My spine straightens, neck tall, chin angled high. Madame Frost, my cotillion teacher, would be proud.
I willnotbe found wanting.
That doesn’t mean I won’t be found sweating—holy fuck, it’s hot in here.
It’s a relief to exit the walkway and pass into some air-conditioned comfort. There, I encounter faces I recognize.
Wynter Kinnock—she’s in a couple of my classes. The rest are people I’ve seen around the Rhos’ frat house when Shay and I attend parties—all guys though. Every last one of them apart from Wynter and me.
She’s a Pi—a sister in Pi Epsilon Beta who I think lives in their sorority house, Arcadia.
Unlike myself, who isn’t.
I’ve long since debated if Pies are a shoo-in for the Veronians, but the presence of a sister and a nonmember doesn’t clarify things.
As for the guys, I recognize a few. One’s the son of a CEO who likes to ruin kids’ lungs with vapes, two are brothers on the rowing team, and another’s an heir to some oil baron from the 1800s. Of them all, only one doesn’t look wealthy. Unlike the others, his suit’s off the rack and not tailored to his form.
I sidle up to Wynter. “When they call it the old boys’ club, they mean it.”
“Did you get the feeling we aren’t supposed to be here?”
“The ‘vouching’ thing? Yeah. My invitation had nothing about that written on it. Yours didn’t either?”
“No. Nothing. I’m lucky that Derek Dyers vouched for me.”
I gag. “More like bad luck.”
Her snort tells me she’s heard the “rumors” too. “He’s a creep, but it’ll all turn out right eventually.”
“How do you know that?”
She flaps her hands. “I know some people who know some people who’ll make him pay if he hurts me.”
Nodding my understanding, because I have a lot of people who’ll hurt him for me too, I turn when a voice calls us to order.
More men in hoods spread out from nowhere, white tunics in their hands.
“Dress yourselves in the appropriate attire.”
Wynter and I share a small smirk—and they say girls are dramatic—as we tug on the tunics that remind me of what choir boys wear in church.
“Guard your coins with your life. They’re your key to the lodge.”
There’s a pocket in the tunics for this singular reason, I have to assume, so I slip mine in there.
“Step this way.”
We pass through yet another walkway, but this time it’s a larger atrium than before. The floor feels oddly gritty. The space above is dark, making me think it’s a high ceiling, something the acoustics confirm.
More bright lights focus on a central space, creating a stage in the spotlit area. Which is where, on their knees, the people who spoke for us are waiting.
My eyes catch Maxim’s.
Bare from the waist up, that delicious chest of his is on full display. The others aren’t as blessed in the looks department.
In front of each person is a thickly padded red velvet cushion with a dagger on it.
The idea that I might have to?—
