Page 97 of Reign

A rush of voices hit the air at Tempest’s endorsement. Hoods bow together, arms gesticulate, and my chin notches higher. I step further into the room. Closer to her.

“Don’t believe me?” Tempest continues. “Ask your queen. Her family has hidden the birth certificate of the baby born from Rose Briar and Theodore Briar for well over a century. That’s a decent piece of history she’s kept from Noble discovery, and all because the Harringtons wanted the throne. Fuck, her eldest daughter dies and the other is arrested for murder—leaving no Harrington chick to inherit, and the bitch still won’t admit that she’s kept the true heir from you all this time.”

Hoods murmur, but Sabine seethes. “Shut your mouth, boy, and join your ranks. You betray everything you’ve worked for, all you’ve earned, by defending this girl and helping to spread her lies.”

“Am I a fibber?” Tempest looks up at the balcony, spreading his arms. “Guys? Am I known to have my pants on fire—ah, shit. Fire. Right.” Tempest wags his index finger at Sabine. “You trapped a Virtue princess and the Noble legacy who rushed to save her in a fire and left them to die. Let’s take bets on who’s been a bad girl, ‘cause I don’t think it’s Callie.”

Sabine lashes out her arm and screams, “Take him! Tempest Callahan has no proof other than the word of a girl too mute with hallucinations to lend credence to a single word in her defense.”

“I’m not suffering from anything,” I say, “Other than your lethal attempts to ruin me so you can continue your reign of terror on these girls. You traffic them out. You make them have sex.” I glance up at the balcony, shouting, “Too many of you know this to be true, because you’re the ones who trap these girls in white sheets and pretend they want you to take their purity.”

“Here we are, gentlemen,” Sabine says through the increased mutterings, “solidified proof that this girl succumbs to nothing but her own fancies.”

“Your Noble prince knew the truth!” I yell. “And Sabine stabbed him for it!”

“Lies!” a male voice cries. A litany of “here, here,” agreements follow.

“Then ask him,” I counter. “When Chase Stone wakes up, hear it from his mouth. He doesn’t suffer from ‘hallucinations.’ His credibility is tied to your reputations. You wouldn’t dare go against—”

“If he wakes up,” Sabine cuts in, “and indeed, agrees with your statements, it is only because you seduced him.” Sabine’s lips peel back in a grin. “The same way your mother seduced all the boys when she was here. Meredith Ryan was nothing but a slut, and you’ve inherited the same genes.”

“I’ve inherited the Virtues!” I yell, stepping closer.

Sabine, not expecting the outburst, hobbles back in her heels but quickly composes herself.

I add in a softer voice, “Say what you want about me, but utter another word about my mother and I will not regret putting real blood on your lips.”

“My, my. Is that the guilt talking?”

My chest heaves. My vision skews with fury, but I don’t look away from her. “You’re a liar, a killer, and a terrible mother. Rot in hell.”

Sabine chest concaves, her clavicles poking out like weapons forged from bone. “Do not force me to teach you another lesson.”

I bare my teeth at her, but say to the room, “If you’re all so proud, so willing to be a part of her madness, show your faces! Look upon your queen as your true selves and study your neighbors while asking yourself if they’ve touched your daughter.”

Voices pitch in horror, and to my amazement, some draw back their hoods. Others grab the shoulders of their neighbors and demand they reveal themselves.

Tempest sidles up to me, a smile plastered across his face. “My boy would be proud of you.”

“Stop! All of you!” Sabine howls. Veins pulse as she strains her neck. “The girl is delusional! I have a report!” She smacks her hand on the abused paper, then flaps it around.

“And they have a birth certificate,” a female voice calls down. “Tempest Callahan backs her up. I can’t discount that.”

“You very well will, Alexandra,” Sabine spits. “My word is final, not a child’s.”

“Virtues!” I cry. “Speak up. Please. Tell these people what you’ve endured.” I search the upper floor, aiming for a face, one that will, if pushed, speak the truth. She has to.

“Violet!” I call out, but I can’t find her. So I plead with her, instead. “Please. I know you hate what the Virtues have become. You shied away every time I was beaten, or humiliated, or harassed. You’ve come to hate what the Virtues represent. You didn’t accept their invitation to watch your friends be charmed, manipulated, then coerced. You’ve lost Piper. Addisyn is gone. And Ivy—Ivy was cast aside in an unmarked grave, all because Sabine covets power over human lives. Come out here and tell your story. I know you have one.” My voice lowers. “You’re the only one left who can speak the truth.”

I hear a whispered yes behind me. I whirl, thinking Violet’s appeared from the shadows, but it was Emma who spoke, her side resting against Eden’s as they raise their bowed heads and give me an affirming nod.

“Our stories were told and ignored,” Emma says. “Spun by Sabine into necessary lies. My torture, my burns, my life, couldn’t fall on her, because she’s not the one who lit the match or swung the bat. But she didn’t have to. Her intimidations start when we’re young. Her promises ingrained in us before we hit puberty. She hides the truth about as well as Piper hid her true self from her mother. So, if you can’t listen to me—if you refuse to read my scars—then listen to a present Virtue. Violet, I’m begging you, give me, Eden, Piper, Ivy, and Callie, a voice.”

Tears frame my vision. I give Emma a resolute nod in return.

“You sorry girls, I warned you of the consequences of rebelling in this temple. Emma Loughrey, the fake, adopted, unwanted child of Daniel Stone and false sister of Chase.” Sabine says, only loud enough for us to hear, as she stalks toward me. Emma winces. “And Eden, an overweight, pathetic, useless vision of the swim champion she used to be. You swore to represent me, not Callie, in exchange for my assistance in giving you back everything you’d lost. Yet here you are, betraying not me, but yourselves.”

“That’s your problem,” Eden says. “You’re so up your own ass, you can’t believe we’d choose a friend over vanity. An orphaned girl over a queen.”

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