Page 60 of Reign

“I’m tasked to remind you: this is your last chance to turn around.”

This time, the whisper is familiar. I peer into the darkness of the hood. “Willow?”

The gold fabric jerks as the head beneath it swivels in my direction. “You are forbidden to refer to us by name until you are fully enrobed as a Virtue Baroness. One more mistake, Calla, and you’ll pay dearly.”

Her reference to my endearing nickname, used only by my mother and Ahmar, gives me invisible, painful hives.

“I’ve already paid the worst price in order to be here tonight,” I say through cracked lips.

If Willow reacts, I can’t see it. “Take off your jacket.”

Deciding not to argue, I unzip my coat and pass it to her. Willow drapes it over one arm, my padded security blanket slumping uselessly in her grip.

I shiver, goosebumps pimpling my exposed arms and legs, colder now than I was outside.

Willow’s golden cloak sweeps the floor as she spins, using her credentials to unlock the hidden door.

I was wondering about that—if, in killing Ivy, Sabine also scrubbed my clearance into the temple until she deemed my access necessary again.

Denial into the temple would be a petty cherry to her vapid sundae, but I can’t put anything past Sabine, from the simplest insults to the vilest deeds.

For you, Ivy, I think as I follow behind Willow. And you, Mom.

The circular temple is dark and cavernous, our hollow footsteps absorbing most of the noise. The sconces rimming the main arena create dimmed ovals of illumination on the walls, but they do nothing to highlight the figures I’m sure stand above me, staring down from the rafters as I take up position in the center.

“No one’s on your side this time, possum,” Willow mutters before she retreats, merging into the shadows.

Like I’m not aware of that.

With Willow’s disappearance goes the only other noise, other than my hitched, tentative breaths.

I count to one hundred in my head, refusing to be the first to speak. The chill of such an empty space seeps into my bones, crowding my thoughts, and I’m blinking rapidly even though I don’t mean to.

Folding my arms into my chest, I squint into the shadows, searching for vague outlines, desperate for a certain one.

Chase is here. He must be. Where are you?

The darkness is overwhelming, disconcerting. I’ve spun in place, but I don’t know if I’ve stopped where Willow originally left me.

Disorientation is so much worse when you know at least twenty people are watching you struggle.

“I did not assume you’d get this far, initiate,” comes a sinuous, beckoning voice.

Sabine.

I whip toward the sound. “Then your expectations were wrong.”

“Clearly.”

A sconce flares to life beside her, fire flickering against her flawless, sharp cheekbones. Her eyes remain eclipsed in shadow.

My heart lurches at the sight of her—my first glimpse since Ivy. She’s regal, standing high, so confident she’s untouchable as she regards me from her balcony.

Her lips pull at my study, my incendiary wrath likely obvious with each scathing breath I take as I keep my eyes on her.

“You are not afraid?” she asks. “If I were to judge on your current behavior alone, I’d say you were terrified.”

“I’m not frightened. I’m cold.”

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