Page 92 of Crown of Thorns
I won’t be scared. Not in my own office. Whoever’s out there wants a reaction. It’s way past midnight. I reach for the mask. Not out of ritual, but resignation. I slide it over my face. It settles there like a second skin, the final piece of the transformation I’ve been dreading.
Then I head for the door. My breath tumbles out of my mouth as I turn the doorknob, hand clammy with sweat.
The corridor is empty, but the castle vibrates with malice.
As I make my way to the horror corridor, I can feel it whooshing through my veins. I can hear the sounds. Secrecy and sins.
Sliding the painting aside, I slowly make my way down. The walls are buzzing. Whoever was outside before has moved inside Monterrey. That should be reason enough to head back up and hide in my dorm. But I have nowhere to go.
Maybe I should stay put. Lock the door. Wait it out. But something pulls me, stronger than logic—some combination of fear and fury, curiosity and instinct. I need to see how deep this rot goes. If I’m already marked, I want to know who’s holding the knife.
They’re creeping around my office, and I can’t see Louis now, can’t have him spill my thoughts. They’re chaotic.
Wrapped in similar attire of cloak and mask, he gives me a smile I can’t place. My heart lurches.
“You coming? We’re late.” I nod, unable to speak. There’s something familiar about the man, though I don’t recognize his voice. Have we met before? Following him through thedungeons, I see that the torches have been lit. Just like that first time.
There they are. The brothers of the Alpha Fraternarii. And here I stand. Dressed like them, but nothing like them at all. There are at least fifteen of them, dotted around me. Shiny masks in the dim light.
Which one of them is Louis? Someone stares too long. Someone shifts like they know. I feel him, if not with my eyes, then in my bones. But I can’t tell which mask hides him. Or if one of them does.
Suddenly, I regret not having replied to his messages. If I slip, if they recognize me, this won’t just destroy me, it’ll burn everything I’ve tried to build. Louis might be watching. And if he is… god help me. And my present, my future, my everything, is standing here, behind a mask, deciding whether I deserve to be forgiven or destroyed.
I itch to feel his smooth skin. To hear his jokes and easy banter. He’s my reminder that the world isn’t such a bad place after all. That there’s good, too.
But there’s no good here. This here is the definition of the deprived rich. The true power. This is what happens behind the curtains and in ivory towers.
“Good evening, brothers,” my companion says, greeting the others who have gathered. Some of them dip their heads, looking like monks of the most carnal sin.
The old man with the cane wobbles through, accompanied by someone else. “Thank you for hosting tonight’s gathering, Monsieur Z.” Everyone steps aside like the parting sea.
“Tonight, we are rewriting our sanity,” Monsieur Z says, his cane scraping the stone as he steps forward, a man known to some only through whispers, his connection to my grandfather still a theory I haven’t dared confirm. His voice is hoarse. “Sanity, you heard me well. Because not all of us are sane. Noteveryone is in this for the same reason. And a cause, gentlemen, is what we need. A communal cause. That’s how this works. Unison is power. And power is what we crave. Follow me.”
Someone blows a horn while we shuffle toward one of the rooms.
Monsieur Z stands by the window, two other cloaked men on either side of him. They’re staring at me. Goosebumps erupt on my skin. Everyone’s staring at me.
This man, cloaked in something older than the Brotherhood itself, looks at me like he’s seen every failure I’ve tried to forget. His presence floods the room like poison gas—slow, invisible, lethal. And I realize with cold certainty: this isn’t just a show. He’s been waiting for someone like me.
“It seems that our long-lost stranger has returned,” he croons, his voice curling with familiarity, like he’s known me longer than I’ve known myself. His grin is smeared across his face. Light flickers up behind him. It’s coming from the forest. Blinking, a strange sensation settles in my chest. It stings my eyes and makes my insides clench.
I smell it first. Burning wood, and something more acrid. Sweet, like photographs curling into blackened petals. It’s the shed.
It’s blazing to the ground, bringing sorrow and regret to destruction. Mom and Dad’s wedding photo. Unspoken words, unanswered questions, and unsolved arguments.
The ink on her letters, gone. The only photo of us, gone. Her voice, gone.
My past is burning down. I can’t breathe. My knees threaten to buckle, but I force myself to stay upright. Something in me snaps, silent and absolute. Not just grief. Guilt. Rage. A final tether, burned away.
This wasn’t random. It was staged. Deliberate. The Brotherhood wanted me to see it. This is what happens when you look too deep. When you come back.
Is he here tonight? Could he know?
Monsieur Z tilts his head and laughs. One pale, yellowing eye gleams beneath the edge of his mask.
The brothers stare outside the window, in awe at the fire. “A show of power.” He cocks his head and stares right back at me. Around me, brothers have formed a circle, their empty stares on me. “It’s a privilege to be part of the Alpha Fraternarii. A privilege that binds as much as it empowers, where every misstep marks you, and every silence can be a sentence.” His breath hitches with agitation. “A privilege that can be taken from you if you don’t respect our values. Because by not respecting our values, you’re not respecting yourself, nor your brothers. And by not respecting your brothers, by confronting them with lies that ruin their lives and their future, you don’t just stab them in the back...”
He’s panting now, rage and hurt carved into his grimace, while he still has those cruel eyes on mine. “But you also set a target on your own. Those betrayed will seek retribution. Those left bleeding will strike back. And the ones you love most? They'll bear the cost. Because brothers who betray are like infected limbs, we cut them off. And I wonder, in that stifling moment, if Louis already sees me that way. If this fire, this gathering, this speech, if it’s all just a performance meant to show me what I’ve lost.” His voice has shifted to a hoarse whisper. “They will find revenge. No matter how long it takes. They will find them, hunt them down, and squash them.” His laugh is diabolic, the sound freezing my insides. “And then this…” He gestures to where the shed’s burning to ashes, “is the result.”
