Chapter 2

The next coupleof days pass in a haze of uncertainty. I'm looking over my shoulder every five minutes, and I try to stick to well-lit, well-populated areas if I'm away from my room.

And all the while, Roman is texting me constantly.

Are you okay?

Where are you?

Answer my texts…

I'd turn my phone off if I weren't waiting to hear from Bree. That strange number that contacted me the other day never replied, and I'm left again to wonder if Roman was behind it all. It wouldn't be out of character for him. The guy is seriously fucked up.

Maybe it's just easier for me to believe it's Roman, though—because the alternative is even more terrifying. It would mean Bree was taken by someone else, someone I'm not even aware of. And the thought that sends fear tripping down my spine.

So, yeah, the devil you know, and all that, I guess.

When I get back to my residence hall, I see a guy waiting in my hallway on the second floor. He's leaning against the wall, staring down at his phone, but as soon as I step off the elevator, he glances up at me. He's young and obviously a student here, wearing an ExU hoodie, jeans, and flip-flops. Not the most threatening figure, but it's the middle of the day, and most people are in class, so we're alone.

And when he holds my gaze, anxiety spikes in my veins. Stiffening, I slow my pace as I try to figure out who this person is. Have I seen him somewhere before? After what happened the other day, I'm on high alert.

As I step closer, I realize he's standing right in front of my door. Shit. My heart is in my throat, and I pause, wondering if I should turn back around. If I do, will he chase me? Do I have enough of a lead to get away?

The guy sees my hesitation, and steps forward. "Lux Anderson?"

Uh. "Yes?"

We're still thirty or so feet away from each other, so if I have to run, I'll get a head-start at least. He walks toward me, holding up a black envelope, just like the one for the Prefrence Ceremony—only that one was shoved under my door.

"The Sacred Sons invite you," he says, placing the envelope in my hand. "Someone will be here shortly before the event to escort you to Rush House."

I blink at him. "Thanks."

Then he just…walks away. I wait until he gets onto the elevator before ripping the envelope open.

The Burning Crown requests your presence

at the tribunal of Tyler Savano.

Tonight.

10 o'clock.

Tyler Savano. I have no idea who that is, except…could it be the Tyler that attacked me the other day? That's the only thing that makes sense, because otherwise, why would I be invited to a secret society thing?

With a heavy sigh, I open my door and toss the invite onto my desk. I really, really want to send the envelope back with "unsubscribe" written across the front in bright red letters.

I still need Roman's help finding Bree, though, so I guess I'm going.

The rest of the day is pretty chill. I have one class, and a bunch of chapters I need to read, but at about nine-thirty that night, I put it all aside, so I can start getting ready for this tribunal weirdness. And I have no idea what the dress code is, but I'm guessing it's not jeans.

"Where are you going?" Emily asks, looking up from her laptop.

"I've been invited to a thing at Rush House," I answer, sifting through my closet. I pull out a sage green, knee-length dress that's more casual than is probably appropriate. But the Burning Crown will have to excuse me for not having a closet full of evening gowns. We don't all live on the set of The Bachelor, for God's sake. And the one dress I wore to the Preference Ceremony is pretty much the only formal-ish dress I have.

I also find the necklace Roman gave me and slip it over my head. It's cringe, but I'm going to a Burning Crown thing, so I guess I'll play along.

"I thought only members were invited to stuff like that," she says, curiosity in her tone.

"Yeah, same." I shove my hand into my messy makeup bag and find my two-year-old mascara. Pulling it out, I open the cap and start applying it. "All of this society stuff is really weird, and I'd rather not go at all, but Roman isn't someone who respects boundaries, so..."

"Well, just be careful," she says, sounding more concerned than usual.

I never told her about the near-death experience I had with the car a couple of days ago, so her comment surprises me. I turn to look at her. "You said that like you're worried."

She shrugs one shoulder. "I've overheard things."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "What did you overhear?"

Blinking, she glances down at her computer. I can tell she doesn't want to tell me. "I don't know." She glances up at me apologetically. "There are people who are pissed you're dating Roman. They say you don't deserve it."

I turn fully to face her. Could that be the reason I was nearly run over the other night? "Who said that?"

She shrugs again. "I don't know who it was. It's just something I overheard in the dining hall."

I nod and finish getting ready. "No worries. I'll be fine," I say, wishing I really believed that.

"Well, have fun, then."

A tribunal sounds like zero fun, actually, but I don't say that. This event is a secret society thing and I don't know how much I can say about it, so I opt to say nothing.

At nine-fifty sharp, there's a knock on my door. I open it and see two guys standing in the hallway. They're both wearing dark suits, and tall with broad shoulders. "We're here to escort you to Rush House."

Turning, I throw a look at Emily, mouthing the words, "Oh, my God." She laughs and shakes her head. "Don't wait up," I say with a smile, shutting the door.

These guys can be my security detail anytime. For real.

We end up driving to Rush House, which seems silly, considering it's only a ten-minute walk from my residence hall, but it saves me from having to trek all that way in heels, so I don't complain.

At the front door of Rush House, there's someone there to collect my phone and inspect my invitation. It's the same guy from the other night, and with that same scowl of disapproval, he lets me pass.

About thirty people in evening wear are gathered in the foyer, milling around, waiting. The second I walk in, though, it's like Moses parting the Red Sea—everyone takes a step away from me like I have the plague.

And I swear to God, some guy just pops up out of nowhere and thumps his stick right next to me. The sound reverberates on the hardwood floor, and it brings everyone to attention. Every. Single. Person in the foyer turns to look at me, stomping their feet in unison, forming a rhythm they all seem to know, then ending on a collective "Hoo-ah!" that jolts me.

Damn.

Was that for me? Or was I supposed to join in?

Where's Wyn when I need her? I should have texted her to see if she was coming to this, but a quick glance around the room reveals she's not here. I'm in this alone. So in the interest of blending in, I just stand in the corner of the foyer, waiting along with everyone else.

A couple minutes after arriving, someone wades over to me—a girl with long brown hair and bow-shaped lips. "I'm Lindsay. You can come with me," she says.

Ah, okie dokie.

She spins on her heel, and I follow her through the crowd and down the hallway to a set of double doors that lead to the study. She opens one of the doors and waves me inside.

As I step over the threshold, I'm confronted with all four of the Sacred Sons. Jackson and Christian are lounging on the two leather sofas. Lucas is leaning against the mantel, looking at his phone, and Roman is leaning against a table, drink in hand, looking like a fucking snack.

He's wearing black slacks, and a black button-down shirt, rolled up to expose his muscular forearms. His head is tilted down slightly, and his pale eyes catch on me as I walk in. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, trailing up my bare legs, to my hips, and then settling on my cleavage, which is pretty prominently displayed—not on purpose. Cleavage is just what happens when you have large breasts.

When his pale eyes crawl up to my face, his gaze colliding with mine, a hot ember trips down my spine. I always feel a spark of heat when he looks at me like that—with dark intent. Everything about Roman is dark, and fuck, but that darkness pulls at me in ways it shouldn't.

If a moth is drawn to a flame, I'm drawn to the shadows that flame creates.

I think they have a name for people like that—crazy.

Roman sets his drink down and walks up to me. "You're here," he says, his tone deep. "Now we can begin."

I hold up the invite—the guy at the door just glanced at it, he didn't take it. "What's this about? I thought Tyler had already been dealt with."

Roman shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. "The guys and I have been talking, and we think Tyler may have been behind the car incident the other night."

The car incident.What a polite way to say, "We think he's the one who tried to smear you across the asphalt."

"Why?"

"There have been whispers across campus that Tyler blames you for being expelled from ExU, and kicked out of the Burning Crown. He says you lied about being attacked, or some shit."

What?"But people saw him!" I squeak defensively.

"I know, I know," he says calmly, taking me by the arms. "We've got this under control. Trust us."

I want to laugh at that. Trusting Roman and his bros is like trusting a fox in a henhouse. Sure, dude. Let me squeeze right into that trust circle.

Christian stands up. "Yo, it's twenty after. We'd better get this shit started."

Roman nods at Christian before his gaze shifts back to me. "Lindsay will show you to the ceremony room."

The girl who fetched me from the foyer appears at my elbow, a white shimmery robe draped over her arm. She holds it out to me, and I slip into it. It cascades softly over my body, flowing outward regally. As Lindsay is pulling the separate hood over my head, I look around and see the guys getting into their navy blue robes, too.

"Why is mine white?" I ask.

"The queen always wears white," Roman says, pulling the hood over his head. "Plus, you're not a member."

That's still a loophole I don't quite understand. "Then why am I here?"

"This Tyler shit involves you," he answers evenly.

"I'll show you into the ceremony room," Lindsay says, pulling my attention away from Roman. I follow her to the far end of the room. I'm seriously confused when we walk to the back of the study, to a wall of built-in bookcases. She pushes one section of the bookcase inward to reveal a secret room beyond the narrow doorway that appears.

"Oh, wow," I say, stepping inside. It's a circular room, and the walls are a beautiful white marble. The floor is covered in beautiful tiles that spell out something in Latin, Semper Fidelis. Above us, there's a fresco on the ceiling; angels and demons surrounding a golden crown on fire. "This room is huge. I had no idea it was even here."

"That's the idea," Lindsay says, leading me to a raised platform with eight chairs all in a row, inlaid with gold, like thrones. The two chairs in the middle are the largest, each flanked by three smaller chairs.

What in the Harry Potter is happening right now?

Lindsay leads me to the large chair on the right. "This is where you'll be sitting," she says, and I take a seat, folding the shimmery robe over my knees. "Once everyone has filed into the room, you'll stand, and Roman will say a few words."

"Okay," I answer. "And then what happens?"

She fluffs out the bottom of my robe, waving off my question. "Don't worry, the guys will do most of the talking."

Yeah, there's a difference between all of the talking and most of the talking though, and I'd like to hammer out those details. But before I can ask, the sacred Sons start filling into the room. Three girls trail behind them, all wearing dark, navy-blue robes.

I lean down and whisper to Lindsay, "Are these girls the consorts?"

She glances over her shoulder, then back at me. "Yeah. They'll sit in the three chairs next to you. The guys will sit next to Roman."

As the three girls walk across the large, circular room, I take the opportunity to study them. Weirdly, I haven't met them before this, but to be fair, I've been trying my best to stay out of this secret society shit. Making friends with members hasn't been on my to-do list lately.

They all look like carbon copies of each other—thin, blond, with scowls that could rival any supermodel on the catwalk. They look about as happy to be here as I am.

None of them even acknowledges me as they walk up and take their seats in the chairs to my right. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but I can practically feel them seething. I'm sure seeing me, a non-member, sitting in the queen's seat is an insult they're having difficulty swallowing. But whatever. I'm here, and I guess we all just have to get used to it. For now, anyway.

They guys take their seats, Roman occupying the large throne to my left. He settles back into the intricately carved wood with an ease and confidence I envy. He's so unbothered by all this fanfare, it's wild.

Once we're all settled, Roman lifts his hand, and with a twist of his wrist, sends a signal to Lindsay, who bows quickly, and then leaves the room. A couple of minutes later, returns with someone in a robe trailing behind her—head bowed, face concealed by the deep hood. Tyler, maybe?

She leads the person to the center of the room, where she instructs them to stop, all the while more members are coming in, filling up the space. It's a sea of navy blue robes, and they form a half circle facing us, surrounding the person Lindsay just ushered in.

Once everyone is inside, the secret door is shut, and the guy with the stick thumps on the floor three times–thump, thump, thump. Always with the thumping. That's his entire job, it seems.

Roman rises from his chair, and the person in the middle of the room looks up. My stomach clenches when I see his face. It is Tyler, but he's almost unrecognizable. His one eye is swollen shut, and there's a mottled bruise that runs along the entire left side of his face.

Shit. That's the damage Roman did to him.

The entire room is silent when Roman begins chanting something—it sounds like it's Latin, and I couldn't repeat it even if I tried to, but I manage to pick out certain words—fides, contumelia, poenas…

As Roman is speaking, Lindsay steps forward and hands him a long wooden paddle with a hole in it. He accepts the paddle from Lindsay and approaches Tyler, who falls to his knees.

Roman looks down on him, paddle in hand, and my heart is in my throat. What's he going to do with that?

"Tyler Sevano, a tribunal has been called to determine your fate within the Society of the Burning Crown. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, my Lord," Tyler says, head bowed.

My Lord?Wow. I glance to my left, but none of the other consorts even flinch at the phrase. M‘kay.

"You have dishonored my consort and disgraced the brotherhood. How do you answer for this?"

Tyler lifts his head and closes his eyes briefly. When he speaks, his tone is submissive, which is wild to hear after the way he spoke to me the other night. "I accept full responsibility for my actions," he says. "And humbly ask for the queen consort's forgiveness."

Forgiveness?After what he did to me on that porch? And after maybe mowing me down the other night? Fuck, no.

Roman half-turns, and holds his free hand out to me. I just blink at him for a second until Lindsay starts waving at me frantically, mouthing the words, "Get up."

For fuck's sake. No one mentioned me having to get up. It's like they expect me to automatically know what I'm supposed to be doing. So annoying.

Rising up out of my chair, I step down off the dias and move to stand next to Roman. Tyler's gaze shifts to me—and I swear to God, if looks alone could tear someone to pieces, I'd be a puddle of twisted flesh on the floor right now. The hatred in his eyes is frightening, and I hesitate on that last step, but Roman takes my hand and pulls me the rest of the way.

"Strip, and make yourself vulnerable," Roman instructs Tyler.

Strip? Wait, whoa. I open my mouth to say, "Let's not do that," but Tyler is already stripping off his hood, and flinging the robe off his shoulders. Underneath, he's not wearing anything at all. No underwear. No socks. He's kneeling in front of us completely naked, balls out.

Oh. Wow. Okay.

Having a grown-ass dude, kneeling in front of me, buck-ass-naked is a whole new level of awkwardness that I wasn't prepared for. A heads-up on some of this would have been great.

I want to look away, but that would be even more awkward somehow, so I just keep my gaze trained on Tyler and the tiny dick that's buried in the dark curls between his legs, barely visible.

Small dick syndrome. I should have guessed. It explains a lot.

My gaze travels up, and I notice a brand on his right pec. It's a circle with the same crown that's on my necklace. Does every member get branded? Seems very cult-like.

"Ready yourself for your queen's punishment," Roman says.

Roman glances at me. "How many strikes?"

I blink at him. Me?I have to decide? Everyone is staring at me, so I just grab a random number out of thin air. "Um, ten."

Roman nods and readjusts his grip on the hilt of the paddle, then moves around to stand behind Tyler. "According to the by-laws set forth by our forefathers, you will endure ten strikes, or face permanent expulsion from the Society of the Burning Crown. Do you accept this punishment?"

Tyler clears his throat. "Yes."

I glance down at Tyler. His body is vibrating, like a tight string that's been plucked. He closes his eyes, awaiting the first blow.

I swallow, watching him. Normally, I wouldn't condone something like this, but I feel zero empathy for this asshole. Just a few days ago, he thought he was a big man. He thought he could assault and humiliate me without any repercussions. He thought he had the power.

Now he's naked and kneeling at my feet.

This is the power Wyn was referring to that night at the Preference Ceremony. The power of being Roman's consort.

And I'm not gonna lie, I could get used to this…