Chapter Four
QUINN
A few weeks after applying for The Quest, I picked up the embossed envelope lying on our doorstep, pinching the corner between my thumb and forefinger while holding it delicately away from my body.
“It’s a letter, Quinn. Not a bomb.” Gia poked her head over my shoulder, since the letter had kept me from unlocking the door. “Ooh! A fancy letter.”
“It’s from Camelot Court,” I pointed out uselessly, as if the elaborate wax seal on the back hadn’t announced it for me.
I flipped the heavy envelope over. Ornate lettering, imprinted on the front in royal blue ink, glinted in the sunlight. Shiny and metallic, it screamed of opulence and reeked of unchecked wealth and privilege.
This one envelope probably cost as much as my overpriced inhaler. And for all I knew, it was a rejection letter.
Fucking hell.
For the thousandth time, I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into by submitting that application.
Sure, I’d been desperate.
And sure, there’d been boxed wine involved.
But now? Faced with the very real possibility that I might’ve been selected for The Quest, I wanted to hurl. I was in way over my head.
“Gimme!” Gia shrieked in my ear, reaching over me to grab the letter. “If you’re not going to open it, I will.”
I held it out of reach. “Maybe I should just throw it away? Pretend I didn’t get it or something. When I don’t show up, they’ll probably just replace me, right? Then, we can chalk this whole thing up to one of those funny Quinn stories. Another time I almost did something crazy and chickened out at the last second. It’ll be great.”
Gia shot me a glare, her eyes inches from mine after she’d latched onto my back like some kind of giant squid. “Don’t even think about it, Quinn Everly. You’re doing this. You read what the application said.”
I swallowed down the spike of dread that followed her mention of the application. It had contained a contract with a much scarier and more intimidating version of No Take Backs included above the line for my signature. Even that hadn’t been enough to make me see reason.
Nope, I’d merrily signed off on it as I drank my third glass of wine.
At the time, what the contract provided in exchange for my participation had seemed like an offer I couldn’t refuse. They’d cover my cost of living—meals, clothes, health and personal care expenses, and anything else I needed—in exchange for thirty days on the swankiest campus at D’Arthur University. But if I reneged on the contract, I’d owe it all back with damages.
Whatever that meant.
Honestly, they’d had me at healthcare expenses.
Plus, how bad could one guy be for thirty days?
I hadn’t seen a reason I’d want to back out. Even with Gia’s latest intel from the gossip she’d collected in class, I figured I could handle it. But now, I found myself second-guessing.
“What if the guy is a total asshole, Gia? What if he…What if he hurts me? Like he’s into that. Gets off on seriously causing girls pain and shit.”
Gia slid off my back and clamped her hands down on my shoulders, her mouth twisting into a frown as she spotted my incoming—okay, very clear and present—downward spiral.
“Oh my god! He could have some extreme bodily fluid kink, Gia. How could we not think about that? What if he wants me to take a dump on his chest?”
My thoughts took a nosedive to a dark place as I realized my error in judgment. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back. “Ugh! This is exactly why I shouldn’t make important life decisions while drinking boxed wine.”
When the subject came up last week, we’d laughed it off. Both of us found the idea of a fifty shades situation happening a little hot. We didn’t consider that there might be kinks out there that I, personally, had no desire to try.
Gia grimaced, chewing on her lip before trying to put my mind at ease. “But the contract said you’d be protected, right? It said you get to set hard limits and have safe words and all that. Remember?”
“Yeah.” My fingers twitched with the urge to tug on my hair. “In hindsight, all of that being in the contract seems like a bit of a red flag we ignored.”
Gia didn’t say anything to that.
But we both eyed the envelope more cautiously. She took the keys from my other hand and slipped past me to open the door. Once inside, I set the envelope on our coffee table while Gia grabbed the wine and brought it over.
Foregoing glasses, she yanked out the cork with her teeth and handed the bottle—the source and solution to my life’s current problem—straight to me.
Sinking onto the couch, I took a deep swig and handed the bottle back to her. I picked up the envelope and held it in my hands.
Gia put her arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to make The Quest your bitch. That Knight of yours, too. Whatever happens, you’ve got this.”
I did my best to smile at her, grateful for the reassurance but still seconds away from puking my guts out. With a deep breath, I flipped the envelope over and slid my finger under the gold wax seal. Lifting the flap, I pulled out the thick card inside.
It looked like an invitation to a wedding, but it felt more like a funeral pronouncement.
“You are cordially invited to Camelot Court for the annual selection of Maidens on Friday, April the twenty-ninth at seven o’clock in the evening.”
Below the elegant royal blue script, the D’Arthur University logo had been imprinted on the center of the invitation. The lion, bearing a crown on its head, had been altered slightly. Two gold swords crossed behind it now.
Running my fingers over the embossed blades, I read the final line of text. “Applicants are encouraged to dress to impress and prepare to stay for the night, if chosen.”
I turned the invitation over, finding nothing on the back. Flipping it over again, I reread the message. The envelope I’d set on the table was empty, too.
“That’s all it says. Pretentious as fuck, and there isn’t even an address.”
“Wait, what?” Gia took the envelope from me and conducted a second search, which also came up empty. “There has to be more. That literally told us nothing.”
“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” I replied automatically, sinking back into the couch cushions and still staring at the invitation like more clues might magically appear. “Unless they hid a message in magic ink, that’s it. You got a lighter on you?”
Gia laughed, reaching forward to take another sip of wine before launching into a rant about how this was yet another example of men failing to communicate important details. She handed over the bottle, but I barely registered what I was doing as I took it from her.
My eyes remained fixed on the invitation.
I had my father to thank for that curiosity. He had always loved leaving me secret messages around the house, but they weren’t secret clues or hidden agendas—just notes. To remind me he loved me. To tell me he was proud of me. I’d hunted for them everywhere I went, loving that so fucking much when I was a kid.
So, as soon as I joked about it, that part of me couldn’t help but go there.
But the part of me that was gutted the first time I found one after he died…that little girl sat frozen on the couch. She drew in a shaky breath. And slowly released it with all the guilt and painful venom my thoughts brought with it.
Jumping up, I headed straight for the catch-all drawer next to the fridge. I scavenged past countless take-out menus and sauce packets, finding what I’d been looking for—a Zippo lighter gleaming in antiqued silver. I prayed it still worked.
After a few flicks of my thumb, the flame sparked to life. I held it close enough to heat the invitation, but not so close to singe the paper. Drawing it back and forth under the back, my excitement plummeted when nothing appeared.
To be sure, I waved the tiny flame over the side with the inscription, eyes widening as thick, black letters appeared over the elegant script.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
Gia sprung to her feet, coming to my side as I read the hidden message—a short list of items that came with no further instructions or explanation.
“Red soled heels, a string of pearls, and black silk garter?”
“I don’t get it. Are you supposed to wear those?”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe the girls wearing the items get a special prize for showing up? Or a get out of jail free card!” I suggested hopefully, before my hope sank like a capsized ship. “Too bad I don’t own a single one of those items.”
Gia’s eyes lit up, and she raced into her bedroom. I picked up the wine bottle from the coffee table and took a sip, padding over to her room with my exceedingly low expectations. This hadn’t turned out the way I thought it would, and I still had to wait another week to find out my fate.
As I leaned against the doorjamb, Gia rifled through her vanity drawers, pulling out a long string of pearls. “Thank you, Audrey Hepburn costume of 2022.”
She tossed the pearls at me, and I nearly dropped the wine in surprise. Disappearing into her closet, she rustled boxes and grunted a bit. I eyed the door, wondering what the heck she was doing in there and if I should go in after her.
“Ha!” she cried, coming out with a black silk garter balanced on her finger. Swinging it around, she made her way back over to me. “Two secret items, My Fair Vampire Lady.”
She slingshotted the garter at me, and I laughed, snatching it from the air like an eager groomsman in a cluster of eligible bachelors. Tugging it on over my jeans, I looped the pearls over my neck.
I posed, turning this way and that so she could see me from all angles. “How do I look?”
“Marvelous, darling,” she drawled. “We still don’t have red soled heels, but we can do some thrift store hunting this weekend.”
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, an idea came to me. I went to the bathroom and dug through the drawers by the sink, searching for what I needed. Gia came up behind me, waiting as I rifled through the cabinets and finally found her stash of nail polish. Hunting through the rainbow of colors, I pulled out a crimson shade and held it up for Gia to see.
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “You crafty bitch.”
I laughed, rising to my feet and going to my closet to grab my black heels. “One pair of red soled heels coming up.”
We dissolved into a fit of giggles, taking the wine back to the couch so I could paint the bottom of my shoes.
I slipped them on when the polish dried, still dressed in my other secret items, and glanced at the invitation where I’d propped it in front of us.
For a second, a tiny spring of hope welled up in my chest.
At that moment, with my best friend at my side, I felt like I could do it—win their games and walk away with the money I needed to remove the debt collector’s ax over my head.
But in three weeks, on Friday evening, April twenty-ninth at exactly seven o’clock, I would have to walk into Camelot Court alone, where a darker, more depraved threat would hang over my head.
I had just embarked down a very dangerous path.
And the temptation stirring to life inside me, the desire coiled deep in my belly, and the moisture building between my thighs at the thought of what was to come…
Those felt like the biggest threat of all.