by Mara McQueen
"Hello," Ava said politely, eyeing the chairs. Marcella had told her, repeatedly, exactly where she needed to sit, but for the life of her, Ava couldn't remember. She might've put on her impenetrable mask, but deep down, she was reeling. For the next few hours, she had to endure the most uncomfortable meal of her life. And see him again. "Where am I supposed to sit?"
Kimbra nodded at the chair right in front of her. There was an extra seat between them. Meant for Raiden. Oh, what a perverse monstrosity the three of them had to pretend to be.
Ava sat down, taking a few deep breaths to quiet her mind. She could endure one meal.
Kimbra worried her plump bottom lip between her teeth, opening and closing her mouth one time too many. Finally, she nodded to herself and looked up. "Ava—"
She was not interested in anything the Crown Princess wanted to tell her. "Kimbrana, I want to ask you something."
"Please," Kimbra whispered, almost begging. "Call me Kimbra."
Ava gulped down her scream. She'd promised herself not to lash out at Kimbra. The woman wasn't to blame for Ava's horrible life.
Kimbra hadn't been the one to lie to her. But she also hadn't told her the truth. She'd greeted Ava with smiles on that first day. Had sent her gifts. Plenty of opportunities to open her mouth and shot "the Prince belongs to me, back the fuck up".
Or something polite and crystalline, because Kimbra was too perfect for melodramatics.
"Maybe one day," Ava said at last. "You know how the Brotherhood works. All its rules and laws, right?"
Kimbra nodded apprehensively. Good. She shouldn't trust Ava right now, because she was about to turn vicious.
"Can you tell me what someone in my position can do, from a protocol perspective? Marcella keeps telling me what I have to do as a newly and oh-so-blissfully wedded Princess, not what I can do."
"What—what do you mean?" Kimbra asked, but there was a tentative edge to her voice. Smart woman, too.
"Who exactly can I have contact with? And what kind of contact can I have?"
"I don't think I understand," Kimbra obviously lied. Even Ava could tell. "I think you should discuss this with Raiden."
She didn't want to talk to him.
But Ava didn't get what she wanted, did she?
The Crown Prince, future leader of the fiercest Clan on this planet, greatest warrior of the Brotherhood, Ava's mange of a husband, thundered into the garden, looking worse than Ava had ever seen him.
His usually straight hair was tousled at the ends, his belt hadn't been secured properly, and a deep frown marred his beautiful features. Even the crown on his head was crooked. He looked restless and pissed-off.
Had he slept at all last night? Did Ava care?
But once he approached the table and the servants bustled all around them like bees, his eyes fell onto Kimbra and his face lit up with a huge smile.
He kissed the top of her head, muttering something Ava didn't catch. She was too busy trying to keep her heart from breaking all over again.
When Raiden looked her way, Ava averted her gaze. She wasn't getting lost in those dragon eyes ever again.
He sighed and slumped into his chair. An ugly silence engulfed them, punctured only by the people scuttling around.
Ava gritted her teeth. She hoped this was the last time she ever spoke to him.
"Do you remember that day in the throne room?" She mentally patted herself on the back. Her voice hadn't wavered at all, even as her throat had seized up as the memories flooded her mind.
She'd been happy to see him then.
He slashed a warning look her way. Fucking asshole. "I do."
He stood up straighter and leaned closer, like he gave a rat's ass about what Ava had to say.
Why was he still playing these games? He'd won, Ava had lost. It was over.
"Do you remember how you said I could do anything I wanted as long as I don't endanger the Clan?"
Kimbra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She felt the storm brewing. He did, too.
He focused his attention on the teapot in the middle of the table. He filled one cup and handed it to Kimbra. Of course. The favorite always got the first pick of anything. The next cup he kept for himself.
Now that was rude; he should've offered that one to Ava, even she knew that rule. But he'd already proven he didn't care about her.
Finally, as he poured the third and last cup, taking his sweet, sweet time with it, too, he answered cautiously, "I do."
Ava took a deep breath, trying to calm herself from doing something stupid. Like shove a knife into his palm, so he could feel a fraction of the pain she tried to hide.
"You have Kimbra," she began, watching as he lifted the cup, placing it in front of her. "I want that."
He froze. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I want to meet someone to fall in love with, like you," Ava forced herself to say, sitting as motionless as she could. "I think I deserve that chance, at least."
Kimbra inhaled sharply.
He gripped the cup so hard, his fingers turned white. His left leg began shaking, jostling the entire table.
"Do you already have someone in mind?" he asked with barely leashed fury.
Yes, unfortunately. You.
"No," she said calmly. "But I don't plan on dying anytime soon. Plenty of time to look around and find someone."
Because she would not give up. Her dreams of a decent marriage might've completely disappeared, but that didn't mean she had to lose hope.
Ava was a survivor. Maybe she wouldn't ever experience the all-consuming love she dreamed of. But she'd find someone to care for her. Respect her. It could be enough.
The Prince clenched his jaw so hard, it looked painful. Good. Let him suffer, even in this small way. "You signed a contract. You agreed we were in this together."
The audacity of this man. Ava stared disbelievingly at Kimbra, who'd gone red enough to shine through her make-up. "Together didn't mean three of us!"
"You promised you wouldn't cheat on me."
"And you promised you'd make me Queen," Ava hissed, before reining herself in. He didn't even deserve her anger. "You broke your vow first."
His knee shook the table harder, almost drowning out the noise around them. But it couldn't hide the laughter quickly approaching the garden. Ava recognized the deep voices. The King, Queen, and the two advisors.
The parents. The in-laws. The happy couple. And Ava, the lone intruder.
The closer they got, the harder the Prince shook.
"Look at me," he grit out.
Ava refused to, keeping her stare on the endless piles of food laid out before them.
Kimbra grabbed his wrist. Another shot of pain burned through Ava.
How much more could she endure?
Kimbra shook his wrist. Finally, he stilled and let go of Ava's cup as if it burned him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten his back. Compose himself, as if nothing had happened. He even grinned, the louse.
"Fine," he said at last. "You can do whatever you want, whoever you want, I don't care."
Those few simple words should have freed Ava. The final nail in the coffin.
Instead, they burned through her, ripping what little hope she hadn't been able to strangle out of her.
It didn't matter. It couldn't matter.
Ava would survive this. Time healed, her heart would forget, even if it could never forgive.
This didn't have to be a miserable end. It could be a beautiful beginning to her new life.
But just as she'd taken a handle of her emotions and accepted the inevitable, he leaned in again, amused voice dripping with malice. "I forgot to tell you something, though."
Ava looked at Kimbra's hand on his. "I've noticed."
As long as she could forget him, she didn't care about anything else right now.
"The Treaty was finally negotiated. The two of us, your terrible cousins, and my Brothers and Sister are forced into a transition pe
riod of one year. You can't leave the island unaccompanied for an entire year," he said, voice dropping to a growl. "And everyone in the Capital knows our destinies are tied together for the rest of our lives. Nobody would dare approach you."
Ava stilled as a horrifying realization crashed down upon her. She was stuck. For an entire year. Worse? That made him unbelievably glad. He was one smirk away from gloating.
He didn't care about her? Fine. She could live with that. But him despising her enough to be happy she'd be miserable while he got to enjoy himself with Kimbra?
He was a terrible, vicious being. And Ava was stuck with him.
Her hand shot out, grabbing the knife next to her plate. Kimbra gasped. The servants around them stilled. He laughed viciously.
"Fine," Ava said between gritted teeth. But she didn't let go of the knife. "I can wait a year. I do have one regret, though."
"Oh?" He asked mockingly. "Do tell."
Ava finally met his gaze. She could barely make out the contours of his face through the blinding haze of her anger. She gripped the knife tighter. "That I only stabbed one groom at my wedding. Then we wouldn't have been having this conversation."
He didn't say anything. He just kept staring at her, ruthless grin frozen on his lips.
Ava only let go of the knife once the parents had arrived at the table and the King, clearly concerned, asked, "What's going on here?"
The Prince widened his smile, standing up to greet them. "Nothing, father. Just emotions running high, you know how it is when Brotherhood and Syndicate are forced together."
Ava closed her eyes. For the sake of her cousins, she couldn't kill or leave him. For her sake, she couldn't allow anything he said or did to affect her.
As the blasted Brotherhood traditions dictated, the three of them had to bow to the parents.
Ava was forced to incline her head toward the most esteemed of in the Clan, when all she wanted was to slit all their throats.
She would never forget this moment. For as long as she lived. And she would live, as far away from him as she could.
Chapter Twenty-Three
AVA
"What have you gotten yourself into, Caputo?"
Ava sighed from the depths of her soul. Her mirror twin exhaled in return. They both looked absolutely wretched.
Yesterday's make-up caked on her face, drooping from her eyelashes. Hair an absolute dry mess, tangled at the back. The silk embroidered dress she'd crumbled into bed with had cut and tickled her the entire night; now it had a gruesome rip from her shoulder down to her bra from all the tossing and turning.
Not that she'd slept more than two hours. She was exhausted, but her body wouldn't listen. Did anyone?
Last night, she'd dumped half a closet onto her floor to search for something comfortable to wear. She found nothing. Then she'd had to listen to an entire midnight recital from her household.
One of the guards had been snoring on the post. Another employee had gone out for a secret rendezvous under the window that faced the courtyard.
Ava didn’t have a life and was forced to listen to others live theirs. Loudly.
No sleep. No energy. The pile of clothes was still on the ground.
She should pick them up before Marcella saw them. She sighed and picked up her golden hairbrush instead, trying to tame whatever had exploded on her head. Her hair looked just as miserable as she felt.
She groaned with each harsh tug. Then she groaned some more when she heard excited footsteps outside her door.
She didn't want anyone to see her this miserable.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Marcella sing-sung as she stepped in, setting the breakfast tray down.
Ava wasn't all that sure it was still morning, but it wasn't good. "Hello, Marcella. How's your day been so far?"
Ever since that blasted ceremony, Marcella had been extra perky, as if she could fight off Ava's gloom if she just smiled hard enough.
Ava appreciated the effort, she did, but nothing could cut through the sadness clinging to her.
She should've shoved Raiden into the bullet's path back at the wedding.
But that was the past. She had a future waiting for her. A wretched one.
"Good, thank you," Marcella said. "And I think yours is about to get better, too. I have a special treat for you."
What was she, a dog?
Ava forced a limp smile on her face. Marcella was trying—and she'd noticed Ava hadn't had much of an appetite lately.
She was wasting away day by day.
"You didn't hear it from me, but a little birdie told me the Prince heard you were feeling under the weather and he ordered a special, hearty breakfast—"
Ava whirled around, hairbrush stuck to her hair. She must've looked wild. She didn't care. "What did you say?"
Marcella beamed. "The Prince ordered a special medicinal broth because he was concerned for your wellbeing after he heard—"
"Who told him I wasn't feeling well?"
Marcella finally noticed Ava wasn't all that charmed that the Prince remembered she, like all humans ever, had to eat to survive. She was fuming.
"I—I don't know, Your Highness," Marcella muttered. "Forgive me, I take full responsibility—"
"Bring in everyone in the household here, please," Ava said with barely leashed fury. When Marcella gave the rip in her dress a scandalized look, Ava went on, "Now."
Marcella scurried out.
Ava saw red. Real, blood red, not the fucking crimson scarlet or whatever the hell the Brotherhood called this sickly shade they loved so much.
The audacity of that man.
It wasn't enough that he'd get his happy life with his happy wife after ruining Ava's hopes and dreams. Oh, no. He had to keep up appearances and pretend the three of them were civilized and understanding. Just a happy little anomaly.
Was that how he got off, stabbing her in the heart and then asking why she was crying?
This ended now.
She held on tight to her Syndicate locket, remembering every lesson grandpa Baron had taught her. He'd raised her to be great and she wasn't letting anyone, least of all a man, get in her way.
"I've never imposed any rules in this house," she began when her entire household had crowded her room with curious looks. Even Seleka looked a bit worried. "I don't care who sneaks out past midnight and abandons their post—" One of the guards' gazes dropped to the floor. "—or who fakes it so hard that nobody in their right mind would believe they were that good."
Said Ava, an absolute expert in the field of sex and orgasms and faking them.
"That changes today," she went on, feeling taller with every word. The anger gave her the courage she'd been missing. "From this point on, nobody will tell the Prince anything about what I'm doing, not doing, feeling, eating, saying, or throwing out the goddamned windows."
A wave of apprehension rolled through the small crowd.
"If the Prince has a problem with it, you send him to me." So she could tell him to fuck off. "Do I make myself clear?"
Her employees snapped out of their shock and nodded.
A blazing feeling nestled itself in Ava's chest. She didn't recognize it, but she liked it.
She held on tighter to her locket; the cold metal spurned her on.
"Good. Now go on with your day and have a good one. And someone take that tray away."
As soon as they left, whispers began floating down the corridors. Ava didn't care what they said, as long as they didn't say it to the Prince.
Let them whisper. Let them gawk.
Only Seleka lingered.
When Ava turned back to the mirror, she didn't look the same. Gone was that desperate girl with the running mascara and bags under her eyes. There was fire in her eyes now.
She was part of the Syndicate First Family. She was the First Son's only Daughter. She was the great Baron's granddaughter. She was related by blood with Enzo, Toni, Nat, and Ella-fucking-Caputo, the sharpest woman in the Underworld.
The Underworld tried to stifle the good in her? Fine. She could become as vicious as their worst nightmares.
She narrowed her eyes at the hairbrush still clinging to her hair. Her once beautiful hair, now a tangled nest dragging her down.
"Are you okay?" Seleka asked. She sounded concerned.
Ava locked eyes with her in the mirror. "For the first time, I am."
She picked up a pair of scissors, watching the sun rays bounce off its edges. She grimaced at the pile of clothes on the ground.
"Please ask Rossen to bring me needles. Thread, in every single shade. And denim. Lots of it."
Seleka opened her mouth, on the verge of saying something. Then she shook her head and walked out as silently as a mercenary would.
As soon as Seleka closed the door, Ava grabbed a lump of hair and brought the scissors down on it without remorse.
She needed to shed her old self. Like that phoenix adorning her house, she'd been burned and would rise again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
RAIDEN
He'd been standing under the massive cedar tree for an hour and Ava still hadn't shown up.
Each evening since his wedding night, when he'd been nothing but drunk and bitter, Raiden had stood here, hidden in the shadows, for one glimpse of her.
Each evening, like clockwork, she came to the front window of her room and opened it wide. Arms spread out. The gauzy drapes flowing around her in the wind. Eyes closed.
She looked like she was flying.
Raiden's breath always caught in his throat when he saw her like that. It was obvious she wasn't and had never been an assassin. She never spotted him.
Then she'd turn around and shut off the lights. Raiden lingered, each time, before walking back to Kimbra's place and crawling into his big, empty bed after talking with the Elite.
They were so close to catching Banu and Dima, Raiden could almost smell their rotten blood. It was the only thought stopping him from marching up to Ava's room, gathering her up in his arms, and telling her everything.
