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Matilda tilts her head to study me. Her eyes raise to above my head. “You're dismissed, Briggs.”
I hear the sounds of feet echoing across the ballroom floor. A throat clears behind Matilda. A man in an elegant suit steps out from behind her. His light blue eyes, very similar to mine, flash as they land on me, emotion working behind them as he swallows.Something hits me when I see him. How his lip has a slight pout, his high cheekbones. The expression he's making right now is very similar to my own. He holds out a hand, his blond hair shimmering off the lights as he slightly bows his head. Placing my hand in his, he squeezes it. A small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Hello, Rayne, my love. My name is Rowan Prescott.”
He didn't say it, but I know. I am a carbon copy of this man. This is my father, which means… Looking back over to Matilda, who is scowling at her husband and me, I blurt, “Why?”
“All in good time, sweetheart. Now,” she claps, turning back to the group, “shall we eat?”
I see now that not only did the show have a flair for the dramatics, so did this entire table. The Children of Nobility.
* * *
I don’t look at the meal that is laid out, sprawled on the table. Don’t smell it as Raiden sets a full plate before me. Matilda pauses, the fork almost to her mouth when she looks over behind me. “Oh, and he's your brother.”
Raiden chokes on his wine, wiping his mouth as he glares at his mother. “Very subtle, Mom.” She waves him off as she continues her conversation with Johnathan Ashford.
My eyes catch Tucker’s pleading ones, but I shift my eyes away. I feel betrayed by everyone at this table. How many of them knew? A thought hits me. Turning to Raiden, I say, “The flyer about the show?”
He sets his fork down, turning to face me. “Fake. You're the only one who ever saw it.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the table. I am about to unravel. The burning ache of questions taste like acid, begging to be released. Taking a deep breath, I push my seat back from the table. The chatter comes to an abrupt stop, all eyes turning to look at me. Standing, I toss my napkin onto my plate.
“What are you doing?” Matilda hisses.
I glare down at her. “Leaving.”
And with that, I turn and walk away. A gentle hand on my arm has me pausing, turning I’m met with my own eyes. “I know you have a lot of questions and after we eat, we will answer them.”
Lifting my chin, I say, “Answer them now or I walk.”
Rowan's eyes soften. “Okay, Rayne.”
Rowan guides me down a hallway as the others follow closely behind. Deciding dinner isn’t going to be as entertaining as this was about to be. We stop at a stone wall. Rowan scans his hand as the stone opens with a groan. Lights trickling on to expose another hallway.
“Great, more secret tunnels,” I murmur under my breath.
The end of the wall opens into a large cave. Hieroglyphs are carved into every available surface of the walls. An altar sits upon an intimate stage, symbols of the gods and deities below it. A pull on my arm has me looking away from the unusual, if not scary, scene laid out before me. We walk through a door off the side of the cave. The room is flooded in light, fluffy black couches sit on deep gray carpet. As if we didn’t just walk past what we did. My head is starting to hurt when I am deposited onto the couch. I can’t wrap my mind around any of this.
The seat beside me sinks, a leg presses against mine. Branson’s hand cups my jaw, lifting it until I am looking into his eyes. A sense of safety washes over me. But that is impossible, because if he’d known this whole time then…
His eyes search mine and then move to track over my body. As if to check for injuries. He’d find some if he would just look past the surface. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but he’s cut off by Matilda.
“Okay, let’s get this over with. Rayne. Your questions, please.” Branson’s hand grabs mine, pushing his fingers through my stiff ones. Matilda’s lip curl at the sight of our hands.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Where do I even begin? Why, maybe? What is all of this? Do I even touch the subject of the fucking alter outside this door?”
Matilda rolls her eyes. “The why is simple. Because we can. What is all this? This is The Children of Nobility’s secret society.”
“Looks more like a cult to me.”
She smirks, blood-red lips flashing against white teeth. “Call it what you want.”
“And because you can? You gave me up for adoption because you can? Do you have any idea what I've endured?”
“Oh,” she chuckles, “I know every bump, bruise, and even when you had your first period. So, yes, darling. I know every trauma,” she says as if it was nothing, something we should just brush away, “you have endured.”
“And as my mother, or so you say, you allowed all of that to happen to me?”
The room is silent as we stare at one another. A mask of indifference painted on her face. “Yes,” she whispers. “As your mother, I allowed you to be raped, assaulted, have a poor upbringing and endure the harsh realities of life so that you could change our cult into something more.”
