, it won’t matter where you come from, what runs through your veins. They’ll be yours . Nothing and no one will ever be able to touch you again.”

I’ll never make it that far. My number is linked to my name. I take a deep breath and slow my racing thoughts. At least Gray is a common surname present across all regions, so it won’t be immediately known that I’m an Ashlander, but still… I should have asked Ivy to link my invitation to a fake name, but I never once thought I’d get fucking chosen. What else can go wrong tonight?

“She’s right,” Layce says, pain and regret flashing in her own eyes. Just like Ivy’s, they show she’s both sorry and shocked at the turn of events.

Six years.

They’ve been coming here for six years, taking the pins and selling them after, and never once have they drawn enough attention to themselves to get chosen.

Reckless, foolish girl.

Why did I have to flirt with him? Fall prey to those indigo eyes? Why didn’t I realize who he was?

A sigh rushes out of me, something between a shudder and a cry. I thought the Legends were on the opposite side of the party, far away from ever laying eyes on me. They made the crowd believe otherwise, so they had the opportunity to browse their selection without anyone being the wiser.

Clever bastards .

The partygoers shift around my little group, and I can see the golden uniforms of the kings’ enforcers coming my way.

My heart rate skyrockets, causing my airways to shrink.

I squeeze Ivy and Layce tighter.

“Find Erin,” I whisper. “If something happens to me—”

“It won’t,” Ivy says as if she can will it to truth.

“You can do this, Rylee,” Layce says. “If any one of us can pull it off, it’s you.”

“Even if,” I say, “and that’s a giant if I can get them to fall for me, there’s the Athanry to contend with.” Spiders dance down my spine at the thought.

“One impossible situation at a time,” Ivy says, shifting back enough to wind her fingers through my own. “You survive,” she demands. “I don’t want to go through this life without you.”

“Me either,” Layce adds.

I glance between them both, a sliver of air working its way into my lungs.

Another breath as I focus on their scents, their comforting embrace—my best friends, my sisters not by blood but by bond .

“Now,” Ivy says, her eyes widening as the kings’ enforcers draw near, the crowd still clapping in awe around us. “Pull up that mask of confidence you’re so damned good at and go win over four mates.” She smirks, adjusting my butterfly mask where it tilted. “And then relish as they fight for your approval.”

When she puts it that way, it seems so easy. Impossibly so, but I cling to the fantasy as they both release me.

“I love you both,” I say as one enforcer gently tugs me away from them.

Ivy and Layce mouth the words back, their smiles stretched but believable as they clap with the crowd, but I can see it in their eyes, despite Ivy’s confidence. There’s true panic there, and fear, and maybe a little grief. Because the three of us know the odds of me escaping this alive.

It’s more likely that I’ve just said my final goodbye to my two best friends in the world.

“Right this way,” the enforcer says as he leads me through the crowd, his hand on my shoulder directing me, as if I had a choice to go any other direction.

I close my eyes for the briefest of breaths, digging and clawing up the mask I’ve worn more times than I can count—the one that fools nobility on the regular. I’ve never tested it like this before, though. Never with actual royalty. And even as I slide it into place—drawing up a sugar-sweet smile that would make any noble Lumathyst citizen who vied for the role of potential mate proud—I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being escorted to my execution with a melody of applause behind me.

“Address the kings first,” the enforcer says, his voice gruff, his grip tightening on my shoulder enough that I have to physically stop myself from pulling away from him. Stop myself from twisting out of his grasp and laying him on his ass. Erin and I spent countless hours sparring with each other back in the Ashlands, ensuring we could defend ourselves against enforcers who liked to take liberties. I could do it. I could make him wish he’d never touched me…

But that’s not what a potential mate would do. Not one who actually wanted to get chosen.

My heels clink against the glass dais stairs as he draws us up them, stopping us before the kings, who haven’t budged from their thrones.

The enforcer drops his touch, and I suck in a deep breath, holding my smile in place as I survey the kings.

What the goddesses am I supposed to do now?

Think, think, think. What would a noble do? Goddesses, what would Ivy do?

With no time, I count on my instincts and make my way to the king on the farthest left, bowing so deeply my black skirts flare about the dais, hiding my legs.

“Rise,” the king says. Jullian Erhart. That’s who I’ve bowed to first. He gives me a simple nod before I can study the eyes behind the mask, and I take my dismissal, moving on to the next king. I repeat the process until I come to the last king.

Baydel Lavine is more animalistic-looking than the others, despite the mask. I think it has to do with the way he’s surveying me like I’m a meal he’s in desperate need of, and he’s the only king who sticks out his hand.

At first, I almost move to shake it. But that’s ridiculous. Kings don’t shake hands, and with the way he’s holding it, palm down, his fingers loose and hanging toward the dais, I know what he’s demanding.

Acid claws up my throat. This prick wants me to kiss his hand.

Another tremor racks my body, but I lock my muscles down before inching my way toward him, still bowed, still wearing that ridiculous grateful smile as I press my lips to the back of his hand. For half a second, I envision sliding two of the jeweled rings right off his fingers, but I quickly squash the instinct.

Once a thief, always a thief.

“You may stand,” Baydel says, his voice rumbling over the crowd. Everyone goes silent at the sound. “Turn and face them,” he says a little lower.

I obey despite wanting to protest on principle. It feels wrong to turn my back on the kings.

Most of the crowd is smiling up at us, their eyes hazed from drink behind their masks, but there are more than a few women shooting me death glares. I hold my grin but sharpen my gaze across them. I’ve never been one to take kindly to judgment—credit can go to everyone spitting on Ashlanders my entire life. It just twists me up the wrong way.

But a higher-class lady wouldn’t stoop so low as to glare back at the jealous crowd. So, I tip my chin up, searching the sea of faces for my friends. I find them wearing expressions of approval, hands clasped as Ivy sends me an almost imperceptible nod. I can practically hear her in my head, saying, Good, make them fall. Make them all fall.

I nod back just as the announcer says my name again, and the same enforcer walks up behind me, taking me by the arm and hustling me toward the group of Legends like a prize mare.

My eyes tear away from the crowd, landing on the four men the enforcer is hurrying me toward. They’re captivating up close, even with the masks. Now that I draw nearer, I can feel their powers charging the air between us in an overwhelming wave that threatens to steal my breath. I check myself, burying my own power deep inside me so they can’t sense it as the enforcer jerks us to a halt so hard, I nearly trip.

I fling my free arm, trying to right my balance, but instead connect with a strong chest, a muscled arm sliding around my waist, steadying me.

“Take your hand off of her,” a deep voice says, the timbre confident and full.

The enforcer immediately releases me, and the effect has me stumbling even farther against the hard chest of the man holding me. My palms flatten over endless muscle, and I tip my head upward as I right myself.

His mask is identical to the one the man I danced with wore, except where that man’s stones were black, these are glistening rubies that match the color of his suit. I inhale at the deep blue of his eyes, the kindness in them as he looks down at me, and the absolute murderous shift they have when they look at the enforcer behind me.

“Touch her like that one more time, and you’ll lose more than that arm,” the man says, and the enforcer bows quickly before practically sprinting off the dais.

“Thanks,” I say, catching the scent of sunshine and lemon verbena as I take a step away from him.

He smooths down his immaculate suit jacket, dipping his head slightly before glancing behind him, where the other Legends wait.

One second, I’m standing among them, and the next, they’re whisking me off the dais, down the steps, and through the crowd. It parts as if some great power is shifting them out of the way, and all I can think as they herd me into a private golden elevator is thank goddess I didn’t trip in front of all these people.

I can hardly breathe around the power filling the small space as they fall two and two to my side in the elevator, the one with long black hair and the sapphires in his mask hitting a button that has us jolting down so fast my stomach flips.

I close my eyes and breathe, stifling the elated giggle that builds at the base of my throat, threatening to spill out in a mixture of joy and terror and pure madness. Because that’s what this is. I started the night off by dodging a power-drunk abusive ex, then offering a forged invitation to an event I have no business attending, and I’m ending it in an elevator with four of the most powerful beings in Lumathyst.

Breathe. Just breathe , I tell myself as I cling to something solid to focus on. Their names would be a good start. I draw up memories from the Ashlands, the posters plastered along brick walls.

The rubies, that’s Kal Erhart.

Sapphires is Axl Dawson.

Emeralds is Pierce Bertrand.

And the black diamonds…that’s Jax Lavine.

A warm shiver rakes down my body as I crane my head just slightly to look at him, my eyes finding him effortlessly as he leans against the wall of the elevator on the other side of Pierce. I swear his purple eyes sear as they meet mine, a thousand unspoken questions churning there as I force myself to look away.

The Nightmare. That’s his nickname. That’s what the kingdom deemed him long ago. His ruthlessness has shredded through more people than is likely public knowledge.

I danced with the Nightmare.

I flirted with him. More than that, I wanted him.

I still do. I can still feel that humming in my blood, a pull toward where he stands in the corner.

Goddess help me.

“Your name?” Kal asks, his tone soothing. Careful, even.

I hesitate, wondering if I should give a fake name but instantly dismissing it. The forged invitation will have my real name attached, and it’s common enough that I won’t immediately be outed as an Ashlander. They’ll have to dig to figure that out. I just have to hope I have enough time to work out what to do before then.

“Rylee,” I say, hating that my voice cracks. “Rylee Gray.”

The elevator halts, the doors sliding open to a grand room filled with slick marble floors, lush furniture, and a view of the sparkling royal city. Kal holds the doors open for me, ushering me inside.

I take one step, then two, as if I expect an axe to come down on me at any moment.

“We’ll be right back, Rylee,” Kal says, his voice filled with warmth as if he’s assuring a scared puppy.

“Where are you going?” I ask, whirling around, eyes wide as I see the elevator doors sliding closed, the image of the four of them burned on the backs of my lids before they disappear.