Chapter 7
Seven
“ Y ou're overdoing it a bit, don't you think?” I say to River, examining her cream-colored gown with golden stitching.
“No, it's my engagement party,” she says.
“It looks like a wedding dress.”
She holds out the skirt. “It’s a good distraction. Holden seems to have a new obsession with my sexual experience.”
My face scrunches with disgust. “Is that the shit he was whispering to you at dinner last night?”
“Sure was,” she says with a sigh.
After having breakfast with River in the garden, Holden’s advances on her have become bolder. He has tried to kiss her goodnight and implied he would like her to stay in his room. I’ve been there to cockblock him every step of the way. I might be protecting her, but I’ve become public enemy number one to the prince. His dislike for me becomes more evident every day. The man has a nasty death stare.
“I don’t know. You are giving sacrificial virgin vibes. And we both know you are far from that,” I say with a smartass smile.
She counters with just as much sass saying, “And I will resume my sexual escapades as soon as we get out of here and I find my boyfriend.”
“I just think it would be safer if you wore something more like this.” I hold out the skirt of my simple lavender chiffon dress. It turns out that my new status as River’s maid comes with a new wardrobe. I’d be grateful for not smelling like grease and dish shop, but the new fluttery dresses I’m required to wear are a pain in my ass, tangling around my legs and tripping me up.
“What? And not outshine you on my big day?” she asks, pretending to clutch her pearls.
“Don’t do that. This entire forced marriage isn’t funny.”
“You’re telling me. This is fucking sick. But it doesn’t change the fact that Holden needs to believe I’m marrying him.”
She plops down on the vanity’s chair, and I set to work weaving golden ribbon into her hair. I understand why we’re feeding into this facade. We need to play by their rules until we can execute our plan. Something deep in my gut tells me time has run out. Once we've finished the formality of the engagement festival, Holden's advancements toward River are going to intensify. The modesty card she is playing is losing its appeal with him, and we no longer shield her behind preparing for the wedding. In two days, she will become his wife if we don’t leave.
Mrs. Lockhart comes to get us when it's time to leave. Walking through the hallways of the Lodge, she says, “Lady River and the prince will spend a short time mingling with the commoners on the festival grounds. Afterward, she'll accompany him, the king, and the queen to the games played in honor of the engagement.” She turns to River and hands her a white handkerchief with her initials embroidered in gold thread. “It's the tradition for the queen, or in today's case, the future princess to pick one competitor to be her victor. Basically, you'll hand him the handkerchief, kiss him on the cheek, and wish him luck. I suggest you pick one of the men who will compete in the final games of the day.”
“Okay,” River says, placing the fabric inside the bodice of her dress.
We continue weaving through the hallways as Mrs. Lockhart gives more directions. “At the end of the games, there will be a feast and fireworks. Your only job is to be cordial to the people and look enamored with your fiancé.”
River closes her eyes and takes a calming breath. Her acting skills are at an award-winning level at this point. She can handle this, but I see the torment it’s wreaking on her. She is beyond loyal to Noah. It is killing her to pretend another man has captured her heart.
Mrs. Lockhart stops walking, turns me to face her, and quietly says, “Above all, you must keep a cool head about you. Don't do anything stupid that will get you killed.”
I exchange a look with River who cocks an eyebrow at me. “Yes, ma'am,” I say.
The festival is what I'd expect from a barbaric time in the past. Children play with wooden guns and swords and the adults are dressed to impress. Men exchange money, placing bets on today’s tournament. Several entertainers such as jugglers and acrobats line the throughways while the smell of food and the sound of laughter fills the air.
Holden offers River his arm as we stroll through the crowd, every so often introducing her to someone of importance. They kiss the back of her hand and shower her with congratulations, telling her how lucky she is to be marrying the prince. She smiles and responds with words of gratitude, her mask never faltering. I, on the other hand, am seething. How can so many people be oblivious to the truth? Do they really think forfeiting their freedom is a fair price to pay for safety? Do they not understand that one day it will be their daughters and sisters who will have their dignity stripped away when they’re given to a man like a piece of meat? Everything about Morhaven angers me, and I’m failing to keep it hidden.
A horn blares in the distance, and Holden pulls River behind him, zigzagging through the throngs of people. “The games are starting,” he says in childlike awe.
We enter the arena—a wooden structure with bleacher seating at least ten rows high. He guides us to a booth shaded under a red canopy and angled for an optimal view of the games. The king and queen sit upon large, cushioned chairs with two empty seats to the king's right. Thomas motions Holden to join them. He takes his seat with River at his side.
I’ve been a pace behind Holden and River all day, and I refuse to give up that space. I stand at the back of the booth with the other servants, ready to react if she needs me.
“I love the games,” Holden says to River. “They're thrilling to watch. You'll love it!”
“I'm sure I will,” she says, with a fake toothy grin plastered on her face.
Again, the horn shrieks and a man wearing a long purple jacket walks to the middle of the field. He opens the scroll in his hand and reads, “On this day, we gather to celebrate His Royal Highness, the Prince of Morhaven, Holden Thomas Reeves, first son of His Majesty, King Thomas Reeves, engagement to his betrothed, Lady River Rose Ellery.”
Right on cue, King Thomas stands, turns to the crowd with his arms raised above his head, and shouts, “Let the games begin!”
The arena explodes into cheers.
The competitions are skill-based. Men, mostly guards, compete for first place in archery and sharpshooting. In the beginning, it's interesting to watch, but after a bit, it's repetitive and doesn’t to hold my interest. The endurance races are a little better, but even the crowd loses some of their enthusiasm. Holden, it seems, is fascinated with every aspect of the spectacle. He leans forward in his seat in a way that reminds me of how my uncle would stare at the television during his favorite sporting events.
I check to see if River needs something every so often. It’s a sad attempt to cure not only my boredom, but hers as well. The two of us would rather be out on the field competing than sitting here as spectators. From the looks of things, that would never be an option. It appears that women are not allowed to participate.
Servants clear the playing field for the next event. The announcer takes his place and projects his voice above the murmurings of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, now for the moment you've been waiting for.”
Holden pumps his fist in the air. “This is my favorite part.”
An iron gate opens at the far end of the field. Five Zs charge out of the opening, coming to a quick stop when the chains around their necks pull taut. They thrash against their restraints, clawing and snapping like wild animals.
“Our victors!” proclaims the announcer.
The crowd is sent into a frenzy, chanting, “Hunted, Hunted.”
My stomach turns at the sight of the five ravenous beings. Dirt and purple blood cover them from head to toe, and they’ve been stripped of clothing, the lesions from where they've fed on each other exposing bone. Their chains clank as they thrash against them, screaming in hunger at the announcer who is only yards away.
Not fazed by the proximity of the dangerous monsters, his introductions continue. “And of course, the men who want to defeat our victors—the treacherous contenders.”
Hisses and boos fill the arena as guards roll a cage on wheels onto the battleground.
I clasp my hands over my mouth as a sob comes from River.
Aiden, Wes, Noah, and Ryland are locked inside the mobile jail cell.
Filthy clothes hang from the boys' bodies, and the dark circles frame under their eyes. Unkempt facial hair covers their jaws and dirt layers their skin. They've been captives in Morhaven for over a week. By the looks of it, none of them were treated humanely, and they are in no shape to battle Zs.
“Contenders, do we have a volunteer to go first?” the announcer asks.
I don't even need to hear the answer, I know it before Ryland calls out, “I'll go first.”
His three friends violently protest as a burly guard reaches inside the cage to pull Ryland out. Aiden lunges forward, and his fingers circle Ryland's wrist, pulling him back. Ryland slides from his grip as a whip cracks and slices Aiden's shoulder. He doubles over in pain, and Wes and Noah jump to his defense, throwing their fists at the guard.
“Stop!” Ryland demands, stepping between the guards rushing the cell and his friends. One by one he gives the guys a poignant gaze and says, “I'm going.” No sooner do the words leave his mouth and he's yanked from the confines of the cell.
With a sneer, Ryland tears his arm out of the guard’s firm grip and walks to the middle of the arena.
I plant my feet to remain upright and not sink to the ground in tears. There is nothing I can do to save him—no weapon, no plan, no voice that will make them stop. I raise my hand to my chest, holding my aching heart. I can’t stand here and watch Ryland die.
A flash of white catches my attention. River waves the handkerchief in the air and frantically says, “Mrs. Lockhart told me I should give this to a contender. I would like for my maid to choose her champion instead.”
“River, no,” I say with a gasp.
“I—I have no interest in those men.” I feel her pain as she says the untrue words. Her heart is on that field, and she is giving up a chance to say goodbye to him for me.
“No.”
My protest goes unheard as Holden brightens with a smile. He clearly believes her interest only lies with him. “Of course, darling. This is your day. Do what pleases you.”
River turns to me on shaky legs and hands me the handkerchief. “Don’t say anything, Quinn. I want to do this for you. Please just go and hug him tightly.”
I can’t fight her. As selfish as it is, I don’t want to. The man I love is within reach, and I can’t turn down the chance to hold him.
“I choose that man as my champion,” I say, my voice trembling.
The crowd erupts, their screams piercing my ears. With his head held high, Ryland steps forward as a guard helps me descend the stairs to the field. I take controlled steps, doing my best not to run out into his arms. My eyes linger on the dark blue bruise circling one of his eyes and the bloody cut on the upper part of his cheek. The closer I get, the worse off I realize he is.
When we're face to face, I can no longer contain my composure. Everything feels so hopeless, and I feel so helpless.
He brushes his thumb over the tear sliding down my face. It’s such an innocent touch, but it holds so many lost possibilities. In the sweep of his finger is a relationship cut short, a future brushed away.
“Don't cry. Don't let them see you cry, love,” Ryland says. For almost two weeks, I've longed to hear his voice, but not like this. Not here or now.
“Do you have a plan to get us out of this?” I ask.
“You'll be all right, Quinn.”
A lump builds in my throat and my chin quivers. I despise his answer. It’s a deflection—an attempt not to lie to me. We’ve built our relationship on trust, and although this could be the end, he won't let our foundation crumble, even if it is to give me a fraction of hope. He's steadfast to the end.
I hand him the handkerchief and wrap my trembling arms around his neck. My fingers grip his dirty hair as I press my lips to his cheek. “I love you, Ryland. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you.” He squeezes me and rests his chin on the top of my head.
“Don't let them take you down. You fight. Promise me you'll fight until the end,” I sob.
“Besides loving you, it's all I know how to do.”
With pure reluctance, I let go of him, watching as he turns to face death.
I return to the booth and stand with my arms braced on the railing. I brush the back of my hands over my eyes. Don't let them see you cry, love. Ryland’s words play in my head on repeat as I put on a brave mask. If this is his end, I will not look away. I will endure it with him. I will watch the end of us.
Holden leans forward and hisses, “I’m going to enjoy this almost as much as I will enjoy fucking your lady tonight.”
Disgusting, egotistical, I hate him.
I look at him over my shoulder and feign a smile. Through gritted teeth, I say, “If you so much as lay a hand on her, I swear to God, I'll castrate you.”
Unfazed by my threat, Holden places his hand on her upper thigh, squeezing it to the point that her face scrunches in pain. His eyes radiate his disdain toward me.
I take a step forward.
He lifts his hand, his coiled muscles ticking, ready to strike.
River gently grips his hand in hers. Her fingers tremble around his as she says, “Don’t, dear. Not here.”
Holden whips his head around, glaring at my cousin. “Since you want her around so badly, I'm going to strap her to a chair, so she can watch as I take you tonight,” he snarls.
“I'll kill you if you touch her,” River spits through gritted teeth.
He shakes his head and laughs.
Done with Holden and his threats, I turn my attention back to Ryland.
Everyone has exited the field, leaving the boys locked in their cage at the far end. Ryland has nothing but what looks to be a broom handle to defend himself with. He holds his weapon in front of him, his feet shoulder-length apart. His jaw flexes and his brows knitted together in concentration.
A Z's metal chain drops to the ground, and it charges for Ryland at full speed. He doesn't move but places the stick over his shoulder, waiting for the Z. It steps within reach, and he swings at its head. The blow knocks it back two steps, but it recovers quickly. He meets the monster move for move, sidestepping its attempts to grab him.
The Z takes a swipe at him, knocking him off balance, and he stumbles to the ground. He lands on top of the broom handle, and the stick cracks under his weight. The Z reaches down for him, and he tries to roll out of the way but is not fast enough. The long-jagged nails of the Afflicted slice over his bicep. Ryland winces but doesn't let the wound slow him down. He grabs the chain hanging from the collar around the Z's neck and pulls. The creature crashes onto its back, and Ryland pounces. He swipes up half of the broken stick, raises it high in the air, and plows it into the Z's head.
I bounce on the balls of my feet and clap.
Without warning, the guards release another chain, and the next Z sprints toward Ryland. My joy vanishes and my fears come rushing back.
“He won!” I shout at Holden.
“He did, and this is a fight to the death—his death. He'll keep fighting until one of the Hunted kills him.”
It feels like a boulder has crashed down on me—the air drains from my lungs, suffocating me to death. There's no way for him to win; he's expected to die. How long it will take is up to Ryland and his resolve.
He takes much of the same tactic as he did with his last opponent. Using both pieces of the stick, he blocks the Z's blows and lunges forward. He fights to keep his advantage, but the first battle took its toll on him, and he's slower this round.
The other three men stand with their hands clasped around the bars of their cell, shaking the side. They yell at the Z, doing all they can to distract it and give Ryland a chance to catch his breath. But it doesn’t work.
If we don’t do something right now, he will die.
River jumps up from her chair, and I barely have time to spin around. Snatching a fist full of Holden’s hair, she pulls his head back and places a massive kitchen knife to his neck.
The king jumps to his feet, shouting, “Get her!”
A guard rushes to detain her, and I spring forward, grabbing the gun holstered at his hip. I pistol-whip the guard in the head, and he falls to the ground. Spinning to the side, I direct my aim at the king.
Everything goes dead silent.
“Order it to stop,” I demand.
Thomas laughs, disbelief written all over his face. He doesn’t believe he can be beat by two young women. Today he learns how fucked up his train of thought is.
I pull back the hammer on the gun, and all amusement drains from his face. “Order it to stop!” I scream.
River tugs Holden's hair, pressing the knife against his skin until a drop of blood slithers down his neck.
Thomas raises his eyebrows and grins. “I have not known one of the Hunted to willingly give up a meal, and I highly doubt it will stop, even at the request of a king.”
I quickly glance back at Ryland. He's stumbling, his actions erratic. He won't be able to make it much longer.
In an inhuman move, I pivot to the side and aim at my target yards away in the middle of the battlefield. There's a split-second opening, and I pull the trigger. The bullet lands in the Z's head, and it crashes to the ground.
Ryland collapses to his knees, and I turn my gun on the king again.
Thomas rushes toward me, and I lift the barrel to the center of his forehead.
“Don't make me fire it again,” I warn.
From behind me, River demands, “Let the men out of the cage, or I'll slice your son's throat.”
The king hesitates. He actually contemplates whether he wants to obey us or let his son die. His conscience must get the better of him because his booming voice carries through the astonished whispers of the audience. “Let the others go.”
A soldier releases Aiden, Noah, and Wes from their cell. The boys dash toward Ryland and lift him to his feet.
“Walk,” River orders Holden. He does as she orders, and they move toward the steps leading to the field.
Keeping my gun trained on Thomas, I say, “I hope you and this place burn to the ground.”
“I’ll find you first and feed you to the Hunted,” he says with a growl.
“Quinn,” River calls from the bottom step.
Holding a steady aim on the king, I back down the stairs and onto the field.
The boys gather around us, and we move toward the opening where the guards wheeled the cage out from. Once in the arena's interior, Wes drops the gate and locks it. We rush through the torch-lit passageway, looking for a way out when we come upon a row of open cells.
Aiden pulls Holden away from River, bringing the men nose to nose. “You sick fuck.”
The prince struggles against his hold, yelling, “My father won't stand for this, he'll?—”
A fist hits the side of Holden's head, and the prince goes limp in Aiden's arms. “What a fucking ass,” Noah spits, rubbing his knuckles.
Aiden drops Holden on the floor of an empty cell and slams the door shut.
“We need to get back to the Lodge,” I say.
Wes nods and spins around, searching for a way out. “I overheard the guards talking about a passage.”
“I think I know where it is,” Noah says from behind me.
He takes the lead, guiding us down the dark, winding corridors until we reach a walkway sinking below ground. Ryland pulls a torch from the wall, lighting the way as we file inside. The passage echoes with our rapid footsteps, but it’s not enough to drown out the faint sound of the commotion behind us. We pick up our pace, glancing back to ensure we have a substantial lead. Everything stills—no talking, no breathing—until light seeps into the tunnel from ahead.
We step through the final archway, and I recognize our surroundings immediately as the Lodge's gardens.
“This way,” I say, following the stone path toward the castle.
Everything is quiet when we slip inside. It doesn't appear that anybody has returned from the arena to look for us. Our good luck won’t last for long though. We have a couple of minutes at best before we are surrounded by guards.
I turn to River and ask, “Where's the king's study?”
“I think it's down that way, but I'm not sure.”
We jog in the direction she points, opening doors in search of the study. Bedrooms, sitting rooms, but nothing that resembles the office of a king. Panic and frustration sit like a stone in the center of my gut. We don’t have time to hunt for a single room in this massive house.
I barrel around a corner, colliding with a solid form. I jump back, finding Mrs. Lockhart with two soldiers flanking her. Her red lips form a harsh line, and she glares at me with her arms crossed over her chest. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, and my hands shake, rendering me useless to defend myself. Several beats pass as we hold each other’s stares, and I wait for her order to detain us.
“Follow me. The study is this way,” she says.
I remain frozen in place, shocked by her words.
Mrs. Lockhart sighs and one side of her lip curls up. “Do you want to get out of here, or are you planning on being executed?”
The boys don't wait for my reply, pushing past me to follow her. But River pauses for a moment and squeezes the older woman’s shoulder. It’s a quiet thank you that brings a faint smile to Mrs. Lockhart’s face.
We arrive at the ornate study, lined in tall, dark bookshelves and a massive oak desk. Mrs. Lockhart rushes to pull back a thick rug, revealing a secret passage. The two guards watch the entry while she lifts the heavy wooden door. One by one, we descend the steps, but she holds me back when it's my turn, bringing Ryland to a stop as well.
“You'll reach a set of gates down there. Off to the side, you'll find two of your backpacks. I wasn't able to salvage all your supplies, but it should help,” she says.
I grasp her delicate hand. “Thank you.”
She squeezes my fingers and nods. “Follow the tunnel all the way back. When you come to the end, take an immediate left into the forest. Keep your eyes open for trees with a spot of blue painted on them. They'll let you know you're on the right path. Hidden inside a large hill is a safe house. Let them know I sent you, and they'll give you and your friends a place to stay for the night.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
Pain flashes in her weary brown eyes. “Because nobody should be made to endure the things I have, and I'll do everything I can to save those who want to be saved.” She places a hand on my shoulder and with a gentle push says, “Now go and stay safe.”