Chapter 3
Drayven
To catch a bride, become the shadow she cannot outrun.”
— THE HUNTSMAN’S CREED
Florienne stands beneath the blood moon, spine straight, chin lifted as she speaks. She doesn’t bow. She doesn’t cower. I always knew she was brave to a fault, but this is something else. This is dangerous.
Kasaros watches her like she’s the most entertaining thing he’s seen in centuries.
I watch him.
I should be moving. Should be gone by now, but here I am lurking in the darkness behind a column inside the forbidden nemeton because he fucked up. He broke his promise, and now everything has changed.
The shadows stretch long, curling around the edges of high stone walls and thorn-choked paths. The scent of damp earth and old blood lingers in my nose. This place is the beginning of the end for so many women over the centuries. The sights it’s seen. The horrors.
My hand tightens around my scimitar’s hilt at my hip. The hidden mark on my chest sears hotter, pulsing like a second heartbeat every time I think of him, reminding me I am his servant, his prisoner. Owned.
“Why crush the rose?” I asked him once, long, long ago.
“Because there is no room for hope.”
Yet here she is, still fighting. Still unbroken. She defies him right until the moment he leaves. Chaos returns to the nemeton. A horn sounds. The Hunt is nigh.
My breath shudders out and hits the mask, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
Hood up, I stalk deeper into the Labyrinth for privacy.
I drop my weapons and lower my hood when I find a forgotten grotto.
Once, wildlife flourished within these cold ruins.
All that remains are bones, dead roots, and insects scuttling away.
I lower the mask next and inhale, but it hurts.
It hurts because it’s the same air she breathes, and she’ll never know I’m this close.
With a snarl, I open my hunting jacket and lift my undershirt to reveal my bare torso.
I drag the blade’s curved edge across my skin just deep enough.
The brand Kasaros burned into me years ago drinks greedily from the offering—blood seeps and steams in the cold air.
The shadows respond first, stretching and thickening. Then—
Laughter.
It slithers in, low and velvet-soft, curling against my skull like fingers in my hair.
“I do enjoy it when you bleed for me, puppet.”
I clench my jaw. Pain sharpens me, but his disembodied voice dulls everything else. The blade’s hilt is still warm in my grip, slick with red.
“Show yourself.” Wind around my face, but no Trickster God. “Or are you a coward?”
The God materializes in a languid sprawl atop a ruined column, legs crossed at the knee, hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored black breeches.
He is everything elegant and cruel, a man who belongs in grand ballrooms and execution chambers alike.
His midnight cravat is loosened just enough to feign carelessness.
His rings gleam like fresh-cut obsidian.
Even the disheveled hair looks like a woman has run her fingers through it in the throes of passion.
Lies.
All of it.
“You broke the deal, Kasaros.”
“Did I?” He inspects his nails, his mouth curving. “I recall a bargain—your servitude for her safety. And she was safe, wasn’t she? Right up until she wasn’t.” His eyes flick toward me, waiting. “That’s on you, Huntsman. You should have played a better game.”
A growl burns the back of my throat, but I don’t take the bait. He wants me angry. Sloppy. He wants me to forget my purpose.
“You let the Baron slaughter Vespers,” I accuse. “You let him force Florienne’s Hunt early. You let him break the game.”
Kasaros exhales long and slow, rubbing his temple as if I’m giving him a headache.
“And what should I have done? Punish him for ambition? How dull. Need I remind you that you wouldn’t be here without him.
He’s a man who saw a prize within reach and took his chance.
” His gaze sharpens, amusement curdling into something more dangerous. “Much like you, hm?”
I refuse to rise to it. “Florienne isn’t supposed to be here. I held my end of the bargain. You owe me.”
Silence settles like a thick fog. For the first time since he arrived, Kasaros studies me—not as a petulant pawn, but as something else. Something worth his attention. His lips part. He inhales. And then, slowly, his smirk spreads across his face, unnaturally wide.
“Ahhh.” His eyes gleam. “So that’s it. That’s why she intrigues me.”
A chill laces my spine. No.
No, no, no.
Kasaros hums, slipping from his perch to prowl toward me.
Dark mist coils at his feet like eager pets.
“You always were a clever little shadow protecting his rose. But you didn’t account for one thing.
” His fingers twitch, as if fighting the urge to touch me.
To taste me. “You gave your years to me. And in doing so, you gave me your blood.” He tilts his head. “And now I see why hers sings to me.”
I lunge before I can think, grabbing the front of his embodied doublet. “You leave her out of this.”
He only chuckles, low and indulgent, letting me grasp him like a fool who believes he holds power.
“Maybe I want to play for a while. It’s been a while since I felt this kind of—” He cuts off, dark clouds flitting across his features.
Then he meets my eyes. “You want to protect her? Then enter the Hunt. Win her. Become King.”
I shove him with a scoff. “She’ll never let the Huntsman near her, let alone claim her.”
“Of course she won’t.” Kasaros raises a brow. “Not when she believes the Huntsman is a monster. But what if he isn’t?” His fingers snap, and shadows pulse around me. “What if he’s something different?”
He knows I overheard them make their wager. He knows I’ll never pit myself against Flori. Her safety has always come first.
Games upon games. Lies upon lies. I’m sick of it.
“What if he quits, right here, right now?” I throw down my weapon. It splits the shadows and clatters on moss-riddled stone. Next is my bow. My quiver filled with arrows. Daggers. A sword.
Amused eyes call my bluff as I divulge every weapon he’s given me. But when the painted mask flutters to the ground, he deadpans.
Quiet death vibrates the air around him. “I own you, puppet.”
“You did,” I agree, “until you failed your end of our bargain. That’s how it works, right?”
A beat passes. We hold each other’s gaze, and then he bursts out laughing, rich and deep. “Well played.”
“This isn’t a game,” I growl.
“Is it not?”
My pulse races. My eyes dart about, searching for a solution—anything.
I stall on the discarded mask. With it on, I am the Huntsman.
I am the thing she abhors. Despite every corner of my being crying out to be the one who claims her, it won’t keep her safe.
It will gift wrap her in a pretty little bow for Kasaros.
But perhaps I can use the mask to stoke her revulsion and protect her at the same time.
I heard her bargain with Kasaros. She wants to conquer the Labyrinth and free herself… and every other bride in the process.
“Don’t you want to protect your little rose?” The God asks, his tone like silk. “Don’t you wish to ensure her freedom? Is that not what you’ve wanted all along?”
My resolve hardens. “Very well, Kasaros, I accept your offer.”
“What terms shall we barter?” Kasaros stares, waiting. Expectant. As if he can’t just pluck the answer from my head.
“To remain in the Labyrinth,” I say around gritted teeth. “For me to stay and join the hunt.”
“Ah, but I said the Huntsman could.” He leans in. “I said he could claim her and be king.”
I move to retrieve the mask. Kasaros stops me with a hand on my wrist.
“Tsk tsk, there you go, rushing in as usual.” He picks up the mask and turns it over in his fingers before spreading the silken smile across his face.
“What do you think?” he drawls. “Do I look good in a smile?”
My lips stay shut.
It only riles him up, twinkles his eyes. “Do you think she’ll believe I’m you?”
A growl slips out and I lunge for the mask. “Play with her and I’ll—”
“Relax,” he purrs, casually holding it out of my reach. “What’s a little spark to me when I’ve tasted the stars? Put the mask on again, and you’re back in my service… promise me that, and I’ll even give you a few upgrades to help you along your way.”
“I just want to keep her safe.”
“You’re forgetting something.” Dark brows raise.
“I promise,” I grit out.
“Pinky promise?”
“I pledge my service for 10 years.”
Up until now, our arrangement has been transactional. Year by year I’ve bartered my life to him.
He waits another moment, testing me, watching me, listening to my thoughts. Slowly, he lowers his hand. When the mask is within reach, he jerks it away to prove a cruel point, then hands it over with a flourish.
I snatch it before he can stop me again. I don’t need to be king. I just need to ensure Florienne reaches the end of the Labyrinth before another hunter claims her. Then she’ll be free.
It’s what she wants.
It’s what I can give her. All I can give her.
A low hum begins, vibrating beneath my skin. The air crackles with raw, untamed magic. The mask feels different in my hands.
“What have you done?” I ask warily.
“You want to keep her safe? Now you can. But there are rules, little shadow.” The Gods voice drips with amusement.
“You cannot remove the mask while you remain in the Labyrinth. And the longer you wear it, well…” His smirk is a dagger gliding across my throat.
“Let’s say I’m not just forbidding you from removing the mask. I’m making it so you won’t want to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not only will you remain in my service with the mask on, but you may find it… difficult… to act as anything other than the beast she believes you to be.”
I stare up at him, breath ragged, throat tight. “You’re turning me into a shifter?”
“Not quite.” He chuckles. “We have enough actual beasts roaming the maze tonight. But your instincts will grow more bestial, more primal the longer you wear the mask.”
Dread squirms in my gut. The mask pulses and my hands tremble.
I can still walk away. I can still try.
“You bastard.”
Kasaros grins, slow and pleased. “Now, now. Didn’t you promise to serve me?”
He returns to the darkness, folding into shadow. But he doesn’t take the choice from me. That’s not how he works.
I rub my thumb across the fabric smile. If I don’t put it on, she’ll belong to someone else. This hunt will claim her soul, and everything I love about her will wither and die.
Or she’ll die.
If I put it on… she’ll be the death of me. Because I’d rather die than force myself on her.
I breathe in, long and slow. Then, I fit it over my face. Magic ignites, sinking into my skin, binding me.
She’s going to hate me.
But she’s going to live.