L’exposition

L'EXPOSITION

OLIVIER

" W elcome to your destiny."

Doingggg.

The church bell resonates heavily through the summer sky, the sound obnoxiously loud against the rustling of branches as I make my way through the shrubs in an attempt to increase the distance from the shouts that reverbate through the woods. Jolting the sleeping animals awake—jolting my fear awake.

"Monterrey Castle carries many secrets. History seeps through its cracks."

Doingggg.

Behind me, someone whistles, a high-pitched, shrill tone I've come to recognize as a call for the horse. Not someone. Him . A whinnying sound follows in reply and I mutter a string of swear words when my own limbs react by tensing up.

"Out of you four participants, only one of you can win."

Doingggg.

My feet land on soft grass and I exhale shakily, relieved that I have escaped the torched-lit sand trails, and have now reached the comforting darkness of the dense forest. It's pitch-dark here, but I don't have time to give in to my trepidation.

"Two hours. That's all you have to last."

I know from experience that I won't last that long.

Doingggg.

Twelve o'clock sharp. Midnight. The start of the Wicked Chase. I took off running at the first sound of the church bells. I guess it's one of the perks of having done this before. Perhaps even the only one.

Liar. You want to see him, that's what this is about.

Menteur.

Pathetic.

I wince at the thought, but won't acknowledge the lie. No. It's not normal to chase another person down on a horse and attack them, hurt them, with a type of ball that's slung from a leather rope. It's not normal to chase them down, scare them, and make promises of exactly what they'll do to you next time they catch you.

My heart ruffles treacherously, rattling my rib cage.

Not normal.

I guess it's not normal either that I am here for the third time, participating at the Wicked Chase, a cruel game organized by the elite of the elite here at Saint-Laurent Boarding College for boys, simply because they are bored. Or hungry , as they call it. The word brings a featherlight tremble through the pit of my stomach.

I grab hold of the nearest tree and press my chest against it. A weird hug. Darkness has swallowed me whole, but from experience I know his flashlight misses nothing. He will find me if I don't keep moving.

When I was called inside that office in the South Wing months ago—before I'd ever heard of the Wicked Chase—I was surprised more than anything else. Despite the general rule of students staying away from the deserted wing, I'd been there before, since it is where the library archive is stored.

Before, back in the 17th century, when the monks moved in after the original owner of the castle had passed away, they used parts of the South Wing as their spiritual athenaeum. A place where wisdom and prayer mingled in a dedicated area for silence and reflection. Right at the opulent arch of the huge, lancet windows, thousands of books sit in silence, piled up in endless, dusty, wooden bookcases.

The entire castle is breathtaking, created with money and style along the architectural castle design typical from that era, but there is something magnificent about the South Wing. It's in the air. In the way history meets literature, meets religion. Its outdated values are wistful in their precariousness.

Students are not allowed to roam around there. Which is why I was bewildered when I got called in that day and was met by two middle-aged gentlemen I'd never seen before, in a luxurious office. And although they explained to me why I was here— and I listened carefully —I still failed to understand the true meaning.

Someone had chosen me?

"Who?" I asked, but they didn't reply.

"Why?" I asked, but they merely fired off their own questions. About my family, my life, my goals.

"We know you love the library," one of them said, which is quite an understatement. When I don't attend class, I work in the library, though that's a secret arrangement between the Academy's director and my mother. Because I need the money. Which, frankly, suits me well, because books are what I love most. I could live in a book, be invented and live the life my creator would choose for me, and be perfectly happy.

Though…it's also a bit of a hiding place, if I must be honest. I'm not the most popular guy in college, though I don't have any problems with anyone around me. I just… am . Present, or however you want to describe me. And working in the library means most students need my assistance, so they treat me kindly. It's better than during class.

Not them . But the others, the ones who are on the same level as I am in the system. Our college is set up in a not-so-invisible ranking system, and if I'd have to place myself, I'd say I'm bottom-middle. Not the worst place to be.

Not the best one either.

Which again, most of the time, I don't mind. I enjoy sitting behind the counter with my nose in a story while the others study. Then when the others retreat back to their dorms, I lock myself in the library and use it for my own study time. To have that intimacy alone with my beloved stories, to share my time with the written word, with the past, with science, is a delight.

After those men explained that I'd been chosen, I signed the Non-Disclosure Agreement they handed me, because a signature was required. Nothing changed after that. I went back to the library the following weeks and lived my usual, quiet life.

Until something did happen.

One night, about three weeks after I signed that NDA, I locked myself in the library after opening hours, and sat down on my usual spot at the large table by the window. It was well after nine in the evening, and despite it being early spring, the outside forest was cast in darkness. The light of the green antique banker's light on my desk was bright, illuminating my homework. Mathematics. Not my favorite subject. I leaned over and braced myself for a boring hour of studying, when there was a sudden whiff of air. It wasn't just that though. It felt like… someone was there.

Watching me.

Goosebumps erupted and my stomach flopped with nerves as my head jumped up and I scanned my environment. This was ridiculous. I'd never been afraid of being here. This place was supposed to be my safe haven, a most solid alternative from my shared dorm with that little prick who enjoys picking on me. Yet here I was, with the hairs on the back of my neck standing up and sweating palms.

" ?llo ?" I asked. No one answered. I counted my breaths, ragged and rushed, until I got to ten, then leaned down once more over my homework. The door is locked , I chided myself. It's just you.

That's when I heard the sound. My head shot up once more, right in time to catch sight of a bouncing ball. It was small, about the size of a baseball, but dark. I sat there frozen and stared at the approaching ball, truly fearing that it could transform itself into some monster at any moment.

Ludicrous .

I sighed, ordering myself to calm the fuck down, and started to pack my bag quickly. I left the ball as it slowed and finally came to a halt around five meters from me, and closed my backpack. And then…I made the mistake of looking outside the window. It wasn't the dark forest I saw stretched out around the castle, but a reflection of the library behind me. Books, thousands of them, and cases, tables and chairs and the counter at which I usually sat. And in between the first and the second row, right behind me, stood a figure. A cloaked, masked figure. I gasped and my heart exploded in my chest, thumping violently as my shaky fingers grabbed my bag and gracelessly slung it over my shoulder. I didn't look back, too shaken up, just made a run for the exit. The keys rattled in my pocket as my feet dragged me toward the door, and I dropped them twice before I finally managed to turn the key in its hold and free myself from the enclosed space.

I should have looked back. Just to confirm if what I saw was real, or just some mind-fuckery created by fear.

That night I dreamt of the cloaked shape. His garment black and soft, and his face obscured by a metallic, brown color. Like bronze.

Which…turned out, is exactly what it was. And that brown ball? Part of his armour. I know that now, because the following day, I received the invitation. Little did I know that my life would truly alter after that. I was called back into that office in the South Wing, only this time it was empty, safe for the letter on the desk, clearly waiting to be found. Curly handwriting welcomed me:

" You, our brother, who carries his heritage with dignity and pride, who walks this world with his head high, searching—not quite finding—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 Initiations shall begin.

The snapping of a twig brings me back to the present moment. I flinch, hug the tree trunk a little tighter, then place my cheek against the rough, wooden texture. And listen. Carefully. Rolling my lips, I hold my breath as I try to make sense of the soft, thudding sounds. It's as if someone's walking out there, which should come as a relief. Bronze Mask doesn't come by foot, not most of the time, that is. He is really fucking close to that horse of his.

I press my cheek a little firmer against the tree and inhale sharply through my nose at the next sound. Closer. Whoever's out there, they are getting too close.

"I see you, you know?" Someone croons. A soft, taunting voice. I wince, unsure of what to do next. My knees are shaking, but I hang on to the trunk. That's when I feel it—the unmistakable touch of his knife against my back. He slowly slides it from between my shoulder blades down, following my spine. "I understand why he likes you," he purrs, the sound penetrating through my ear, crawling inside my system where it transforms into fear. "Question is—" The point of his knife has reached the very base of my spine, and it stays there for a moment before he drags it further down and over the cleft between my ass cheeks. I swallow with a click and hold on to the tree for dear life. "Will he finally claim you tonight? Will he finally show the world that you are his?" The knife slides up and down. Up and down, while he chuckles. Fucking asshole.

Wiggling my lower body free from his pointy intrusion, I growl, "I am no one's possession."

He pushes me back onto the tree with full force. "Yeah? Is that why you're back? This is what…your third time? We should be brothers, you and I. Of the Wicked Chase. And perhaps we are, just not on the same side…yet."

"Fuck you." This time I manage to look over my shoulder, sending him my most fearful glare. His golden mask is absolutely breathtaking, I've got to give it to him, with delicate embroideries in the shape of a lion sitting right over his eyes, flanking parts of his forehead. His hair—a strawberry blond, curly mop, I know—is hidden under the black hood. He catches my hatred and smirks, showing off that obnoxious golden tooth. Gold Tooth.

"No, I'll give my brother all the honor tonight, boy toy."

"Boy toy," I bristle, freeing myself from his hold with a deciding jerk. " Va te faire foutre! "

After the insult I take off, the tinkling sound of his laughter haunting me as I run through the darkness, darting from tree to tree in an attempt to escape him and the lit up trail.

He's right though.

No.

I am here once more. It's my third time in the Wicked Chase, which is technically against the rules. Unless one of the organizers wishes it that way.

Why? Or rather, when? When did he decide to choose me?

Somewhere along this first year at Saint-Laurent, I had caught the eye of the elite students. I don't know why and I don't know how. When I entered college barely twelve months ago, I was still officially together with my first boyfriend, Theo, who didn't join me here in the south of France. No, he stayed in Tours, which is where we're from, in the middle of the country. The empty part of France. It never felt empty, not when we were younger, still growing up, because we found each other and we were in love. My father would have never accepted me loving boys, but my father couldn't judge me on that, not anymore. Because he left us a few years earlier, battled his way through court until he could take my younger sister with him in his wake.

He broke Mom by doing so.

He broke me by doing so, but then, miraculously, Theo was there. Theo was new, he was sweet, his touch careful and warm, and he filled my heart where it had been leaking tears. I was in love with him and he was in love with me. Looking back, we had a solid four years together of sexual discovery, of sweetness, of friendship. He was good to me, but by the time we both graduated, we realized that we'd entered the friendship phase. And when I told him that I thought of entering Saint-Laurent Boarding College for boys in exchange for my father's trust fund that was waiting for me upon graduation, he let me go.

Easily.

No tears.

It stung. But I didn't have time to overthink it too much, because this place was not at all what I expected it to be.

This place is a battlefield for the rich. SUV's, limo's, expensive sports cars, nothing surprises me anymore. Butlers or bodyguards, or whatever they call them, run freely through the narrow corridors of the castle like it's common practice. Yes, Mom and I have a housekeeper. Yes, growing up I had a nanny. We have had personal shoppers and drivers all my life. But she and I, especially since my father and my little sister left, did everything we could to make our house a home. Albeit, it's half empty, but we are still there. We are still there . And so we carry on.

Alongside where I walk, the trail comes to a fork, with only two options—right or left. The first time I participated, it was around here where Bronze Mask found me. I'd been naive and had stayed on the trail because of indecision, and because the thought of lingering in the darkness didn't sound alluring. Oh, how I regretted that choice.

He chased me down and took me back to where we'd started, to where the older man with his cape and cane was still standing. Waiting. We'd both watched as Bronze Mask hopped off his horse in smooth movement. I feared he'd come for me to hurt me with his sling and balls. With his hands.

But then… he hadn't. He just stood there. And I, situated in between both cloaked men, chest heaving and rattling from exhaustion and fear, hadn't known what to say. Technically, I was eliminated. And frankly, that was okay, because I never anticipated an adventure as terrifying as the one he'd given me.

That night I called Theo in search of comfort. The fact that he didn't pick up convinced me that he had truly continued his life without me. Even though I was happy for him, rejection burned fiercely. It hurt. I'd felt afraid, and vulnerable. And something told me that my life was going to change even more.

I was right. In the next weeks, students changed their behaviour toward me, going from indifferent to more hostile. It reminded me of all those years I'd been bullied back in high school.

And though I'd turned more inward, trying to protect myself from the outside world and picking up as many shifts in the library as I could, I started to draw more attention from the elite of the elite. From those who occupy the center table in the canteen. From those we don't speak to, because you'd rather not become someone's personal punching bag.

That's when I noticed the guy with the golden tooth.

And then…I got another invitation for the Wicked Chase.