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The Chosen.
The heirs of Quinctus.
If you ask me, it’s just a smokescreen for some really messed up arranged marriage scandal.
A scandal I have no desire to be a party to.
I want to escape this town and its fucked-up traditions… but part of me can’t deny I am slightly intrigued. Nobody gets to know what happens behind the doors of Gravestone Hall.
And tonight, I have an open invitation.
“Please, Mia, don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Your father—”
“Yes, mother,” I snipe. “I’ll be ready.”
Because that’s what you do in a place like Gravestone. You follow the rules, smile where necessary, and always respect your elders.
Of course, it isn’t like that for every teenager in Gravestone. Some have the luxury of moving into the area and having zero ties with the founding families. Unlike me. Our name, Thompson, descends from the Cargill line. My great grams was a Cargill until she married a Thompson… and here I am, bound to this strange life, expected to fall in line just because of my name.
“The car leaves in,”—she checks her diamond-encrusted Rolex, an anniversary gift from my father—“forty minutes.”
“I said I’ll be ready.” It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. The dress code for the Eligere is written in lore. All girls of age from the founding bloodlines—or verus line, as we call it—must enter the choosing at least once.
Although they are rarely picked.
My mother leaves me alone, and I begin to dress. The white gown flows over my slender form like a waterfall. I take my time braiding my dark blonde hair into a crown across my head and then pin the remaining curls into place with golden tipped pins. Adding a dusting of blush to my cheeks, I smear a lick of kohl liner under my eyes. The girl staring back at me in the mirror looks meek and innocent. A girl on the cusp of becoming a young woman.
In mere weeks, I will start college. But tonight, I will stand in front of Cade Kingsley as a prosapia.
A trickle of trepidation races down my spine. Everybody knows Cade and the Electi, even those who don’t understand what it all means. He’ll be a senior at Gravestone University in the fall, but I can still remember Cade as a senior in high school. I was in ninth grade, and he was everything I wasn’t. Popular. Confident. Gorgeous.
Cade Kingsley, heir to the Kingsley line and notorious playboy, is finally going to discover the identity of his future wife.
And I am one of the offerings.
* * *
Gravestone Hall is the imposing gothic building that sits at the end of Prosperous Street. The entire town has been built leading toward it, making it the beacon landmark. The huge limestone bricks give it an eerie quality as shadows dance over the frontage.
“Ready?” my father asks me, squeezing my hand.
I give him a polite nod, unable to speak over the nervous energy pinging in my stomach. It’s silly, really. We all know the outcome of tonight’s Eligere.
The car pulls forward outside the steps leading up to the entrance, and the door opens. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, welcome,” a young man says, reaching in to offer my mother his hand.
She climbs out elegantly, her silk gown swishing around her body. Temperance Thompson is always the picture of refinement. She thinks a woman’s worth amounts to the designers she wears. It’s something I didn’t inherit. I did, however, inherit her hazel eyes and soft, dark blonde curls. Usually I wear them down, hanging like a cape over my shoulders. Tonight, however, they are intricately arranged on my head, leaving my shoulders and neck bare.
Tonight, I have no armor.
My lips curve grimly at the thought. I’m safe here. Cade didn’t even attempt to court me. I know of at least four girls he took out on a date. Maisie Godiva told her friends at school that she gave him head in the cemetery. But I’m hardly surprised. Maisie gives out blowjobs like Santa gives out presents.
At first, I was relieved he didn’t come for me. I have never had any interest in enteringtheirworld. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little. I know I’m a wallflower compared to most girls in this year’s choosing. I’m pretty but not beautiful, slender but without those voluptuous curves guys seem to love so much, and I prefer lounge pants and leggings to dresses and stockings.
I have no desire to be judged on what’s outside. A person can be beautiful to the eye but rotten to the core.
And a place like Gravestone… well, it’s full of bad apples.
My father slides gracefully from the car and waits for me. I gather the dress in my hands and climb out, thanking the young man. His eyes skate down my body, lingering on my chest and the soft curve of my breasts. Heat rises inside me. I’ve never had a man look at me so brazenly before. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.
