Page 66 of Reign

“Why aren’t I any other girl?” I ask, but it’s distracted and without much feeling. I’m too busy spying Chase, his eyes, a glittering onyx, disappearing as his form merges with the other cloaks and he leaves the balcony.

“Simple. Because you’re Chase’s.”

I turn to him sharply. “Not anymore, I’m not.”

He chuckles. “That’s what you think.”

* * *

The temple’s underground tunnels take us to the Nobles’ ritual room without having to deal with the frigid air outside. Before losing signal, I sent a message to Emma, my, and Eden’s group chat telling them it was done. I’m a Virtue.

Eden replied with a thumb’s up emoji, and Emma’s answer popped up as dancing dots, then disappeared, nothing left in its wake.

I shove my phone in my jacket’s pocket, the coat being proffered to me by a reluctant Willow as soon as the members started dispersing. As Tempest pushes open the final heavy, wooden door and accepts a flute of champagne from a tray and offers it to me, calling me the “martyr of honor,” I recall the last time I accepted a glass of champagne within these walls, during the Societal Ball when Chase was buried even deeper in Briarcliff’s underground than I am.

He’s not helpless this time, instead making it into the room before me, his shoulders hunched as he pretends interest in what a crowd of Nobles around him are saying as they swill their liquor and stand pretty in their privileged status. He’s shed his robe, an expertly cut, two-piece charcoal suit taking its place, and he holds his champagne as if he’s drinking it, but I know him well enough that he won’t take a sip.

“These peeps are all here for you,” Tempest muses, “to celebrate your induction. Try to smile, pretty possum, since all attention’s on you.”

“I have to figure out a way to get back to the temple.”

“Come again?”

I jolt, not realizing I said it out loud. Covering up my blunder by bringing the flute to my lips doesn’t do much to sway Tempest’s interest. He cocks a brow, regarding me idly. “Whatever could you want to go back there for? To clean up our blood?”

To avenge Ivy’s blood is the retort at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it.

“My, what a murderous look you have,” Tempest observes, then squeezes my hand as he draws me deeper into the crowd. “Try not to make it so obvious, not among this crowd of opportunists and savages.”

“And what are you?” I ask, submitting to his tug and feeling less like a faulty beacon as I enter the fray of other cocktail dresses, gowns, and suits, now that everyone has shed their cloaks. “An opportunist, or a savage?”

“A survivor,” Tempest quips before withdrawing his hand, sending a wink—not my way, but behind me, before he meanders away.

Spinning, I nearly smack into the Chase’s unforgiving chest.

“Excuse me,” I say, side-stepping.

He clasps me by the waist, stalling my movements. “Happy now?” he growls.

I lift my chin to meet his eyes. “Not in the least.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

“Good.” The word comes out more emotional than scathing, but I use that energy to rip out of his hold and stalk around him.

I can’t have him so near, hurt and want swirling so close to my heart they threaten to stop its beats. Chase can’t be my distraction when I’ve come so far. My mother’s justice is within reach, if only I stick to what’s important, and that’s not Chase Stone.

Music starts up, at first mellow in tone, then picks up haunting beats as the DJ, set up under the carving of the Nobles’ crest, spins his dials and flicks on otherworldly, neon lights.

The younger members cheer, lifting their drinks up high as they undulate with the admittedly addictive notes, twirling and hopping, twisting and writhing, until they’ve created a makeshift dance floor and I’m desperate for escape.

They say it’s for me, this celebration of a new member, but it’s not difficult to grasp how distant my importance has become with the endless champagne, the private DJ, and the permission to act without boundaries underneath the constraints of Briarcliff Academy.

Falyn separates herself from Willow and Violet, her arms raised as she trots into the fray, her hair wild and her kaleidoscope dress strikingly familiar to the one Sabine gifted me for Winter Formal. When she catches my eye, her carefree smile drops from her face and her arms smack against her sides. She parts her lips and mouths something, but I don’t need a translator to understand it’s a message close to you don’t belong here. Fuck off out of my party.

I send her a wink in answer, letting her know I’m just as aware of my place in the Virtues as she is.

“Callie, there you are.”

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