Page 82 of Breaking Ophelia
Caius nods. “We did.”
I don’t respond. I keep my eyes on the bruises crawling up Abelard’s hands, the way his veins stand out like blue ink scribbled under wax.
He pretends not to notice the silence, but his mouth tightens. “You both know why you’re here. But allow me to offer formal congratulations. Miss Morrow, your performance in the Night Hunt exceeded even our most optimistic projections. You are a testament to the resilience of your bloodline. A legacy, indeed.”
The rest of the Board doesn’t clap. But they do the thing—every one of them, in perfect sync—where their heads incline a fraction, a subtle nod, as if bestowing a knighthood.
The leftmost Board member is a woman with a helmet of white hair and eyes like the beady little eyes of a rat. She stares at me without blinking. It’s disconcerting.
Abelard keeps talking. “It is tradition, as you know, to conclude the Hunt with a formal binding. For the continuity of the line, for the purity of the contract, and—above all—for the assurance of legacy. Are you prepared to do your duty?”
His eyes fix on Caius, but his words are for both of us.
Caius doesn’t flinch. “Yes, sir.”
Abelard looks at me. “And you, Miss Morrow? Are you prepared?”
My voice is sandpaper. “Do I have a choice?”
A ripple goes through the Board, a tiny, synchronized smirk.
“Choice,” Abelard repeats, as if tasting the word for the first time. “Choice is the foundation of our great experiment. You were chosen, Miss Morrow, because you represent something rare and valuable. The ability to adapt. To survive.”
He gestures at my body. “Your presence here is proof that you belong. That you are, in every sense, one of us. You see, there’s a common misconception that all of us came from old money. No, my dear, some of us were chosen for the unseen talents hiding beneath the shadows of poverty and ruin.”
I can feel Caius’s eyes on me. I don’t look at him. I watch Abelard, watch the way he grips the arms of his chair like he’s afraid of being swept away by his own words.
“Tonight’s events will ensure the continuation of our legacy. And, should you both succeed, a place on this dais is assured. Caius, you will take over your father’s place at the helm of his empire, and Ophelia will become protected under the tenants of our laws.”
He says it like a reward, but it sounds like a sentence.
The rest of the Board leans back, satisfied with his long-winded speech.
The woman with white hair leans forward, eyes boring into me.
“We have high hopes for you, Ophelia,” she says. “Do not disappoint us.”
I want to tell her to go fuck herself. But I don’t. I just smile, teeth showing, and watch as her eyes go even colder.
The room is silent. The smoke from the brazier hangs in the air, filling my nose with the taste of old paper and burnt roses.
I realize, in that moment, that this is the real Hunt. The one that doesn’t end until someone finally breaks.
Caius grunts.
I don’t look at him. I just stare straight ahead, into the flat, hungry eyes of the people who run this world, and I refuse to blink first.
It’s going to take more than a room full of half-dead skin sacks to finish me off.
Abelard stands again, this time slower. His hands are trembling, but not from fear.
“We will proceed,” he says.
And the doors behind us slam shut, sealing us in.
The silence is total, broken only by the shifting of bodies in seats—silk on wood, a dry cough disguised as a yawn. Abelard lets it marinate, lets the weight of the chamber settle onto Caius and me, like a tarp over something waiting to suffocate.
He doesn’t speak right away. He takes the stairs down from the dais, hands behind his back, the trailing edge of his robe a black tongue licking at the polished floor. When he gets close enough to the circle, he stops, and looks at us with what could be mistaken for pity.
