Page 82 of Breaking Isolde
I want to scream at her. I want to tell her to fuck off, to leave me alone, to go back to whatever bubble she came from.
Instead, I say, “You have no idea.”
She sits on the bed, hands folded in her lap. “Last year, my best friend got picked for the Hunt. As prey, as a bride for one of the Board’s sons. She was committed before I even knew she’d been chosen. She was on cloud 9, thinking this boy loved her. She spent weeks wrapped up in him. Until the night of the hunt.”
I stare at her. “You’re lying.”
She shakes her head. “After the ceremony, she was different. Hollowed out. She lasted three weeks before they killed her. They buried it, said it was an accident. But poof… she disappeared. I still have her toothbrush.” She laughs, a horrible, empty sound. “As if that could keep her close.”
I want to say something, anything, but my throat is full of knives.
Charlie watches me, eyes dark and empty. “You’re not special, Isolde. They do this every year. The Hunt is just window dressing. The real game is about heirs. Producing enough that if one doesn’t cut it, another can take his place. Like Caius and Rhett.”
I start to cry. Not pretty tears, but ugly, snotty sobs that shake my whole body. I cover my face, wishing I could disappear. Wishing I could be anywhere else.
Charlie doesn’t touch me. She just sits, staring at the floor.
“They’ll find you,” she repeats, voice soft this time. “But if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to kill yourself before they do.”
I hate her. I hate how calm she is, how matter-of-fact. I hate that she knows more than I do. I hate that I want her to stay.
I wipe my nose on my sleeve, then look up at her.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
She shrugs again. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d actually do it.” Her hands twist in her lap, worrying at something. “Maybe I wanted to say goodbye.”
I look at her wrists, at the little charm bracelet she never takes off. I never noticed it before, not really. Now I see the tiny silver heart, the engraved initials.
“Was that hers?” I ask, nodding at the bracelet.
She nods.
We sit in silence. It all feels so heavy, like a storm about to break.
I want to ask if she’ll help me. I want to ask if there’s a way out.
But all I can do is sit on the edge of the bed, hugging my knees, and try not to break.
I think about the nonexistent baby. About what it would mean to bring a life into this mess. About how much I want to tear the whole system apart.
I wonder if Rhett is in his room, waiting for me to come back. I wonder if he even cares.
I am not my sister. I am not Charlie’s friend. I am not a fucking pawn in their twisted game.
If they want my blood, I’ll make them fight for every last drop.
I stare at the window. The quad is dark, but the lights are still on in the admin building. Somewhere in there, the Board is congratulating itself. Counting its wins.
“I need to go.”
“You’re not getting out,” she says softly.
There’s no judgment on her face—just this blank acceptance, like she’s seen the whole thing before.
“I don’t need—” but I do. I sag, defeated.
“You ever hear of the Vicious Kings?” she asks.
