Chapter 1

1

THUREL

M onterrey Castle.

Once a mere painting that hung above Papi 's chair back home in our apartment in Paris, now a reality I have lived in for nearly two years.

The 17th century castle is impressive, with white towers and large, oval windows. A fascinating string of historical scenarios are immortalized into stones and lead. Its inhabitants, fellow students attending Saint-Laurent Boarding College for boys, one of the most prestigious schools in the world, are both terrifying and surprisingly easy to get to know. My group of friends, at least.

The castle is surrounded by acres of forest, and according to history, was inhabited by monks after its rightful owner, some fancy lord, got killed in the early 18th century.

I love history, and Monterrey Castle sure has plenty of it. If only the walls could talk... In the library you can find an extensive collection of books about the castle throughout history. For example, the monks offered shelter to the elite families of our society after they fled Paris during Bastille Day, otherwise named as the French Revolution, in 1789.

Rumors have it that some of our students today are direct descendants from those families. Perhaps that explains the presence of so much testosterone and ego, of condescension and lack of interaction. They feel as though they are better than us.

Perhaps they are.

Truth is that we live by a ranking system here in Monterrey Castle, and I'm not at the top. Sure, the spacious apartment I grew up in with my grandparents, after Mom and Dad passed away, is situated in one of Paris's most prestigious neighborhoods. We have always been comfortable. Okay, more than that, I guess. Truth is, I don't really care much for money. And before you ask, I can already say that…I don't know what I am searching for.

I simply don't know. Perhaps whatever makes my heart tick. I haven't come across anything special enough in life yet, nothing that makes me feel alive. It's kind of lonely in here, you know? In my mind, in my heart. But then it isn't, because I've got my grandma. Mamie has always been there for me. She and Papi are my rocks, my stand-in parents, the ones who cheer for me, take care of me, believe in me. We were great together, until a few years ago when our world crumbled down when Papi passed. Yet Mamie and I somehow managed to repair our foundation and solidify our home, knit together as our tears seeped through the cracks. Nevertheless, the fort held, and we became closer than ever. I thought it was always going to be me and her, in Paris. I thought I would be okay with that.

And then I graduated.

One evening, Mamie sat me down and pointed toward the painting above Papi 's chair. Monterrey Castle, she said, would be my home for the coming few years.

I wish I could say I fought her suggestion. Yeah, sure, I was shocked and unwilling to go at first, I didn't want to leave her alone. But when she shared that both Dad and Papi attended Saint-Laurent Boarding College when they were young, my soul had wept with so much more than purely joy, or loss. It created a yearning in me to discover, to dig and to find more. I never knew my parents. And though my younger self had spent hours and hours flicking through photo books, and firing off questions directly from my curious heart, I'd never actively known them. Sometimes there would be the whisper of a memory, but it was always too fickle, too unsteady for me to grab and cradle against my beating core.

There was something else there too. Was it hope? An anticipation to reach for something more in life? I huff at the thought. Well, whatever that yearning was, it managed to stay hidden for nearly two years, safely tucked away in the shadows of my thoughts. Until it shot through me like an electrical surge catching me completely off guard. The yearning was back, it awoke with a simple invitation, only to hurtle out like the weirdest, most unsettling whirlwind as it struck me on its way to explosion.

An invitation to become part of a secret brotherhood.

After I received a suspicious evocation roughly two weeks ago, I found myself being escorted by two older gentlemen to some fancy-looking office in the South Wing, a wing that's only used for personnel. If that wasn't mysterious enough, they then told me that someone had chosen me for their mysterious selections, and that I could expect a formal invitation once they'd performed their background check on me.

Someone had chosen me?

They ignored my unspoken questions. Dressed formally in colors that matched our school uniform, they fired some off for themselves, carefully scrutinizing my interests.

Did I have any ideas for my future?

Had I ever dreamt of being part of something bigger?

And so on.

My careful shrugs and nods were apparently enough to take it further, because they had smiled sympathetically.

"Seems like you're in the right place then."

A leather briefcase was clicked open, followed by a document. A Non-disclosure Agreement. I wish I could say that alarm bells had gone off in my mind or something of the sort. But no, I'd merely felt...exhilarated? Fascinated? A large stamp with confidential was pressed on all four pages, and I frankly couldn't believe it. I thought of Dad and Papi and how they would have been proud of me right now. It was enough to sign the damn papers even before I took my next breath.

Something exciting was finally happening in my life!

The moment I left that office, I'd felt a change beginning inside of me. Perhaps I felt more connected to my late family. Perhaps it was the idea that someone had noticed me. I felt seen. Recognized. And it felt fucking amazing.

I'd been chosen . Though I didn't know by whom, or how that worked in the first place, those few words managed to create a lingering spark.

But as the weeks passed, nothing happened, and that dainty flare, that warm ray of sunshine, had started to fade. My steps began to falter, shoulders starting to slump, slowly maneuvering its way back into my usual demeanor. Then came the questions, bouncing through my mind like some twisted version of ping-pong. I'd failed the background check. Or worse, they'd already seen enough of me even before I could have shown them they were wrong, or—and this option was far worse—they'd been pranking me from day one.

They had tricked me into believing something I clearly wasn't. And that thought… damn, it kind of got me down.

And just as I'd almost convinced myself that I should just forget about it all, I got caught in a roller coaster of suspicious events.

First, there was this heated disagreement in the canteen. I wish I could say that at a college with only guys that never happens, but that would be a lie. Still, for one of them to get so openly caught up in a fight, something exceptional must have been said or done.

Then, my eyes wandered where they shouldn't and got caught by an icy-blue glare that made my stomach flutter and my toes curl. My cheeks had heated at the sudden physical reaction, and fuelled by a nagging feeling of humiliation, I'd fled the canteen. Everyone knew that we were to ignore the large table in the center of the canteen and the guys occupying it.

And barely a few hours after that disaster, I was called to the South Wing again.

This time, no one was there to welcome me. No formally clothed men with philosophical questions and NDA's. Nope. The room was empty aside from the crackling fire, the empty gazes from the deer that hung on the walls like the twisted trophies they were, and me. And the letter placed on the rich oak desk, waiting to be found.

It was rolled up like a scroll, tied by a silk string, my name written on it with curly letters.

Not a letter, I realized as I rolled it open. Even in its crumpled state it still somehow managed to entice me. Because it said " Invitation ."

You, our brother, who carries his heritage with dignity and pride, who walks this world with his head high, searching for—not quite finding—somewhere to belong. And belong you shall, brother, because today is the day that your life will change.

You are invited to become part of the inevitable, the circle of gold that will keep your spine straight and your dignity intact. To meld into a group of people who are like you, brother, who were once searching but who found— found —what life really means.

Loyalty.

Respect.

Tradition.

Sacrifice.

And tonight your Initiation shall begin.

That was roughly eight hours ago. And even with my brain protesting my willingness to follow the instructions and head out into the woods at night, and probably being fucking spot on, I couldn't let this opportunity pass me by.

Not this time.

So here I am. Standing outside Monterrey Castle, facing the dense forest.

Masked .

Three burly bodyguards in tuxedos were already waiting for me when I got here, and after a quick nod and thorough body search, they told me that we were going for a walk. They put a mask on my face and told me that no questions were allowed. Things would become clear soon. Excitement sizzled in my stomach at the featherlight touch of velvet against my face.

"Ready?" One of them now asks, dragging my thoughts back to the present. No. I nod.

We start walking toward the forest. As we make progress toward the first line of impressive oak trees, others are joining us from different angles, until there are four guys in school uniforms wearing masks to cover up our faces. No one speaks.

Where are we going? I want to ask, but don't. Instead I follow the group as we make our way through the dark, sinister-looking forest with its fluttering leaves and unknown sounds. My heart races, and I realize just to what extent my life has always been boring and predictable.

School, homework, football, some friends, Mamie and the occasional night out. In my defense, that had always felt like it was enough. I might have had the occasional daydream about something spectacular, such as just leaving everything behind and traveling the world, discovering different cultures and languages, but they were never meant to be anything more than that, just wishful thinking.

Because somewhere deep inside of me I believed that I was simply made to be average. Thurel Aubert the Insignificant . Lives with his Mamie for the rest of his life.

The thought gets forcefully swept out of my brain as we make our way deeper into the forest.

Turning to glance over my shoulder, I cast a look at the glorious view behind us. The gardens are lit up by their usual decorations—antique street lights and ribbons with bulbs of light that are attached by a string to the numerous trees. Behind there, in the dim horizon, the castle materializes like some dark, gothic era sketch with its floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the large reception rooms and those endless corridors.

I turn my head back making sure to keep in line with the others.

The atmosphere is electric as we slowly pass the herb garden. Instead of taking a right, we go left, bringing us deeper into the woods.

Here, the air is cooler. There's an iciness to the breeze that makes me shiver, just like the low shrubs whisper in the wind. We wind through the forest, as we leave one sand trail and cross a green plot in order to connect with another. Perhaps it's my own trepidation that is causing this sensation tingling down my spine.

Spring Break began earlier today, and students went home after our final classes to spend their holidays with family. Which means that apart from our little group, there shouldn't be anyone out here.

Right?

The hoot of an owl, echoed by a similar reply coming from the nearest tree, makes me nearly jump out of my skin. One of the bodyguards turns to check on me with a blank expression. I nod to signal to him that I'm okay, swallowing away the sudden chills, and he nods in return before he picks up his pace again.

I have never been in this part of the woods before, the awareness shooting another zing of something through my tightening chest. Lit torches create a path of rusty beacons dotted randomly along both sides of the trail, casting a faint golden light over the sleepy woods around us.

The haunting sight makes me shiver and I pull my school jacket a little tighter around myself before brushing the velvet material of my mask with surprisingly clammy fingers. I'm nervous, and it's a strange thing to wear, all soft and secretive, it feels very mysterious and… I'm scared .

The guy in front of me comes to a sudden stop and I nearly trip over him, apologizing as I do so, heart leaping in my throat. He doesn't respond to me, but through the faint light I catch his wide eyes. He's feeling it too, his shoulders equally stiff and rigid. Another odd request, stated in tonight's invitation—to arrive in our school uniforms.

"We are here," someone says. The four of us eye each other curiously. Though it's hard to tell in the semi-darkness and with these silken masks that cover most of our faces, I'm sure we're all trying to figure out the same thing.

Do I know you?

"Where's here?" Someone asks, the unfamiliar sound nothing more than a croak.

Then someone appears through the bushes like he is the freaking boogie man himself, and my heart rate picks up. He's wearing a long, black, velvet cloak that reaches down to his toes and a hood that is wrapped over his head, obscuring him entirely. He too, is wearing a mask, but his carries the shape of a bird, its beak pointy and too large. It's a crow. And it's the same bird as the golden print carved onto the cane he holds as he slowly makes his way toward our little group.

I think…this is really about to become a lot more freaky than I'd thought it would be.

"Here's where it begins," the man simply replies, planting the black cane firmly into the ground where it gets swallowed by the darkened earth. He takes his time eyeing us one by one, the holes of his dark mask not leaving much space for his eyes. A suspicious smirk curls his unshrouded lips. When I feel his unsettling stare on my face, I look away, only to force my gaze back up.

It's part of the act , I tell myself. This is meant to be spooky. It doesn't work.

"Thank you for being with us tonight, gentlemen," he continues, and when he spreads his arms wide, making his cloak wave in the wind like flapping wings, another distinctive, rustling sound comes from the bushes. And then…

Four cloaked figures appear from between the trees and slowly make their way toward us. They all wear the same black cloaks, the edges pooling around their ankles, their black hoods draped over their heads. They're wearing Venetian masks, with elegantly embroidered details meandering across their disguised, facial features, creating different lines and shapes. It's...fascinating and ominous.

I shiver.

The three bodyguards gesture for us to form a line, which we silently do, since probably every one of us is too fucking shocked to even consider disobeying at this stage. There's something so darkly entrancing in this unfolding scene. So inexplicably creepy about this flash of air. I take a deep inhale, harsh and crisp, but still feel short of breath.

The four arrivals match our line up, each one of them facing each one of us. Uniforms versus black cloaks. Dark, plain masks versus four shiny ones. Gold, silver, copper and bronze. Like us, they hide the better part of their faces, only revealing their jaws and mouths. The one standing across from me wears a silver mask, and his unwavering dark gaze stares right through mine in a silent challenge.

"Monterrey Castle is a magnificent place," the man with the cane continues. "It carries many secrets. Do you believe in fate? Anyone?" No one replies. He lets out a hoarse chuckle. "Yet here you are. Our participants. Because you received an invitation to something of importance. Perhaps you weren't told just that, but I am sure you could feel it. The weight of something remarkable, something significant that is about to happen. Well, let me tell you this. You were right."

Far away, through the forest, the local church bells chime, the sound echoing deeply through the forest, softening in force only to eventually reach us in a comforting wave.

"France is a melting pot of culture and history, of wealth and fortune. Wouldn't you agree?" He smiles at us, but there's no warmth in the dark pool of his eyes. Silence. "We are proud of our heritage," he continues. "Proud of being French. Proud of being amongst the most powerful families this country has. Remember this tonight, when the Chase commences. Remember the prize. Power, wealth and privilege. It can be all yours."

Chase?

My chest constricts and my mind searches for any relevant memories of the conversation I had with those elderly men. We never spoke of any form of chase, I'm sure of it. But then again, it's quite possible that this is the way these frat initiations are handled. I try to calm my galloping heart.

My eyes flick back to Silver Mask. He's still locked on me, as if he never averted his gaze to begin with. Something flutters inside my chest. Something unfamiliar and undesirable.

"Participants." The old man booms his cane, and I shift my eyes back at him. "You've all signed an agreement. Confidential! That's what tonight is. All of it. Am I making myself clear?"

No one replies.

I feel Silver's eyes burn a hole in my flushed face.

"Now, as you've read, only one of you four participants can win tonight. If you get eliminated, you might feel disappointed, or even angry. Deal with it. Don't ever talk about tonight. Not. Ever. Nod if you understand what I'm saying."

Holy Jesus fuck. That stupid agreement. Why did I choose exactly that moment in my life to stop thinking all together?

The old man strolls forward between our formed lines, his pace slow and measured.

It's a frat house, Thurel, I repeat in my mind. It's meant to be fun.

My heart doesn't stop racing.

He halts in front of the guy next to me, and from the corner of my eye I catch sight of the way he uses the head of the bird topping his cane to lift the chin of the participant. "Nod if you understand what I'm saying," he demands, his voice low and threatening despite its lack of volume. I shift uncomfortably, blood rising to my head. "Good," he murmurs, the approval barely a hum. When he finally saunters back to his spot at the head of our group, a whoosh of air involuntarily escapes my mouth.

I swear I can hear the faint hint of a chuckle in reply. A low, husky sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.

"Gentlemen," the man with the cane spins around on his heels until he's facing us once more. "The rules are easy, and our brothers very hungry." He gestures to the four Venetian masked brothers . "Gold, silver, bronze and copper. Participants, the color of the mask across from you is the brother who will hunt you down. He's out there to eliminate you from the Wicked Chase. Hungry to track his prey down and play with it. That is the game. The losers go home, the winner becomes our new brother."

What if they find us? I stammer inwardly. I don't want to think of the answer.

The man with the cane takes out a wrinkled paper from his cloak, licks his lips, then starts reading. "During the Chase, you may be subjected to physical violence-with no lasting injuries-as well as being drugged, tied up or even used for the brother's sexual pleasure." He looks up from over the edge of the paper, his dark, hollow gaze whisking over us. "You agreed to this." My heart thumps violently in my chest. "So, now you know how you can be eliminated. I am sure you want to know how you can win?" His lips curl up in a dirty grin and he shrugs. "Easy. Last out here in the woods for two hours without being taken. It's that simple. Hide well and win. "

My gaze shoots back to Silver Mask. He watches me glaring at him, then lowers a hand to the pocket of his cloak. My gaze dips involuntarily. When I see him pulling out a bundle of rope, I narrow my eyes, trying to decipher what the hell that is.

"Out there, you're on your own," The man with the cane continues. "The other participants are not your friends and our brothers are loyal only to each other. They are coming for you, so you'd better be ready. Last for two hours, and change your life radically. Don't linger, don't hesitate. You will know it when you're eliminated. You will know it when time's up. Whatever happens, don't take off your mask. Ever ." He quiets for a moment, then continues, "Everything has been set up for our entertainment. And entertained we shall be."

My gaze locks on the rope that Silver mask is still casually unraveling from his pocket, aware that he's gotten my undivided and trembling attention. My hands are clammy, fingers stiff, and I seriously wonder if I should just call this whole thing off. But frankly, that would make me the only pussy out here, and surrendering to that teasing, dark glare from right across from me, is something my pride can't take. So I blow out a shuddering breath and try to relax, my gaze still pinned on the coiled rope across from me.

Silver Mask finally reaches the end of the rope. Long, agile fingers caress something dark, something that looks like some…like some collar you'd use for your pet. I blink, jaw tightening at the sight. My heart thumps wildly. A fucking collar?

"Time starts now!" The man booms, lifting his cane. When he catches us lingering, he jabs it onto the ground, and jerks his chin, his burning gaze on us. "You'd better run, participants."

My eyes fly up to where Silver Mask watches me intently. For a split second, no one moves. And then he takes a step toward me.

This time I don't hesitate.

"We thank you for your participation." The words are followed by a terrifying chortle that rattles the air and increases the pace of my galloping heart.

I turn on my heel and run.