Prologue #2
The sketchpad boy scowls up at the box. The tablet held by the boy beside him goes dark. The one who hasn’t stopped looking at me flicks the knife open one last time, then crosses his arms, breaking eye contact as he leans back.
His gaze moves to the doors like he’s waiting for an intruder to burst through. Which is kinda funny since Bordeaux Conservatory is neutral ground. Everybody respects that rule. It’s the safest place in the world.
I drag my eyes back to box five.
Queenie murmurs words I can’t catch, then speaks louder, gentle but firm.
“King lost his sister recently in a Wilde retaliation against another Fury branch. That’s why we’re here.
This feud won’t just defeat the King branch.
Our enemies want to wipe us off the map.
Everyone knows our ambitions up there. They know we intend to make our blue mountains safer.
Still lawless, in our Fury way, but built on family, community, and land.
Not shaped by greed or bought by power-hungry men clawing for control. We need your help.”
There’s a moment of silence that reminds me of a funeral.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” my dad finally replies before his voice turns shockingly cold. “But we’re not handing over our daughters as sacrifices to keep your feud in check. You losing a family member, no matter how tragic, is only more reason to protect ours.”
“He’s right,” Uncle Kian adds. “My wife and I abolished arranged marriage in our own society over a decade ago, before we formed the Troisgarde. We won’t start them again. We won’t take away our daughter’s say in her own life.”
Lucy finds my hand and I squeeze. I grab Brylie’s too. Even though she hates this kind of thing, I’m not surprised when she grips mine fiercely. She’s soft sometimes. Especially when she’s scared.
Benoit’s right. All of this sounds like the ballets we dance in. But in real life, there’s no way our parents will make us marry someone we don’t like. Right?
“You will honor the Troisgarde-Fury pact,” King insists, each word heavier than the last. “Or are you not men of your word?”
“Of course we are,” Kian says. “But a drunken bet is a different animal. Hell, we’d give you anything else you fecking well please?—”
“It’ll be my boys or no one!” The shout ricochets from box five.
“Marriage is the only power in our world that means something anymore. The legacies made from them are sacred. The Troisgarde-Fury Pact means survival for us all. We won’t just protect the bride.
We’ll inherit the right and privilege to defend her family, and they’ll protect ours in turn.
I won’t risk you forming that kind of loyalty with men who intend to hurt me and mine. ”
Lucy’s hand tightens, and she huddles against me. Even Brylie moves closer. Sweet Benoit and Nox stand as tall as they can, like they’re ready to fight.
The staring boy’s eyes are back on me.
“You’re treating them like pawns,” Aunt Lacey argues.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. McKennon. They’ll rule the Fury kingdom. The King kin will make them queens in their own right.” His voice softens. “Like I did when I claimed Ruth. My Queenie.”
“Don’t worry, cher ,” Benoit murmurs, squeezing my shoulder, making me realize I’d been fidgeting. “Nox and I will protect you with our lives, I promise.”
I nearly snort. “Don’t be so dramatic , Benny.”
He scowls. “Well, if this guy tries anything, Sabine would be the first to tear him in two.”
Benoit is as loyal as they come, especially to the woman who found him after the last big hurricane destroyed his home. My dad’s security manager has never stopped helping him look for his parents. But in the meantime, one of my grandmas, Madam G, adopted him.
And he’s right. Sabine and her police officer wife run this town when my parents are touring for Momma’s shows. They’ll protect us. Everyone will.
“Pawns. Queens. Pretty words disguising ugly threats,” my dad rumbles. “No wonder you have no alliances. You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
“What I have is desperation. You think I want to sell off my sons? Of course not. But by being here, calling on our pact, I’m admitting that I can’t protect my own family anymore.”
His voice grows more pained. “I want my boys to have what my wife and I have almost more than anything. But what I want most for them, for everyone, is to stay alive . My boys will do whatever it takes to protect our family, your families, and the innocents in this feud.”
No one answers, the auditorium quiet as a graveyard.
King’s barely controlled anger edges back in.
“What’s your motto? Blood of three, power of many?
Your families need these alliances too. You think the Wildes aren’t a threat, but they will be.
Dealing with me is the lesser evil, I assure you.
Your daughters will either be protected by all of us or left up for the slaughter by a ruthless Wilde. ”
The tension in the auditorium thickens, making it hard to breathe. Then my father’s deep voice chills me to the bone.
“You’ve threatened our children for the last time. If a Fury sets foot in any of our territory again, it’ll be the last thing you do. Are we clear?”
“You can say that a-fecking-gain,” Uncle Kian says, followed by Uncle Sev’s “ Sí ” and what I’m sure is an Italian curse word.
There’s a heavy sigh and the creak of a seat. A man with black hair and a beard steps into the light, his expression unforgiving. The boys look exactly like him.
Below him, another squeak echoes in the auditorium.
A woman appears from one of the side doors and glides down the stage-left aisle with the grace of a dancer.
All three boys glance over their shoulders the instant she appears, before the door even closes.
Her blonde hair curls at her shoulders, and her long black dress flutters around her feet.
Her eyes brighten as she finds the boys.
Queenie Fury.
She ruffles the sketchpad boy’s hair, and one by one, each lifts his chin, waiting for the light peck on his forehead without even looking, like the gesture is so familiar they hardly notice anymore. When she’s finished, the boy who stared at me smiles up at her.
His smile . It’s so sweet . Something I never would’ve expected on such a surly boy.
As they gather their things and get up—gosh, they’re so freaking tall—they surround their mom in practiced formation.
The boy with the knife takes the lead, the one with the tablet follows at the end, and the youngest with the sketchpad gravitates to her side.
Their heads are on a swivel as they move through the auditorium.
They’re not just walking with her. They’re protecting her.
Her warm eyes flick to mine, trapping me with her gaze.
For a split second, I’m afraid she’ll out us.
Instead, she smiles so wide I can’t help grinning back until hers falls into something…
sad. Like she feels sorry for me. Or worried?
I don’t know, but the look is gone before I can decide, and King’s voice grabs my attention again.
“You have until their twenty-second birthdays.”
“What are you talking about?” my dad growls.
“My boys won’t make a move before then, that’s my promise.
Not unless the girls are in danger. Otherwise, as soon as the clock strikes midnight on your daughters’ twenty-second birthdays, you’ll honor the Troisgarde-Fury Pact, and my boys will have their wives.
I warn you. Once the first birthday arrives, the Wildes will use brutal tactics to interfere.
If that happens, I won’t stop my sons from doing what they must.”
“Twenty-two?” Uncle Sev asks. “That seems arbitrary.”
My dad grunts his agreement. “Most rules do until they’re followed.”
“Or fought over,” Mr. Fury adds. There’s a beat before he continues. “You’re lucky I didn’t say eighteen, since time is of the essence. The Troisgarde-Fury Pact has already made waves?—”
“You told people?” Uncle Kian growls. “Bets between honorable men are kept private.”
“No, I didn’t tell anyone, but there were more than just us in your gambling Red Room that night.
In any case, I’ll spread rumors that the birthday clause is for twenty-five.
If I know the Wildes, they’ll take the bait and bide their time just to fuck with us.
Our families will have already united before the Wildes realize they’ve been played.
I’m counting on you to keep your daughters safe until then.
The moment my boys can protect them, they will.
They understand the stakes and will guard your daughters with their lives. ”
The boy at the front of the line—the first to defend his mom—stops at the doors and locks eyes with me again. It feels like his warning as his father speaks.
“Your princesses shall wear the Fury crown. Because without us, we’ll all die by the Wilde sword.”
Queenie wraps her arm around the boy, turning him toward the door. His eyes leave mine, and his mom gives me a small wave before she and the Fury boys slip out of the auditorium.
Above them, another door opens and closes. King Fury must have left too, because I hear Uncle Ben’s voice for the first time.
“It’s war if you break this oath, Sol.”
There’s a pause.
“Then it’s war.”