Page 54 of Crown of Thorns
The Alpha Fraternarii is as scary as it is fascinating. I can still hear the breathless moans echoing off stone walls, still see the silver mask that turned my way mid-orgy, a stranger's gaze laced with recognition. That image clings to me, unsettling and erotic, proof of how close I came to losing myself that night. Louis didn’t exaggerate when he said they were secret. There are no sources of the existence of a brotherhood in Monterrey Castle. No history, no name mentioning, no nothing. The only thing that’s real was that gathering. And their lingering traces, here, in Monterrey Castle. Framed photos and history. Paintings with crows. My own memory of how they looked altogether, cloaked and masked.
The sociologist in me is fascinated. The broken man in me is furious.
How dare the leaders of tomorrow be men who close business deals while indulging in the most primal pleasures in life?
And then there is Louis. Handsome, dangerous Louis, who steals the heart of my sister and is working very hard to break through my carefully crafted defences. He’s a walking red flag. He’s obnoxious, possessive, and feral. He’s everything I oncedreamt of becoming myself. Once upon a time, when I was young, naïve, and confused.
Well, the streets beat the confusion out of you, I can say that.
Drowning in my work has always been the solution to everything. And with time, that got easier. Working means no space for other thoughts. But the shade of obscurity has tainted my iron concentration, and as much as I hate to admit it, having Louis in my bed quieted the noise for once—but not the ache he leaves behind.
I look at my paperwork, at the analysis I defined based on what I saw during their gathering. The way their members, or brothers as they call each other, interacted in social contact. They seem to be managed by a strong hierarchy, and I wonder if the colour of the masks has anything to do with that. Some were gold, others silver. A few were white.
It’s much later now. The kind of later that sinks into your bones and makes the room feel smaller. At some point after Melody left, the daylight vanished without me noticing. The soft noise of the world beyond my office has faded, replaced by the kind of stillness that only comes after nightfall. Papers are scattered across my desk, my screen dimmed to black. A knock on my door jolts me out of the haze.
How long have I been here for? Did I fall asleep? I don’t believe I did.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
The sound is followed by a slow, persistent brushing against the door that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to rise.
Did I lock my door? It’s the first thought that comes to mind. I check my phone for messages from Louis or anyone else. His last message, ‘Got a party tonight. Can’t wait to see you after’, was sent an hour ago.
My muscles tense as my stomach coils. Fury stirs, a low-burning fire that’s catching steadily. The sound disappears, but I’m already on my feet.
The only one who can scare me is me.
Yanking open the door, I glare at the emptiness of the corridor. The lights have been left on this time, a detail that shouldn't rattle me, but it does. The air is too still, the silence too poised. Further down, a cleaner is sweeping the corridor. It's him.
That same mute from reception. Always sweeping, always watching, like he’s part of the walls. What’s his name again? Zaid, Zach—something with a Z.
He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flinch. Just keeps sweeping as though he hadn’t just knocked on my door. As though I hadn’t felt his presence through the wood, steady and deliberate.
“Excuse me, did you see anyone just pass?”
He looks up slowly, his eyes blank, unreadable. Then he shakes his head once. Too quick. Too practiced. Like a gesture he’s rehearsed before.
A thread of unease snakes beneath my ribs.
My heart ruffles in my chest as I head for the horror corridor. The light flickers here as usual, but this time my clenching hands are not from fear. I don’t think they are, at least. I’m annoyed. Because someone’s playing a game with me, and I’m not interested.
This time, the large painting of the forest with those crows has been shifted aside, giving access to the stairs. A light has been left on, casting a faint glow on the stairs. I stand undecided. But then…ever since Louis danced into my life, my career has been hanging by a silver thread. And perhaps I secretly have a wild side as well.
The stairs are surprisingly smooth and silent as I make my way down. Light becomes scarcer when I reach the basement,but I don’t want to use my flashlight and risk being seen. Once I reach the basement, I look around. The place looks empty. Down here, the corridors are also narrow, the walls painted in blood-red and framed with pictures. My heart lurches in my throat when I recognize the cloaks in those black-and-white snapshots. Some appear to have been taken over a century ago.
There are many rooms here, offering only cool air dipped in blackness. There are also more corridors. It’s like there’s an entire underground spider web of entrances. Creepy, and clever, because in the old days, the dungeons of castles were also used for storage and for shelter.
Just as I’ve reassured myself there’s no one down here, a door slams shut. I jolt. My insides are jittery; my hands slowly curl into fists.
I shouldn’t be here.
And yet I can’t stop myself from digging deeper.
Against the wall, marking the end of the hall, hangs another painting. A cloaked figure stands, chin dipped, a crow sitting on its shoulder. Its sharp nails dig into the dark material. The words,Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, are carved above them in gold.
I touch the painting and feel movement. It’s another sliding door. Swapping it to the side, which again goes smoothly, I stare into a black void. Lifting a hand, I startle when light suddenly flicks on. It’s a row of electric torches. At the end of it, what feels endlessly away, sits another door. My heart thumps violently in my chest as I wander straight out, ears ringing and every nerve ending activated. The corridor is so narrow, there’s only space for me.
