Page 17 of Forsaking All Others

“Nope,” she grins, “you’re up late. It’s almost five p.m. and you’re supposed to be dressed and downstairs ready for the first challenge. I came up to get you earlier when I heard your name was on the list, but I decided to let you sleep a little longer. I expected you’d be up by now, but when you didn’t come down I got worried...”

“Worried?”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be the first to die in your sleep, so…”

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“Ahhh.”

“Thorun,” I scowl, “I don’t need your protection, and I’m not offering you mine, so please don’t feel any responsibility for me.”

“You’re pretty much the only one who speaks to me,” she shrugs.

“And one day I’ll probably kill you,” I snap.

She gives me a steady, measured look, and I sigh heavily.

“What challenge?”

Smiling again and obviously relieved I’ve changed the subject, she babbles out all she knows.

“We received an envelope at lunchtime with a list of names and instructions. It says to dress for ‘waterside words’ — I have to assume that means swimsuits, but others don’t think that’s necessarily true since we’re nowhere near an ocean. All the contestants have been in a buzz, rushing around, whispering, conspiring and arguing about what they should wear.”

“I’ll bet they have,” I scowl, annoyed that I’d overslept and missed an opportunity that could potentially save my life. Although I’ve been on a nocturnal schedule for years now, the only way I had any life at all while I was on the run, I tried to wake generally no later than four in the afternoon.

‘I’ll have to wake earlier while I’m in the mansion if they’re going to announce challenges at lunchtime.’

“What details were given? What names were announced?” I ask over my shoulder as I vault out of bed, grab my swimsuit and head towards the shower, leaving the door slightly ajar so I can continue the conversation.

“You had your name called,” she shouts to be heard over the noise of the water, “and nine others. I don’t know any of them, ah, except the twins. Oh, and Evelyn. The envelope didn’t give any other details other than what I already told you — and the crew aren’t allowed to talk to us, apparently. I so wanted my name called. I love water sports.”

‘Christ, she has no idea…’

I shake my head as I imagine her tripping around with her big smile, questioning everyone from the camera crew to the make-up artists. It reminds me that if I come back from this challenge I’ll need to fill her in on a few more things about how this game is played. No interaction with the crew is just one of the rules. And contests are definitely not something you want to be included in.

I turn off the water and don my bathing suit, my skin still damp, before returning to the bedroom and searching through my bag to find something, anything, other than evening-wear or pretty day dresses, that I can cover up with.

No such luck.

The costume department decides what we wear from Day One, and they clearly don’t want us hiding too much of our bodies or wearing anything practical. My one-piece swimsuit looks like two tiny strips of red fabric held together with small rings of gold-coloured metal that encircle my waist.

Yesterday, after we’d risen late, everyone had swum and eaten and relaxed knowing the one-on-one for that night had already been decided, and it was unlikely we’d be called on to do anything else so soon in the game. I hadn’t swum, though, despite Thorun’s urging, because I hate my swimsuit and would never wear something so revealing by choice. It feels like it’s two sizes too small, my boobs spilling out all over the place.

‘God forbid women should be filmed as anything other than walking, talking, sex dolls.’

A car horn stops my frantic search and dark thoughts.

“You have to get going,” Thorun urges, “it’s past five. Bless, bless.”

“Fuck!” I scowl, grabbing my sandshoes as I lurch from the room and downstairs, taking them two at a time, the lower part of my swimsuit riding up my ass crack uncomfortably before I’ve even reached the bottom.

14

I answer the phone on my way out the door to the first challenge, happy to have any distraction from what’s about to unfold.

Tonight, more than one woman will lose her life, and the bastard host Clyde Starlen is sure to make the most of it. I’ve only met him once, yet already detest the little upstart. I’d rip him apart, except that, unlike the host on Falcon’s season, this one is a vampire. I expect the selectors decided they couldn’t keep replacing dead hosts every episode and wanted someone more durable. Starlen was the perfect choice for a disgusting show like this one, a lesser son from a lesser-known house, known to be bankrupt, who had made a name for himself early on as a B-grade film star and then made the transition into reality television.

No self-respecting royal vampire would ever have anything to do with such Eurotrash. Unfortunately, I’m his captive just as much as the competitors. I imagine he’s going to announce the rules to the first challenge and hype up the audience. And I anticipate having to grit my teeth and put up with his facile remarks.