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Prologue
Seventy-two steps until my life ends.Mendelssohn’s Wedding Marchwafts from the strings of the tuxedoed orchestra serenading my death. The white satin bridal gown and veil cling to me like a shroud.
One.
Two.
Three. I count to calm my galloping heart.
Cold eyes at the end of the aisle lock with mine, daring me to run. The golden wings of the turtle dove necklace hidden within the bouquet of white roses fisted in my hand, cut into my palm.
Four.
Five.
The robed priest smiles under the watchful eyes of the marble saints. Murmurs of “So beautiful” and “God bless” turn to wailing shrieks of horror as a shot rings out, dancing across the crescendo of the wedding march.
God isn't here today. And there will be no marriage, only death at this red wedding.
Chapter 1
Rhiannon
8 years old
“Shh, you’ll get us caught.”
“No one’s going to find us. Don’t be such a baby, Rhi.”
“I’m not a baby,” my voice raises a little with denial.
I hate when Xavier calls me a baby. I’m eight years old and can do a ton of things for myself. Like, Daddy lets me ride my bike around the neighborhood all alone. Well, really until the end of the street, but still. Plus, grownups say I have a mature soul; whatever that means. It doesn't sound babyish, though.
“No talking until we get outside,” he whispers. He’s so bossy. But, he is two years older than me, so I guess, technically, heisin charge. Plus, he's my best friend, so I overlook these things.
We duck out the French door in the kitchen, into the dark, trying our best not to make a sound.
This probably isn't a good idea. Rescue the princess is a game we play often but never at night.
The moon plays peekaboo in the cloud-covered sky, and we slip like mist across the damp grass, hopefully without being seen by the guards.
If my father found us sneaking out, we’d probably be murdered. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I've heard the staff whispering when they think I'm not listening. Once, I asked my mother if he’s a bad man, and she told me never to say it again. She said he protects us from the other bad people of the world. So, I guess he's good to us.
Well, good to me, anyways. He doesn't care much for Xavier. Mom says he only tolerates him because he’s Hannah’s son. She’s our maid, tall with beautiful hair the color of chocolate, and one of the nicest women I’ve ever met. And if I'm being honest, sometimes, when she brushes my long red hair, I pretend she’s my mother.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but she’s always busy entertaining my dad’s boring friends when she's not working at his office.
“This way,” Xavier directs, leading me down the uneven cobblestone path that cuts through the backyard.
He grabs my hand when I hesitate, and like always, I feel as if nothing can harm me out here with him.
“We’re almost there,” he reassures, taking us away from the safety of the big brick house, toward the towering woods.
“Maybe we shouldn't,” I hedge.
Unsure, I peek over my shoulder for a moment. Like a beacon calling me home, a light flickers through an upstairs window.
“No turning back.” Xavier’s blue eyes glow with anticipation of all the things I'm afraid of as he tugs me along. He's the opposite of me: fearless.
