Page 2 of Outcast’s Vow

Every aspect of my life since birth, as his daughter, has been carefully selected, chosen, and decided for me. And today was no different.

But this time?

This time, I negotiated.

Father and I sat down like my destiny was a business deal. We even shook hands over it.

And I agreed to participate on one condition.

Survive this, then I can keep doing what I want – continue studying my passion at college. Get caught, and I’ll follow Father’s wishes and become another bride of the Castaways.

It’s a fate worse than death.

I roll my shoulders back and plant my feet, ready to move. It’s too late to back out now, even if I wanted to. The harsh humidity is already clinging to my skin. Sweat is building under my arms. The early morning sunlight illuminates the lobby in a golden hue.

The women around me go silent. The babble ceases.

And then...

“The sun is rising. Ladies, the Castaway Chase has begun.”

1

BAPTISTE

All the men on the private jet are drunk out of their minds, and we haven’t even started our descent yet. Whoops and yells and arm wrestling reverberate around the aircraft cabin while I lean back in the plush armchair, sparkling water in hand, observing the horde of intoxicated males with bemused detachment.

No alcohol for me. Today is too important a day to impede my cognition.

But for these men on my flight, today is a mere fun checkbox on the path to their destiny as rightful rulers of the world.

The leather armchair I’m sitting in is of the finest quality, as is the rest of the private jet. It’s one in a fleet owned by the Castaways. It doesn’t appear in any air traffic control flight records. It doesn’t show up on any radar systems. Just like with everything else in the secret Order, it’s a ghost.

As I finish my sparkling water, one of my fellow passengers staggers up the aisle toward me.

Great.

I know this man by name. Antoni Baran. And he is, by far, the worst of the worst on this aircraft. Polish, fortune made in European healthcare, noble heritage, and exactly what the male-only Order is full of... cocky, brash, rich sons of the elite.

Even compared to the rest of the cabin, Antoni is very, very inebriated.

When he reaches me, the textbook asshole offers me a glass of whiskey. It trembles in his shaking hand.

“Here, spoil sport, have a drink.”

I wave dismissively.

“No, thank you.”

Antoni tilts forward. His breath hits me hard; beer and tequila and arrogance fermented into one.

“You think you’re better than us?” he asks me, eyes narrowing.

“No,” I reply, the word slowly rolling off my tongue.

I don’t have the patience for this.

“Then why are you dressed like that?” he questions, gaze shifting downward over my body.