Chapter 2 #2
Two women cling together—mother and daughter, or sisters perhaps. The younger one can’t be older than Demaya. My chest tightens. Focus. Stick to the plan.
I step toward the maiden with the gold in her hair, hand extended. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” My voice scrapes raw. “Any minute now, around two hundred men will arrive. They’ll hunt us down.”
Her brows draw together in confusion.
“Do you understand me?” I ask.
Before she can respond, male laughter booms through the chamber. My skin prickles with recognition before my mind catches up. Not just any laugh—Kasaros. The Trickster God. The Laughing God. He’s here to gloat.
“Not to gloat.,” his whisper tickles my ear.
I spin. Empty space. Spin again.
He stands inches away, just as I imagined—dark, dashing, disgustingly distant as he surveys me.
His eyes glaze over as if he has somewhere better to be until he notices my blue hair.
Something flickers in his expression, gone before I can name it.
Then he moves away, weaving between the other brides, shadow one moment, gleaming mist the next.
A golden mask flickers on his face, painted in a grotesque smile like the Huntsman’s mask.
It disappears so fast, I wonder if it was real.
There are now two of him, one dancing around the courtyard, the other inspecting each of the women individually.
The odd part is, the other women don’t seem to notice the second God.
They’re focussed on the other version of Kasaros, which skips and hops around the walls of the Labyrinth, chaos incarnate.
Are we all subject to a different illusion? One crafted for individual eyes and hopes?
“I’m here to explain the rules.” His monotone drone fades into the atmosphere. “To give you a fighting chance. It’s what you want, isn’t it? To win?” A pause. “Blah blah. And so on.”
He doesn’t care for us. We’re pawns, not people. Alarm spikes in my veins. The other brides remain unaware they’re trapped in an illusion, dazed. But something inside me, something ancient, purges the fog like a flame licking through oil.
Kasaros stills mid-step, his gaze snapping toward me. His head tilts slightly, as if listening to something I can’t hear. A shadow flickers through his irises.
Curiosity.
I stiffen. Try not to breathe.
His expression shifts. It’s subtle but unmistakable. The slow drag of his attention over my form, the assessing gleam in his eye, the way his lips part slightly as if he can taste something in the air, something he overlooked before. He waits. I remain a statue until my lungs burn.
He resumes his walk around the chamber, cutting through shadows like he owns them.
Each bride he passes tenses up without knowing why, just as I did.
His demeanor changes when he reaches the one with shrewd eyes.
His fingers dip into her corset and tease out a hidden dagger before he slides it back in place. She never notices.
“Finally,” he drawls. “A Huntress worth watching.”
His casual amusement carries an edge of aroused anticipation, almost like her defiance excites him. Could he be bored with the game he’s watched year after year? Man hunts woman. Man claims woman with blade and body—the end.
I’d be bored, too.
A snort of amusement escapes his lips as he releases the huntress’s braid. My eyes narrow. Though he doesn’t look my way, I’m sure he follows my train of thought. The bastard must have known I watched him earlier. My statue freeze was pointless. He’s probably listening in on my thoughts right now.
His lips twitch again in that pleased way. The air between us crackles.
I should be afraid. Should be screaming with terror at the power he holds. But I’m not. I’m… I try to lock onto my tumultuous feelings, to catch them within the hurricane of my soul. No, I’m not afraid of him. I’m angry.
His head snaps toward me, mouth opening to speak, but I lift my hand and growl, “I don’t want to hear it.”
If I’m going to die for my impudence, I’d rather die without receiving a lecture.
His jaw clicks shut. For a single, delicious heartbeat, Kasaros is stunned.
Oh, that’s interesting.
Thoughts swirl in my head, lessons, and mysteries learned too fast for him to catch.
His silence is an opening, and I seize it.
I tilt my chin, not in defiance but in something softer—consideration.
My gaze flits over him as if he’s beneath my notice, as if the God standing before me, a being of shadow, laughter, and destruction, is just another player in a game I intend to win.
“Bold, little rose,” he muses. “You do realize who you’re speaking to, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” My lashes lower, my voice softening—just enough to make him lean closer, to make him want to hear me. I let the silence stretch between us, a skill I mastered on a different kind of battlefield. “Do you?”
His fingers flex at his sides. That was the right move. Good.
Kasaros doesn’t need obedience; that bores him. He wants chaos. Craves it. So, I let him think he’s getting what he desires. If he noticed me initially, he’d know I’m not the bride he chose for this year’s hunt. Yet he told me he allowed it by walking away.
He steps closer, and I don’t retreat. My breath hitches—not in fear, but in a way that makes his gaze drop to my lips, the way a predator watches the delicate tremble of a rabbit’s throat.
His fingers trace the mark on my sternum, slow, thoughtful. Too familiar. My stomach knots, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I let my breath shudder on an exhale, let my lashes flutter just enough to bait him.
Kasaros stills.
Yes. That’s right. See me differently now.
He watches me for a beat longer than he should. Then he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if exasperated. But his pupils have dilated. His weight shifts toward me. A test. A tell.
Got you.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, little rose.” His voice is a lazy threat, dark and knowing. “Do you think you can charm your way free?”
I know how to bend men’s desires, how to weave words like a snare. But can I outplay a God? Can I trick the trickster himself?
A whisper of doubt curls through my ribs, cold and sharp. I’ve spent my whole life pretending to be weak. Now, I have to pretend to be strong. And Kasaros is watching too closely.
One wrong move, and I’m dead. One right move, and I’m something else entirely.
I force a slow breath and then smirk. Let him think I am exactly what he wants.
“I don’t charm,” I murmur. “I conquer.”
His nostrils flare. Ah, there it is—that sharp edge of interest, the one he doesn’t want me to see. I lower my gaze, allowing a flicker of uncertainty to cross my face, and his hand moves fast.
He cups my chin. Forces my gaze back to his. I catch a glimmer of chagrin in his eyes, almost as if he couldn’t stop from touching me. I hold his stare.
“There you are,” he croons, almost reverently. “I knew there was a schemer behind those pretty eyes.”
“Do you?”
Questioning him once, he enjoyed. But twice? His grip tightens, just enough to warn. “Let’s get one thing straight, little rose. I never lose.”
My lips part, my breath catches—not in fear, never in fear—but in something else, something dangerous. Something that sets his bloodlust alight.
“Then let’s make this fun,” I whisper. “A wager.”
A slow, wicked smile carves across his lips. Damn it, he likes this too much.
His grip on my chin loosens just enough to let his thumb drag along my lower lip. “I’m listening.”
I take a slow, measured breath. “If I reach the end of the Labyrinth unsullied, then you’ll free every bride whether she’s claimed or not. And you’ll end the Bride Hunt. For good.”
His chuckle is molten, sliding down my spine like silk and steel. “And if you don’t win?”
I meet his gaze, unwavering. “Then I become queen and you keep your game. Nothing changes.”
“Not good enough.” He shrugs. “It’s mine, regardless.”
“Then you keep me… or whatever it is you want from my blood.”
A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. Then his smirk sharpens, and he steps back, releasing me.
“Oh, little rose,” he purrs. “You may regret that. Your blood is more valuable than you know.”
“So it’s a deal? You win, I give you my blood. I win, you give me freedom—mine, and every bride from hereon out.”
“Deal. I do so love a wager.”
He lifts a hand, and the world around us shifts. The shadows stretch and lengthen. A distant horn sounds—the Hunt has begun. The brides scatter.
“No!” I cry, stepping in one direction. “Wait!” Then another. I don’t know who to follow. “I can help you.”
But no bride stops. I had hoped to at least flag one down—to join forces. But each has fled as if Kasaros himself were chasing their tail. My hesitation costs me. Within seconds, I find myself alone, wondering if I know what I’m doing.
“Run along, little rose.” Kasaro’s velvet whisper slides into my mind. “Let’s see how far you get.”