Chapter Thirty-Five

Despite every myth and legend I’ve heard about the witches, the three women before me are not terrifying.

Nor are they ugly. Or old.

No of course my torturers don’t look a day older than I am and are drop-dead gorgeous.

I don’t know what the hell I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t three women who are basically children.

They all are a few inches taller than me, and almost completely identical. Dark brown skin, long black straight hair, and bright, orange, nearly golden eyes.

Their lips piss me off.

They’re cherry red, glossed over with oil. They’re seductive and cute, and given what I did to the males in the room last night…

“Hello Kieran,” they speak as one, so at least that part of the legend is true. One magic, three bodies. They speak and breathe the same.

If Keiran is scared of them, he doesn’t show it. “Marissa,” he intones, no bow, no nod of his head. I wait for him to address the others, but it doesn’t come.

So, Marissa, they are.

I’ve never hated a name so much.

They all turn to me, as one, then to Xaden with a knife to one twin's back, and the other bleeding out on the ground. “Trouble in paradise?”

Gods, having three people speak at once all the time must be so exhausting.

Still, at the same time, I can’t help but wonder if they’ve taken lovers. If Kieran was one.

They do say they know thy enemy.

“We have some…internal issues to sort out,” Keiran says, wincing slightly. “Your boys and I will be in the throne room at Midnight, rest assured.”

Fuck me.

I had almost forgotten that these women were the twins ’ mothers. But judging from their red clothing, how it cinches at the waist and exposes their backside, there is no way the twins were a natural birth.
When the witches smile at me, it reminds me of a character from a book I read as a child, the Cheshire Cat.

But this is no Wonderland, certainly not this castle. And like the main character, I fear that I may soon go mad.

The second the Witches are beyond the doors to what I assume is the throne room, Rhodes rises from his feet and grabs my arm.

Kallias is on his knees still, yanking the sword from his spine, and Keiran and Xaden have seemingly disappeared into thin air.

I suddenly find it hard to breathe air. This is it. This is happening.

“This way, pretty girl,” Rhodes' tone has shifted from hardcore aggression into something more…terrifying.

He leads me into a vaguely familiar hall, then pulls me into what seems to be an abandoned study or art room.

“We’ll wait here until it’s time,” he says to me, lighting up a cigarette.

Kallias stumbles in behind us, covered in blood. I go to him immediately.

“Are you alright?”

He smirks down at me. “Never better, Princess.”

“But…Kieran, Xaden, the sword.”

Kallias laughs. “You’re being sent to your potential death and you’re worried about me? It was just a sword, baby girl, not poison.”

My cheeks heat at the nickname. If we’re not supposed to fuck, he shouldn’t call me that.

Rhodes speaks up from where he’s plopped himself down in a corner. “All a ploy, baby girl.”

My mouth opens. “Wait a second, out there, with Xaden and the threats, that was all fake?”

Rhodes winks at me. “Exactly, baby g.”

Gods even moments before the Ceremony, they’ll still tease me?

I turn to Kallias. All six foot seven of him. “I thought you were going to die.”

“All a part of the plan, baby girl,” he brushes a tear from my cheek with a gentle stroke. “Someone’s gotta make the witches think that we’re falling apart over here.”

A bell sounds from within the room which I assume is the Throne Room. I’m terrified beyond comprehension, but I’ve been terrified all my life. You can thank my sister for that.
“Time to go,” Rhodes says.

“Wait a second,” I say, pushing Kallias’s hands off my wrists. “What do you mean you want the witches to think we’re falling apart?”

Both the twins ignore my questions. And I have just enough time before Kallias pulls me forward to realize that this isn’t a study, or an art room.

The paintings on the walls are portraits of the women who came before me. My ancestors.

And with the impossibly high arched ceilings, there are…hundreds.

I’m just a number. Just a means to an end. Nothing to these men, to Keiran.

I pull back my hands from Kallias’s grasp. He immediately notices.

“Remi…” he starts.

“Why does it matter if I’m a virgin?” I ask them both. “Why do you need my blood?”

Rhodes frowns at me. “The King gets what he wants.”

I frown back. “You said that was all an act.”

The twins exchange a look. I know what they’re thinking, I know what they’re doing.

“You drink my blood tonight, don’t you?”

I know them well enough now to pick up on the guilt. Even with their warrior training.

“It’s not ten days,” I say more to myself than them, “it's four, you lied to me about the bathing ceremony to keep me calm. This is happening right here, right now.”

Kallias grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I can’t stop it, Remi,” he says and tilts his head. “And you can’t, either.”

Rhodes travels to my side and grabs both my shoulders. “Listen, Offering. We can’t help you, but you might be able to help yourself.”

I raise a brow.

“What you did today,” he explains, his voice low, and serious. “At the River, you channeled your power. In a way, I’ve never seen anyone do this before. If you can do that again, willingly, and restore the wards early, you’ll live with plenty of blood to spare.”

But not any magic…

None of this makes any sense. “If you knew I could use magic, why not train me sooner?”

“No Offering has been able to use their magic in a long, long time.”

I narrow my eyes at Rhodes. “How many years?” I ask. “How many years has it been since a girl didn’t die?”

All three of us know what I’m really asking. How many girls?

Rhodes swallows hard. When he speaks, he doesn't make eye contact. “A thousand.”

The Doors to the Throne Room swing open. Music begins.

“A thousand…” I repeat. Ten fucking girls.

Ten of my ancestors.

Were they as terrified as I am? Did they take their own lives over the pain and humiliation of going inside?

The Throne Room is nearly pitch black. I can feel Kallias’s hands on my back, ready to push me in or flat out drag me if I refuse to walk. I can’t deny that a part of me wants to grab the frame of the door and hold on, kick scream, and shout.

I’m vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable with no one to save me and nowhere to hide.

The thought, the helplessness, would have made the old Remi cry.

But the new Remi, the one with magic, with power, makes eye contact with a six-eyed bitch named Marissa. A viper with a hand on Keiran’s throne. Another on his shoulder.

Let the Witches be right, someone is going to die tonight.