Chapter 12
12
P ax drags me through the fray, straight for the towering X on the wall, with its medieval shackles poised to claim its next victim. The dungeon churns with movement, voices clashing for dominance, and that’s when I notice the fracture.
The men are split into two distinct groups.
Allies to the left.
Villains to the right.
Before Pax reaches the wooden planks, Liam steps in front of him, nostrils flaring, hatred boiling under the surface.
“Let her go.” His voice is low, simmering with the kind of fury that wants to combust. Hands curling into fists, he grinds his teeth so hard I half expect them to crack. Vance, Landon, Ford, and Hugo flank him, sensing the ticking bomb that is the chancellor.
“Everyone, calm down.” Liam’s father joins the group as two more legacy members crowd in, blocking the space between Oliver and me.
And that’s when it happens.
A pair of emerald eyes lock onto mine, familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense. My stomach lurches as if I’ve stepped off a ledge, caught in a weightless free fall before recognition slams me to the ground.
It’s him.
Landon’s father.
My father.
I look nothing like him, but I can’t help searching for a trace of resemblance. The cheekbones are wrong, and so is his mouth, but still…
Something’s there.
A pull deep in my marrow.
Familiarity without logic.
He returns my scrutiny, his dark brows dipping, and I know what he’s seeing.
My mother.
Because I’m a replica of her. Same flaxen hair and brown eyes, though I used to believe that part of my genes came from Edwin Van Buren, whose lineage was chock full of brown-eyed ancestors. But my mother’s secret journal made it clear—Franklin Astor is responsible for my existence.
The connection shatters when Mr. Stone shoves through the crowd. “What’s the holdup?” He pins me with an indigo glare before turning to Pax. “This girl has been a problem since the day she arrived.”
I’m the lone female here, but I’m the problem? Every instinct in my bones tells me to fight, to hurl my own anger back at him, chin held high.
It’s what he deserves.
Before I’m able to launch a verbal attack, my father’s voice cuts through the standoff. “This should be handled in the council chamber.”
It’s not a suggestion.
The words land like a challenge, and Mr. Stone’s nostrils flare, his glare snapping to the other man. “Are you afraid she won’t survive a little discipline?”
“You don’t get to make this decision on your own.”
Silence.
I wait for Mr. Stone to argue, but he smashes his lips together. Five seconds ago, he was ready to rip into me, laying out every grievance in front of the Brotherhood, but now he’s swallowing his anger?
I’m not the only one who notices.
Landon studies our father too long, expression unreadable except for the slant of one brow, betraying a trace of doubt.
Why did Mr. Stone back down? It’s not his style.
“Astor’s right,” Mr. Castle interrupts. “We need to move this summons to the proper place.” He levels Pax with a disapproving look. “I’ll let you lead the way, since you’re so eager.”
The dungeon’s keeper strides ahead of the group as Oliver moves in beside me, one hand at the small of my back. He guides me down the narrow passageway, and the others fall in line behind us, their footsteps thudding against the rustic plank flooring.
A massive door looms ahead, carved from wood, its sheer size a testament to the power behind it. Pax swings it open on heavy hinges, and a hush descends on the group.
The windowless chamber is exactly as I remember, circular and somber, designed with judgment in mind. Mahogany-paneled walls enclose the space while a colossal zodiac mural sprawls across the ceiling, its celestial symbols casting an eerie stillness over all who enter.
The last time I was here, Liam lost his auction privileges. Now, I wonder what I stand to lose.
Oliver nudges me forward into the circular seating, and I sink into the space reserved for Capricorn, between him and his father. The legacy members settle next to their sons as Mr. Castle steps to the podium. He rests his hands on the polished wood, taking in the room.
“A vote is in order.”
No preamble or drawn-out discussion. Just those five words from Liam’s father.
And so it begins.
The House of Aries starts, and the verdict is unsurprisingly in my favor. Next, Mr. Castle gestures at the House of Taurus. One by one, each house heightens my anxiety with its ruling.
When it’s Mr. Stone’s turn, he doesn’t hesitate, delivering his decision in the Brotherhood’s customary format. “Yay. She absolutely needs behavior modification.”
No surprise there. He’s been waiting for this.
More votes come, some echoing his verdict, and others standing against it. By the time the tally reaches the House of Capricorn, the numbers are neck and neck.
The elder Whitney votes against me, but Oliver leans back, and his leg presses against mine under the table. His deliberate nudge grounds me—unseen by the others but impossible for me to ignore.
He lets out a quick exhale, and I almost miss the crack in his facade when he says, “Yay.”
Still, I’m frozen, rooted in place by disbelief. Did he really vote to have me punished? I’m too stunned to react, part of me refusing to accept it.
Pax Monroe is a monster.
And Oliver just fed me to him.
Before I can find my voice, the heat of his thigh anchors me, bringing me back from the edge of terror, and I remember.
It’s not over yet.
Everyone’s attention goes to the next house, and a sliver of hope stirs in my veins.
A hope soon lost.
The Houses of Aquarius and Pisces split their decisions, deadlocking the count.
“We have a tie,” Mr. Castle announces. “As such, Liam’s vote will count as double to break it.”
Chaos erupts.
Mr. Stone is irate. Landon looks relieved. The Monroes are yelling at the Morgans. Ford and his father are on their feet, flinging insults back and forth.
Mr. Castle slams the gavel down. “Enough!”
“It’s not enough ,” Mr. Stone shouts, his rage blasting through the sudden quiet. “Your biased son can’t even bid in the auction under his own name—he has to use my son’s legacy as a proxy.” He points at the House of Capricorn. “Oliver should have the final say, as the one who holds power over the queen this month.”
The air leaves my lungs, apprehension clamping around me like a vise.
Too many seconds pass.
Because Oliver is drawing this out. Making them wait.
Making me wait.
Finally, he straightens, eyes locked on Liam, and says, “I change my mind. Novalee won’t be harmed under my care.”
A noxious fog engulfs the room, thickening before the inevitable detonation. Pandemonium spreads, voices clamoring over one another.
I barely register the noise. The verdict is set, yet the reality of what happened glues me to the spot. I’m too stunned to move.
Then Oliver rises, calm and composed, as if he didn’t just flip the summons on its head. He reaches for me, guiding me to my feet, and my legs quake beneath me as the adrenaline drains away now that the danger has passed.
For now.
Gripping me by the elbow, he leads me toward the exit, where Liam waits.
“Why did you change your vote?” Cautious gratitude hijacks the chancellor’s tone, layered with suspicion.
Oliver settles a possessive hand on my lower back, and a confident smirk tugs at his mouth. “Consider it an advance payment.”
“A payment for what ?”
“Permission to travel off the island with her.”
“Travel where?” Liam asks through clenched teeth.
“You know where.”
A lethal shadow darkens Liam’s expression. “Absolutely not.”
“I think you’ll change your mind, like I did today.“ Oliver steps around him, pulling me along, but his parting shot says it all. “Otherwise, I won’t be so generous with my vote next time.”