Chapter 37 #2
Next, a gold cuff was placed on my bicep with the fire emblem on it, the same symbol Titus said my mate mark would look like when it healed. Even though these could hardly be considered clothes, having something covering me gave me a shred of relief.
That was until I felt cold metal snap around my neck.
A collar. Gold. No dagger at my throat like Titus’s, but a long chain connected to it so the robed female could walk me like a fucking dog.
“Please just let me go, I don’t want this.” I begged.
But again, they ignored me. One pulled on my chained leash to follow her, two squeezed my arms and shoved me forward, and the last one followed behind with a blade.
My chains dragged along the rust-red polished stone floor as the hooded females led me down a long, narrow hall. Scratches marred the surface and my stomach lurched—how many other chained women had walked this corridor, leaving those same gouges behind?
It smelled like ash and incense. Faint chanting seeped through the walls. The air felt wrong—dark in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of light.
I wanted out.
I thrashed again, hoping I could catch them off guard, but they barely budged. Their larger, stronger Fae bodies made any chance of overpowering them impossible.
“Trust me,” he said… but did I trust Titus?
Had he successfully shielded me in the volcano? No… yes? It had faltered, but only after shielding both Zephyros and me for so long. If it had been just me, would he have struggled? Would he have succeeded? Would he risk his life for me?
I honestly didn’t know anymore.
I was about to meet my worst fear… again. My consent—my control over my own body—would be stripped away with these bits of fabric.
And where was my mate?
Had he abandoned me and agreed to this sick ritual because of the ideologies he’d been raised to believe? No, he hated the Temple and all of their practices, he would not allow this, if he had the choice.
The scratches on the floor led us to veer toward a stone archway, and we entered the ritual chamber.
It was drenched in crimson, like the room itself had been steeped in blood. A dais held an altar and a colossal black bowl containing a steady fire. In the far corner stood a hooded Fae behind a large drum.
Torches flickered along the walls. There were no windows. I had no idea what time of day it was.
Seven black chairs with dramatically tall backs almost met the high ceiling. Six hooded council members sat in them like judges.
To the right, three Fae females dressed in red silk strips like mine knelt facing the wall, their hands chained behind their backs. But Titus, Aurelius, and Cercies were nowhere to be found.
K. ROSé
Then I saw the most disturbing piece of furniture I had ever seen.
In the center of the room was a chair—if you could even call it that— eerily similar to the table at a gynecologist’s office.
This one faced downward and held cuffs and chains: one set for hands down on the floor, and one for each ankle in the stirrups.
Bile burned up my raw throat, and I trembled.
An old council member stood, and though I couldn’t see his face beneath his hood, I recognized his voice, Caddver.
His voice sounded viscous and bubbling, as if speech had to fight through layers of rotting tissue.
“It seems as though we are going to have to proceed with only six of the council today as Council Member Antonias is still recovering from an injury, what say you?”
In unison the other five replied “Aye.”
He continued, “Very well, acolytes, you may begin by offering the vessels blood to the Great Flame.”
They called me the vessel, as if I wasn’t worthy of a name.
The drummer beat his drum at a rhythmic tempo, and the hooded females brought me to the altar and forced my hand in the air above the fire. The one holding the dagger sliced across my palm and my blood dripped onto the flames in the bowl. The cut sent shots of pain through my nerves.
The pounding on the drums stopped. The amber glow of the flames shifted to indigo, and I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the unnatural sight of purple fire.
The council members applauded and murmured pleasingly among themselves. Caddver stood and placed his fist over his heart. “Praise the Guardians for bestowing fire kind with the almighty flame, the vessel’s womb is ripe, the ritual may begin, bring forth the Kingdom of Flame's top seeds!”
The drummer began beating his drum faster than before—thum, thum, thum. The pounding matched my thudding pulse.
The council, in unison, rejoiced, “Praise the almighty Flame!
Praise the almighty Flame, Praise the almighty Flame”!
A stone door somewhere scraped against the ground, and Aurelius walked in, head held high with a gold crown of razor-sharp, vicious spikes tipped in flames.
He was only wearing a red, knee-length silk sheet tied around his hips.
When Aurelius stepped closer into view, I barely recognized him; whatever warmth had once lived in his face was gone, replaced by something darker—something eager, as if he intended to savor every second of what was about to happen.
He looked at me with a menacing grin. I could tell he was aroused by this—him and the council, these sick, disgusting males were going to enjoy this.
Cercies followed, dressed the exact same way, but he wore the same sort of collar the council put on Titus.
He couldn’t even look at me, and I didn’t blame him.
I knew he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to do this, and the guilt and shame visibly weighed down his strong shoulders, but that wasn’t nearly as painful as seeing the anguish burning in his amber eyes.
My throat tightened and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.
Finally, the High Lord of Flame walked in, dressed in the same silks and crown, the same collar.
My heart broke. That collar with the dagger pointed at his throat—that was why he couldn’t save me.
We were all the Temple’s prisoners. All but Aurelius.
The High Lord’s face was cold and emotionless; he looked at me like he didn’t know me.
His eyes were open, but he wasn’t in them.
Caddver stood and began. “Master of Dragons, you have challenged the rank and invoked the ritual of Natural Selection, as is your right under the Holy Law of Flesh. The High Lord will be first to offer his blood to the Great Flame to determine his place in the seeding order.”
The room was silent, and for several moments there was a heavy pause.
“Lord Titus…” Caddver called, but Titus didn’t respond. It was like he wasn’t even present.
“A-hem!” He shouted this time.
Titus flinched, snapping out of whatever had him enthralled.
He stepped onto the dais. The hooded female presented him with the golden dagger, head bowed.
He took it and stood with his arm raised over the bowl of fire, then sliced a gash in his palm without so much as a wince.
He clenched his fist and blood dripped onto the flame.
His eyes looked soulless, his gaze distant.
The drum’s beats intensified, then suddenly stopped. The fire sizzled, then separated into two individual smaller fires—like the flame itself was passing judgment.
“Second!”
Caddver announced. The other members chanted in unison, “Hail the almighty Flame, hail the almighty Flame, hail the almighty Flame.”
Aurelius smiled wickedly; he seemed incredibly pleased to see the High Lord not be number one at something.
Titus didn’t react. He didn’t show any emotion. He stepped down and stood to the side opposite of me. I stared at him with all of my focus, begging him with my eyes to spare me just one glance, but he didn’t.
“Aurelius, Master of Dragons, offer your blood to the Great Flame.” Caddver commanded.
Without any hesitation, Aurelius climbed the dais and stood beside the flame.
He took the dagger and sliced into his palm with a sadistic smile, as if he enjoyed the pain.
His blood dripped down in heavy plops. The fire sizzled and crackled.
The drum sped up and intensified, then stopped.
The flame split into three separate fires within the bowl.
“Third!” The council member announced.
A fleeting trace of concern crossed the Dragon Master’s face, almost imperceptible to others—but I caught it. My senses were heightened, hyper-aware of every detail, adrenaline making me feel like a trapped animal.
Again, the other members chanted in unison, “Hail the almighty Flame, hail the almighty Flame, hail the almighty Flame.”
My heart sank. Then that meant Cercies…
“General Cercies, you will be the first to seed, congratulations. After the planting of all three seeds concludes, the vessel’s blood will be offered again to the Great Flame, revealing by number which seed took root, and therefore who is worthy of the flaming throne.”
The council members pounded their chests with one fist over their hearts and chanted, “May the almighty flame bless us with the heir to rule and conquer all!”
Titus didn’t react, but Cercies did. He was drenched in sweat and mildly trembling, keeping his eyes on the ground.
Caddver spoke again. “Seeds take your places at the warming station.”
What the—What’s a… Oh god, no.
My stomach dropped when I realized what “warming” meant.
The three females on their knees, facing the wall with heads bowed, waited for each male to stand in front of them. The way they raised their heads in unison gave me chills, like this wasn’t the first time they’d been forced to do this.
Aurelius pridefully shed his sheet to the ground and, with a malicious grin, placed his hands on his head and looked at me with seductive eyes—and a wink that made me want to vomit.
The female did what she was forced to do with her hands bound behind her in gold chains.
Were these three females slaves? I fucking hated this kingdom.