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The head of the Patricians.
The man who is the key to orchestrating the Race year after year.
And I want him. Desperately.
He turns to me, tilting his face downward so we can see eye-to-eye. Involuntarily, I gulp at the intensity of his gaze. His heat threatens to engulf me, and my body is all too willing to go under.
I have spent so much of my life fighting everything put in front of me. My parents believed getting to Ytopie was the only thing that mattered. They only truly cared about winning and put it above their own daughter. And up until now, I have been the same.
During the Race, I chose the path to the elevator over Max. And she died because of my choice. Every choice I have made has been with the sole goal of making it here, to Ytopie. I never pictured it like this, being told I am a God-chosen vessel, but I still made it.
It feels cheap making the decision to finally seek joy for the sake of it now that I have reached my goal, but I need to do it. If my place as a vessel is true, it will never be about me again.
Who cares about the wants of a woman who is nothing but a conduit for a God?
I don’t know what I want for the long term, but right now, I have decided I want Mace Nightroot.
I make no move to expand the distance between us, instead holding my stance deliberately still. I want him to make the decision to push this further. I struggle to admit that this fae, who has long represented all my ire toward the world, is responsible for the yearning in my gut.
He brushes his knuckle across my cheekbone, leaving goosebumps in his wake. The storm outside rages, a mixture of lightning and rain that whips the landscape into submission.
I could brave the weather. It’s not far to the Palace. I could run, bracing myself against the storm, and slink downstairs, soaking wet but with my dignity intact.
Staying here means facing Tulip and the knowledge that I did not return overnight and instead spent it with Mace. I briefly consider the feasibility of a lie that I got caught up reading in a library. But as easy as it was lying to Max, I do not think I have it in me to lie to Tulip. I need to do better by her than I did by Max.
Mace shocks me back into my body by sliding his hand up my hairline and gripping the spot where my head meets my neck. My arm drops from his shoulder, and I lean into his grip. “What am I going to do with you?” he purrs, face intoxicatingly close to my own. I whimper from desire, and his eyes light up playfully.
“I was willing to ignore this undeniable thing between us. It would have driven me mad with desire, but I would have done it. But you could not leave well enough alone, could you?” He drops his mouth to my ear, and I shiver as he says, “You seem to always be so in control, Viola.”
It’s the truth. Since my parents left me, I have done nothing but control every aspect of my own life and many aspects of Max’s. I nod weakly, unable to bring myself to speak.
“I want to make myself clear here,” he continues, his nose sliding down the crook of my neck. I shiver at the contact. Every move this man makes is so sensual it’s almost impossible to resist him.
It briefly crosses my mind that influence magic is wasted on a man like this because he could convince a sailor to give up the sea.
“When you’re with me,” he whispers, kissing the flesh of my neck and down my jaw. “I’m in control.”
Those three words jolt me, and I tense under his grasp.
He immediately pulls away, noticing the change in my body almost as quickly as it happens. “I’m sorry, I overstepped.” His voice is soft and non-threatening, and his eyes are kind. He’s panting softly, and I see the evidence of his arousal pushing against his pants.
Yet still, he read my body, and he stopped.
I step back multiple paces, eventually finding a chair in his dining area and sinking into it. “No, you didn’t, it’s… it’s me.” I whisper. Shivers wrack my body as the memories flood back.
The year my parents left me alone in the arena, I had to finish the Race without anyone. I was in the back half after the winners made it to the arena, but when the rest of us had to loop back down the summit to the exit. I stopped to rest and fell asleep against a tree.
When I awoke, a man was there, staring directly at me. He had tied me to the tree. I fought against the restraints to little effect. My blade was out of reach.
I did not recognize him, so I assumed he was from another region. His pale skin and eyes hinted that he was from Pran. He never spoke to me; he just stalked across the clearing once I awoke.
The sound of his pants falling to the ground still haunts my deepest nightmares.
I work to clear my head of the memory, tapping my fingers along my collarbones to bring me back to the present. I tap out and count, just as my father taught me until I feel more grounded within my body and can open my eyes once more.
Glancing up, I see Mace kneeling in front of me, his expression a mix of sadness and guilt. “You do that when you’re anxious,” he says, nodding toward my hands.
I wince a smile at him. “My father taught me. It helps me focus myself back to calm when I feel like I’m losing touch.” He’s quiet, waiting for me to speak and bridge the gap now created between the two of us.
