4. Alina

My skinstill burns from where Sage dug her nails into my palm. It was a quick, emotional goodbye, one I couldn't return because the Viscount was all but glaring at me from the podium. I didn't want to risk him seeing me speak to Sage, let alone hug her.

So I simply let her go.

Walked up to the stage.

Past the Protectors waiting there.

And joined the other Offerings.

Except the ceremony didn't end there—not the way it should have, anyway.

Instead, the Viscount said, "As I mentioned, our quota for this year's Monsters Night is nine Offerings. But I fear one of these Offerings might be an inappropriate pick. As such, I'll be selecting a tenth, just in case."

His gaze was on me the entire time he spoke despite me being off to the side of the stage.

Then he picked a tenth name.

"Amberly Honeycutt."

Her name repeats now in my head as she joins us on the stage, her black hair glittering in the sunlight while she keeps her head dutifully bowed.

I swallow as the Viscount grins at her. It's not a kind grin. It's a knowing one. A lascivious one.

"Yes, a fine replacement indeed," he murmurs away from the microphone.

Then he returns his focus to the crowd and engages in one final prayer, blessing the Nightingale Village's Offerings.

My empty stomach churns. His invocation—a promise to satisfy the monsters—sounds more like a threat than a prayer to me.

I wonder if anyone else can hear the sinister quality of his voice or if it's all in my head.

My eyes search the crowd for Sage, her silver hair something I spy almost immediately. It helps that I know where she stands in the square. Except… her hair looks a bit purple in the sunlight.

A silvery violet.I blink. That's… strange.

Is it a trick of the light? My exhaustion finally catching up to me? My mind officially failing me?

All options are possible.

The clearing of a throat brings me face-to-face with the Viscount, his sermon apparently done. A single arch of his white-blond brow has me instantly regretting my misplaced veil. Primarily because I can't stop myself from cocking my eyebrow back at him in return.

His jaw clenches.

My eyebrow stays arched.

And inside, I start wondering if the village will even bother hosting a funeral for me.

Although… I'm an Offering now, I remind myself. That has to mean something, right?

However, he threatened to make an example of the offending Offering.

There's no doubt in my mind that he means me.

And his expression right now confirms it.

"Move," he demands, gesturing with his chin toward the others, who are already exiting the stage.

I must have missed some sort of instructions. Or perhaps the Village Protectors provided some kind of silent direction for everyone to follow.

Regardless, I struggle to obey. Primarily because moving will require giving the Viscount my back. And I really don't want him behind me.

But perhaps it would be best for me to behave now, to be the perfect Offering rather than an offending Offering. Maybe that'll make it harder for him to punish me.

Unless it's already too late.

In which case, I'm fucked.

"Ms. Everheart," the Viscount says, his tone underlined with authority.

Yep. Definitely knows my name.

I've never spoken to him. And while I've been rebellious this last year, my infractions have been mostly minor. Things like being late for my shift at the gardens and throwing a rotten tomato at a Village Protector who refused to step out of my way while I was pushing a wheelbarrow.

Nothing that really earned the attention of our Viscount.

Until today. Until now.

I don't give him a chance to repeat his command. I simply turn, my veil fluttering behind me like a taunt.

Or maybe he sees it as a white flag. I technically obeyed him. Finally.

Yet it doesn't feel like obedience. My eyes are focused ahead, not downcast. My shoulders are square. And my steps are sure.

All the while, my heart threatens to take over my hearing again.

Deep breaths, I tell myself as the train rumbles to life before me. Just hop on board and go to Monster City. Then look for Sera.

Over a dozen Village Protectors line the train platform, all of them hidden behind their ominous hoods.

They're silent, imposing statues, but I know they're watching me, waiting to see if I'll run. That's their purpose.

It's happened before, back when I was a young girl. The Offering made it as far as the alleyway just off the square before she was caught by her hair and dragged back to the train.

Serapina was distraught after the violent display, her seven-year-old mind struggling to understand the cruelty.

Our parents were nowhere nearby to console her, leaving me to calm her down.

If only I knew then how common that would become—me being a mother to Serapina.

Because we lost our parents a year later, leaving us orphaned in the village. Fortunately, they'd saved enough resources for us to live on in their absence.

I'm still not sure how that was possible, especially now that I understand how basic necessities are handled in our village. However, it wasn't like I could ask anyone for clarification. I simply accepted what we needed to survive, guarded my sister the best I could, and…

Ended up on this train platform, I think, eyeing the extra-wide door before me.

With Protectors on either side and the Viscount at my back, I don't have a choice but to continue forward. Not that I want to stop now.

I need to see this through.

Even if the Viscount plans to make an example of me.

My spine straightens in response to the looming threat. I will not give in to the urge to submit. Besides, it's too late now to even try.

So I don't.

I simply board the train.

Another Protector waits just inside, his arm lifting to gesture to his left.

No words, just a silent command.

Goose bumps prickle my arms, not just from his ominous presence but also from the blast of cold air that hits me as I walk.

It's freezing in here.

A shiver works through me, my clammy skin instantly chilled.

What is this? I marvel. A freezer?

There are a few in the village, mostly used to store meat. But I've never seen one large enough to walk into before.

Is this… air-conditioning? I wonder, glancing around at the too-clean interior. It's all silver and white, the hallway seemingly endless.

I've read about air-conditioning. But I've never experienced it before. That must be the source of this frigid temperature. It's… overwhelming. Too cold. Too foreign.

My skin continues to tingle, unused to the frosty sensation. But as I enter an opulent room decorated in golds and velvety reds, the air conditioner becomes the least of my worries.

All the Offerings are standing in a line, heads bowed, still as statues, as a man in elegant apparel studies them intently. Unlike the Protectors behind him, his head is exposed to reveal a shock of dark hair and slightly aged features.

His brown-black eyes snap up to meet mine as I enter, a prominent wrinkle in his brow seeming to crease even more as he pulls out a gilded pocket watch to evaluate the time.

"We're behind schedule," he tells the room, his accent decidedly unique. "That's unacceptable."

The Viscount grunts behind me. "There were a lot of names to call this year. That takes time, Your Grace." Those last two words are heavily laced with sarcasm, causing the one called the Grace to narrow his gaze.

"Yes, ten, apparently." The man slides his ornate watch back into a pocket on his embroidered vest, then rests his hand over it, like he can't quite let go of the timepiece. Odd, considering it's already attached to one of his gold-encrusted buttons via a chain. "You significantly deviated from the script."

"And I'm sure you can see why," the Viscount replies, nudging me forward. "Your algorithm is inaccurate. This one is clearly not suitable."

The well-dressed male arches a single arrogant brow. "You feel it's your place to question my algorithm?"

"I do when it's clearly resulted in an error." The Viscount walks around to stand beside me. "It's fine, Greg. As the Village Viscount, I've made an adequate replacement. After all, I know these people far better than you do."

Greg's eyes narrow further.

But the Viscount isn't done.

"As a proper thank-you, I'll keep Ms. Everheart. Although, it'll honestly be more of a benefit to you than to me."

"A benefit how?" the Grace asks slowly, his tone and expression telling me that he's not pleased by this conversation at all.

But the Viscount appears to be unaware of the growing tension in the room. Or maybe he just doesn't care.

I'm not sure who this Greg is, but his expensive appearance and stature indicate that he's someone important. However, the Village Viscount is the highest-ranking official in our village. Maybe this guy is a leader from another village?

"Her behavior needs to be corrected in front of the villagers to demonstrate that this level of defiance is unacceptable and will not be tolerated. Fear is always a good motivator, is it not?"

"Still not hearing how this is a benefit to me," the Grace says, his thumb stroking his watch through his textured vest.

"Fear keeps the villagers in line, Greg." The Viscount utters the words in a tone that suggests he's irritated with the other man. "It's something your father would deeply appreciate and see as a favor."

"I'm not my father."

"Oh, I'm very aware of that," the Viscount spits back at him. "So, as your elder, I recommend?—"

"You are not my elder," the Grace interjects. "You are a Viscount. I am a Duke. And it seems rather clear to me that you're in great need of a lesson on what that means." He finally lowers his hand from his vest, his shoulders pulling back into an arrogant line.

A Duke?I repeat to myself, glancing between them. What does that even mean?

"Greg—"

"Duke Nightingale," the man corrects, his cultured tone ringing with authority in the train car. "Protector Jeffries, I want you to take Offerings One, Three, and Nine to their grooming appointments. They will be going to Monster City for Monsters Night."

The Viscount opens his mouth, but the Duke holds up a hand, his severe expression one that sends cold dread through my system and I'm not even the one receiving that look.

"Protector Jordan, take Offerings Two, Four through Eight, and Ten to the cargo hold. I'll meet you there with further distribution details." He says all of this while maintaining the Viscount's stare. "As for you, you may leave. There will be no gift this year. No bonus rations. Nothing. Now go."

"You can't do that," the Viscount snaps, his hand wrapping around my bicep as he gives me a violent shake. "Not over this. She's not an ideal candidate. You saw what she did out there."

"What I see, David, is an old man who needs to retire before he oversteps and loses everything he's ever been gifted in this life," Duke Nightingale tells him. "I suggest you take your leave before I give Protector Xavier an order to remove you from the train."

The Viscount sputters while Duke Nightingale turns toward the Protectors behind him.

"I gave two of you an order," he says, his deep tone filled with palpable irritation. "Why are you not moving?"

"Apologies, Your Grace," one of them says as he bows low before snapping to attention. "Offerings One, Three, and Nine, follow me."

The one called Bartholomew steps forward, followed by a petite blonde female. The first and third candidates called by the Viscount.

Which makes me Offering Nine.

I attempt to move, only to be yanked back by the Viscount's hold on my arm.

"Viscount O'Michaels," the Duke hisses.

But the man beside me isn't listening, his bruising grip only tightens, eliciting a wince from deep within me. That's going to leave a mark, I think dizzily, confused and taken aback by the vehemence emanating from him.

"This is not over," the Viscount growls against my ear.

I'm not sure if the words are for me or for the Duke, but I suspect it's the former.

As though to confirm that suspicion, he gives my bicep a final squeeze and releases me with a shove. I bite back a yelp as I stumble toward the waiting Protector and the other Offerings, my legs tangling in my hideous bridal gown.

Bartholomew catches me before I can fall, his grasp gentler than I would have expected from such a large man. Up close, I can tell he definitely worked on the farms in our village, probably wrangling cattle or handling heavy machinery.

He doesn't look at me, just helps me stay upright before letting me go.

By the time I gather my bearings enough to face the Viscount, he's gone.

And instead I come face-to-face with a simmering Duke.

"Clean her up and run her labs," he demands. "We only have a week."

"Yes, Your Grace," the Protector replies dutifully, heading toward a door with a clipped "Follow me" over his broad shoulder.

"Oh, and, Jeffries?" the Duke calls after him. "Bruises are an imperfection. Make sure she's taken care of properly."

"Of course, Your Grace," the Protector says, inclining his head. "She'll be the perfect Monster Bride."

"I know," the Duke says, his gaze meeting mine. "Our best one yet."