Chapter Twenty-Three
I step into the study, my movements stiff, my heart pounding in my ears. The door closes behind us with a soft click , and suddenly, the air feels colder. Thicker. I clasp my hands tightly in front of me to hide the trembling and take a seat when he gestures to the chair opposite his desk.
The room is quiet, but the tension is suffocating. I can feel his eyes on me, sharp and calculating.
The silence in Guy’s study feels like a living thing, pressing in on me as he takes a seat behind his desk. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans back with that unnervingly relaxed posture, watching me like a chessboard he’s already won.
My nerves are raw, but I force myself to steady my breathing. If I don’t take this chance, I might never get another.
"Your mother isn’t dead," I say, the words cutting through the quiet like a knife.
Guy’s reaction is instant and infuriating. He throws his head back with a laugh, low and indulgent, like I’ve just told the most amusing joke. "Maren," he says, shaking his head, "you’re full of surprises tonight."
I lean forward slightly, my voice firm. "I spoke to her. Cecily. She’s alive and well and enjoying the party. So, what’s with the story about her being dead?"
He waves a dismissive hand, his smile sharp and practiced. "Cecily loves her dramatics. She’s good at appearing when it suits her and disappearing when it doesn’t. It’s easier to let people think she’s gone. Keeps the nosy ones at bay."
I don’t buy it for a second. The casual way he brushes it off is too polished, too rehearsed. And when I press, when I say, "She knew my mother," there’s a flicker—so brief I almost miss it—in his expression. Something tightens in his jaw, his smile faltering for the barest moment before it snaps back into place.
"Yes, well," he says, his tone smooth but strained around the edges, "Cecily’s memory of those days is... sentimental. I imagine she filled your head with tales of garden parties and ballrooms, didn’t she?"
"Why lie about her?" I push, keeping my gaze steady on his. "What are you hiding, Guy?"
His lips curl into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Cecily and I have different views on family duty," he says vaguely. "And on the responsibilities that come with a proper bloodline."
There’s a weight to his words, a deliberate shift in tone. It’s subtle, but the air in the room feels colder, heavier, like the shadows along the walls are pressing closer. He leans forward now, resting his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled as he studies me.
"You know, Maren, Sherwood is more than just a town. It’s a place of confluence—a crossroads where ley lines intersect, channels of energy older than any of us. Immense power lies beneath its surface, if one knows how to harness it."
His voice lowers, smooth as silk but tinged with something darker. "It’s no coincidence that your family settled here. Or mine, for that matter. This land, this power... it calls to certain bloodlines. Those with the strength to wield it."
I blink, trying to process the shift in the conversation. "What are you talking about? Power? Ley lines? What does that have to do with me?"
"Everything," he says simply, the word heavy with meaning. "Your family’s history is intertwined with this place. And now, whether you realize it or not, so is your future."
I feel the panic rising in my chest again, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s not just playing games anymore. This is something bigger, darker, and far more dangerous than I’d prepared for. And the way he’s watching me now, his gaze piercing, makes it clear he’s waiting for a reaction.
I just don’t know what he expects to see.
Guy’s words hang in the air, heavy and charged. Ley lines. Power. Bloodlines. The pieces shift uneasily in my mind, trying to settle into something that makes sense. And then it clicks.
His real estate schemes—the developments, the evictions, the endless talk of "revitalizing Sherwood"—it wasn’t just about money. My breath catches as the truth hits me.
"It’s not about the money," I murmur, my voice almost inaudible.
Guy smiles, slow and sharp. "Not entirely," he admits, his tone as smooth as silk. "Money, after all, is the carrot. A necessary tool to lure in the... useful idiots. Your uncle. Wheatley. A few key investors, all too eager to chase their own ambitions."
His gaze sharpens, piercing through me. "But this is about more than money, Maren. It’s about power. Control. Sherwood is a place of immense potential—its energy is like nothing else in the world. To harness it, to command it, requires vision. Leadership." He leans back, his fingers steepling as his eyes glint with satisfaction. "And that’s where I come in."
My stomach churns, my pulse pounding in my ears. "You’re tearing apart people’s lives for... for magic? " My voice wavers, a mixture of disbelief and anger.
"For something greater than magic," he corrects smoothly. "Sherwood is a convergence of forces that most people can’t even begin to comprehend. But you, Maren... I think you can."
The words land like a blow, and I take an involuntary step back. His eyes follow me, steady, calculating, his voice lowering like he’s confiding in me. "I’ve seen glimpses of what you’re capable of. The power inside you. The potential." His smile curves wider, like he’s savoring a secret. "You’re extraordinary, Maren. And with my help, you could be so much more."
He rises from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he steps toward me. "I could show you how to channel it. To command it. To tap into everything Sherwood has to offer. You could become something greater than you’ve ever imagined."
He stops just short of me, his eyes intense and unyielding. "You could be a queen."
The words send a shiver down my spine, the air between us humming with tension. For a heartbeat, I hesitate. The promise of power, of control—of a life where I’m not scrambling to survive, where I’m not at the mercy of everyone else’s plans—it’s intoxicating.
But then I remember the people I’ve seen. The lives he’s already destroyed in his pursuit of this so-called vision. The families evicted, the shifters hunted, my parents caught in the storm of whatever game he’s been playing.
I take a step back, shaking my head as the panic rises. "No," I say, my voice firm despite the tremor in my chest. "I don’t want any part of this."
Guy’s expression shifts, his smile fading into something colder. Calculating. "You’re making a mistake," he says, his tone sharp but controlled. "This is your chance to rise above it all. To become who you were meant to be."
"I don’t care," I snap, my fists clenched at my sides. "I’m not going to be part of whatever twisted game you’re playing."
The room feels charged, the air thick and suffocating, as we stare each other down. Guy’s eyes narrow, and for the first time, I see something crack in his polished facade—a flicker of frustration, of anger.
"Very well," he says at last, his voice quiet but laced with warning. "But don’t think for a second that you can walk away from this unscathed. Sherwood has a way of pulling people back in, whether they like it or not."
He steps back, his smile returning, but it’s colder now. Empty. "You’ll see, Maren. One way or another, you’ll see."
My pulse pounds as I turn away, forcing myself to leave the room before my legs give out beneath me. Every step feels like a battle to keep my composure, but I refuse to let him see me falter. Not now. Not ever.
I turn to leave, my heart pounding as Guy’s cold words echo in my ears. But before I can take another step, his voice slices through the air like a blade.
"Don’t bother pretending, Maren."
I freeze. My blood runs cold as I slowly turn back to face him. His mask is gone now, the polished charm replaced by something sharper, darker. His expression is hard, his eyes glinting with barely restrained disdain.
"You didn’t really think I’d believe you, did you?" he says, his tone mocking, almost amused. "This little act of yours—coming to your senses, leaving the shifters behind—it’s as flimsy as it is pathetic."
My throat tightens, my mind scrambling for a response, but he doesn’t give me a chance.
"I know you’re still with them," he sneers, stepping closer, his movements deliberate. "Those filthy shifters. Those animals. " He spits the word like it’s poison, his disdain cutting through the air like a whip. "You’ve been running with them, protecting them, letting them corrupt you."
I take a step back, my pulse roaring in my ears. My carefully constructed facade is crumbling around me, and Guy knows it. He takes another step forward, his presence suffocating, his words a venomous hiss.
"You think you can outplay me? Outmaneuver me?" He laughs, a cold, hollow sound. "I know everything, Maren. Every move you make, every lie you tell. And let me tell you something." He leans in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You can’t win."
The panic rises in my chest like a tidal wave, but I clamp down on it, forcing myself to stay calm. I meet his gaze, trying to keep my voice steady. "If you know everything, why bother with the theatrics? Why not just turn me in?"
His smile is chilling. "Because I want you to see what happens when you defy me. I want you to feel it."
The words send a shiver down my spine, and I realize I need to get out of here. Now.
"I’m done here," I say, my voice sharper than I expect. "Excuse me."
I turn on my heel, my legs trembling as I walk briskly toward the door. I expect him to stop me, to grab my arm or block my path, but he doesn’t. Instead, his silence is worse, the weight of his stare burning into my back as I open the door and slip out into the hallway.
My breath comes fast and shallow as I make my way back toward the conservatory, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The noise of the party grows louder with each step, the muffled hum of conversation and laughter like a lifeline pulling me forward.
I push through the doors and into the crowded space, the warmth and light of the conservatory wrapping around me like a shield. My eyes scan the room desperately, searching for Cecily, for anyone who can help me.
And then I spot her, standing near a group of donors, her posture elegant and composed as always. Relief washes over me, and I start toward her, weaving through the throngs of guests. My heart still pounds, but the sight of her—and the knowledge that the shifters are somewhere nearby, watching—gives me just enough strength to keep going.
Whatever Guy’s next move is, I need to be ready. And I need allies. Fast.