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Chapter nineteen
Mrs. McTavish met me at the bottom of the stairs—after I touched up my lipstick and my hair. The smile that usually made me feel like I’d finally found comfort only made me want to cry. She looked proud. Happy. She had no idea this was the beginning of an end, the shattering of hope.
There would be no more butterflies when I woke up to see agood morningtext from Lincoln, no more stolen kisses against bedroom walls, no more three-hour sex marathons because I’d made him jealous. There would be no more Lincoln, period. And there would be no more all-nighters with my best friend.
This was my life now—meals in empty dining rooms and reading on the grass until it was time to close my eyes and dream it all away.
When Grey said the wordsnot forever, somewhere in my mind I hoped he was saying it would all end before today. I was wrong. There was no telling what he even meant.
We walked down the wide hallway, past the library where I’d first learned the truth, and to a wall of glass-paneled doors that led outside.
The garden was gorgeous on a normal day, but today it was the epitome of Eden. People filled rows of white folding chairs lined up on each side of a wide middle aisle—our guests, I supposed. Along the aisle, at the end of each row, there were tall iron lanterns and colorful floral arrangements. White rose petals littered the ground, highlighting the path to a white dome-type gazebo with stone columns covered in vines.
Magical.
Or at least it should have been.
There were no bridesmaids or groomsmen. There was only the minister and Grey, who looked completely at ease standing in the center of the gazebo. My heart felt as though it would sprout wings and fly out of my chest with every step I took down the aisle.
The ceremony was beautiful but methodical. We exchanged textbook vows, and I felt like a liar with every word I spoke. We repeated after the minister, and within minutes, I was Mrs. Grey Van Doren. He kissed me again, the same way he’d kissed me in my room before the ceremony. And everyone clapped for us as we walked by hand-in-hand.
All eyes were on us at the reception—an oversized tent in the middle of the garden with linen-covered tables and string lights underneath. Grey held me close on the dance floor while every woman here watched and wondered who I was.
People I’d never seen, and some I’d only seen in magazines, congratulated me and told me how beautiful I looked. Myaunt, the queen, hardly spoke to me. Instead, she spent most of the evening grabbing champagne off the server’s tray and avoiding any sort of conversation like the plague. If that was how royalty behaved, then pass me a crown, I fit right in.
I spotted Kipton Donahue, Malcolm Huntington, and Pierce Carmichael standing off to one side by the king, watching the rest of the crowd as if they were some sort of gods waiting to pass down judgment.
Grey’s words came back to me as I studied the way they watched me.
Four other men are going to watch.
Were they the four men? The thought of them seeing me so vulnerable and exposed made my stomach churn.
It was a private event with only about fifty guests and absolutely no press. There wasn’t even a photographer. As far as weddings went, mine was what most girls’ dreams were made of.
I spent the entire evening trying not to throw up.
And then the guests trickled out, little by little, and when we said goodbye to the last couple, dread settled in the pit of my stomach like toxic sludge.
Grey wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me close to him as a dark look passed over his face. “Time to go inside now, sweet bride.”
My chest felt tight and heavy as we walked through the garden and back into the house. Grey held his hand at the small of my back and guided me to one of the tall wooden doors I always passed on my way to the library.
He stepped around me, opening the door then nodding for me to go inside.
This was so not what I expected. Then again, it kind of was.
Grey’s bedroom suited him. Moonlight seeped in through tall Palladian-style windows and bounced off painted black walls. The floors were dark gray wood with a lighter gray shag rug spilling from underneath the king-sized bed. A crystal chandelier hung from the coffered ceiling, adding soft amber light to the blue of the moon. It should’ve felt cryptic. But it didn’t. It called to me. Out of all the rooms in the house, the walls in this one had seen the most secrets. I felt it the moment I stepped inside.
Kipton, Malcolm, Pierce, and a man I’d been introduced to earlier as Winston Radcliffe, king of Ayelswick, all sat in leather chairs lined up in front of a modern-looking fireplace. They’d all shed their tuxedo jackets and rolled up their shirt sleeves. Four expensive watches glinted in the light. Four sets of eyes darkened at the sight of me. Four mouths curled up into sinister grins. The king even ran his tongue over his teeth.Ew.
Grey wasn’t kidding. They really were going to watch him fuck me. This was happening. My life was now a twisted mess of fuckery—Handmaid’s Tale-style.
He was the fifth member of the Tribunal. Did that mean he did this when other members got married? Did Grey sit in a chair next to these four men and watch women get fucked on their wedding night? Would Lincoln do the same when he took his father’s place? Acid burned my throat at the thought of either one of them having anything to do with something like this.
Kipton narrowed his gaze. “Hello, Lyric. Good to see you again.”
“Illegitimi non carborundum.” Not exactly Margaret Atwood’s words, but the meaning was still the same.Don’t let the bastards grind you down.I wanted to addmotherfucker, but I bit my tongue before the word came out. I did havesomerestraint.
