“We can renegotiate terms if we need to proceed with an actual marriage,” the human cuts in. “For now, she won’t be free to travel alone or be able to come and go as she pleases, but that could definitely change if this needs to become a more long-term solution.”
“I would require occasional proof of life,” my father says, feigning as though he cares for me, when we both know he only cares about his image.
Draven smirks. “Of course. We can certainly provide that.”
“How long will we be engaged?” I finally say, and all heads turn to me.
“It’s all dependent upon you and Yasmeena’s work in the community, as well as the other leaders’ cooperation. Could be six months, could be a year. We were engaged for a year.” Gemma points to Draven.
“After a year we can decide if the princess and I need to actually wed, or if our engagement was enough,” Yasmeena says.
Yasmeena, the felion who might have killed your cousin.
My stomach threatens to empty itself ontothe cold tile floor, and I swallow it down, not allowing the pain of this moment to reach my eyes. I meet my father’s gaze. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?”
Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,I think to myself. But it’s too late; the words have already left my lips.
He shakes his head, signing my sentence. “No, you do not.”
Movement No. 5
Tempest
Until today, I had only seen Hel’s Carnival once before. I was a little girl, so youthful, some light still left in me. I remember asking my nanny for cotton candy, and her obliging. The cast of performers were different then, though some of them are still here. It makes me curious about everyone’s stories, what caused individuals to come and go, why things changed.
Not curious enough to actually ask, though.
Princess.That’s what Yasmeena called me, yet here I am, being escorted by two members of my pack, walking me up to the gates of the carnival with an iron-clad grip.
I feel more like a prisoner.
Hanging on poles overhead are signs advertising different shows and performers. The Scorpion and The Butterfly immediately catch my eye, the painted fabric flapping in the wind, directly across from one another.
There’s another face I recognize—The Stallion—holding a bow and arrow. My memory takes me back to watching a much younger version of her ride a helhorse through the crowd, nocking her bow and striking every target.
Gregory and Sampson finally let go of me, and I turn to say goodbye to my father. He growls at me.
To anyone outside of our pack, it is just that. A growl. But lupion understand one another. The pitch and timbre work like vowels and consonants, creating our very own language.
Wait for further instructions. You must kill him.
I nod in understanding. Retribution has been a long time in the making.
Goosebumps rise on the flesh of my arm, and I turn back to Governor Raph, Draven Orzath, and Yasmeena, waiting for me inside the metal gates. I walk past the threshold and into their possession.
This entire situation makes me fume with rage. I’m supposed to be training and making preparations for my eventual takeover, but instead I’m a fucking marriage pawn. An object to be used.
My life was always going to belong to Pack Escalus in some capacity; this was a given, but being a part of Hel’s Carnival was never something I imagined for myself, even if it’s only temporary. I don’t know what it’s like to be a part of something so different, or how I’m expected to behave. It’s especially difficult knowing some of these people have no idea about what happened to Tyrus, while others are directly responsible for it.
Everyone might ignore me or hate me—or worse. What if they all are actually nice to me and then feel betrayed once I get my final orders from Father?
Only time will tell.
Walking through the carnival, the scent of buttered popcorn and cotton candy permeates the air. There is a demon child holding onto his mother’s pant leg, excitedly waiting to ride the Ferris wheel, and I wonder what it feels like to be full of joy. To have a mother who loves you and will take you to fun places.
Governor Raph continues leading us down a path past a carousel and a few stands with games and colorful plush prizes. A young hybrid—probably on a date—knocks over the final glass bottle, and his partner jumps up and down withglee.
The absolute happiness radiating from everywhere I turn only exemplifies how out of place I feel. I am the clouds on an otherwise sunny day; the weed in a field of daffodils.
