Chapter 1
The Masquerade
“Child.Passtherolls.”Stephan—myfather—isn’t facing me, but I know who the request is directed at.
We are sitting at an elegant wooden dinner table in our dining room. Since myfatheris considered anOfficialin this country, theGovernmentgifted him many items, one of which was this home.
“Yes, sir.” I lean carefully over the table, ensuring my sleeves do not drag against the counter. I am careful in my movements, precise. I don’t want to upset him.
Mybrother, Bryton, sits to the right of me, and across from him are two men who have been around more and more. They are watching the encounter with confused expressions.
They are not the normal guests my family keeps. They both appear to have souls.
I turn my attention to one of the men, Niko. His face hardens and full lips flatten into a line. His eyes slide over my black eye that formed this morning in the shape of Stephan’s fist. They continue to my sunken cheeks, shifting uneasily over the bruise around my neck. He almost appearsbothered.
Has he noticed I’m not actually eating any of this food? That I am just a centerpiece to sit here and listen to orders? Does he even care?
I find his eyes. They remind me of a rainy day; they are a swirling of hypnotic blues and eerily luminescent. I feel like he is trying to relay a message to me, but I cannot decipher it, and instead flick my attention to the other guest, Viktor. In contrast, his eyes are dark, almost the color of charcoal. His grip on his fork is tight, his knuckles white. His attention lands on the purpling around my neck, and the utensil he is holding clatters to the plate.
These guests have not seen me in the light of day yet. We have not all sat together at a table like this before. I have only witnessed them in passing before I was ushered away.
Viktor’s action has not caught any attention from myfamily, and without any more delay, I slowly move the basket to my left, to Stephan, and offer the desired rolls. He still isn’t looking at me as he grabs one and puts it on his plate before shooing the rest away.
A TV screen behind him flickers on. My eyes go up to the scenes playing out. I know what it is.
This country’s most gruesome yearly ritual.
I cannot help the tremble that assaults my body. A roll drops from the basket.
I do everything in my power to catch it in time.
I am not fast enough.
Myfatherslams a fist onto the table as it bounces across the marble floor. “Bryton, put your sister in her room.” He turns to the guests. “Please ignore her. She isn’t used to watching the Masquerade yet.”
I can feel the stares of the two men as Bryton grabs me by my bicep and tugs me out of my chair.
His hold is bruising as he wrenches me away and down the hallway into Stephan’s bedroom.
“Fucking clumsy, stupid girl,” Bryton snarls the words in my ear as his other hand finds the curve of my ass. “If we didn’t have clients, I would teach you a fucking lesson.”
My stomach fills with a thousand razor blades. I do not want to imagine what my slip up will cause.
But there is something I know for certain: Stephan and Bryton will come for their pound of flesh.
They may force me to call themfatherandbrother, but they are not my blood. We have no relation.
I am their prisoner. Their whore. Their bitch. I was caught and given to these disgusting men as a prize. Another item. Anothergiftfor Stephan being so important to this country.
“Yes, sir.” Leaves my lips a soft whimper as he pushes me into the closet that doubles as my bedroom.
I hear the lock clink into place as I fall back onto the pallet that lies on the floor, a single lamp on the ground beside it.
Even in this horrible space, there is still a TV tethered to the wall. My eyes find it, and once more, dread slinks into my gut.
This country is a vile place, but the true evil? The Masquerade.
A yearly chaotic game held and streamed on live TV for the country to watch.
