Page 6 of Legacy of Succession

“Are you excited?” I ask.

“Excited?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Yes, for your debut.”

“We should take our places,” my father interrupts and pulls me away toward the front of the room.

“That was rude,” I exclaim and look back to Joanna with an apologetic nod.

“You don’t need to make small talk and get yourself all flustered. You need to remember your manners and behave.” He raises his voice but not so much that anyone else in the room can hear him.

“Sorry, Father.” I look down at the ground and wish it would swallow me up. Why do I have a feeling that this evening isn’t going to be as much fun as I was hoping for?

My father pulls out his phone and starts to scroll through his emails. I’m dismissed from any further conversation. I take another look around the room that we’re in. It’s some sort of banqueting hall. Swords, armor, and stags’ horns adorn the wood-paneled walls. Any space that isn’t wooden is painted cream. There are three paintings on the wall, and I take a step closer to get a better look at them. My father tuts, but I ignore him.

One is a Rembrandt and another a Caravaggio. I’d read about them being bought by a private collector for millions. Wow, the Cavendish family must be loaded if they can afford these. My attention is drawn to the third. I can’t place the artist at first, I take a step even closer.

“Victoria,” my father admonishes me, but I ignore him again because I can see the signature. Van Gogh’s Poppy Flowers. I smirk, knowing that the original of this painting was stolen in two thousand and ten. This must be a fake. I take another quick look at the Rembrandt and Caravaggio. Nothing distinguishes them as fakes at this distance, but given the Van Gogh must be then I’m sure the others are too. The residents of Oakfield Hall aren’t as affluent as they like to portray. I stand back and smile, knowingly. It’s then that I feel the heat of eyes burning into me.

I turn towards the source of this overwhelming sense of being observed and find a gentleman staring at me. He's tall, about six foot three, and wears a three-piece suit with a crisp white open-necked shirt. His brown hair is long but brushed and neatly gelled in place. His eyes are a cerulean blue like the sky, but a shade darker. He's looking directly at me. My heart flutters, and my breath quickens. I’ve not seen many men, due to a life spent in relative solitude, but I know instantly that this man screams sex, and by the way he’s looking at me, I’m the next delicacy on his menu. I can feel my cheeks heat and want to look away, but I can’t. He's captured me in his spell and taken my breath away. He winks and directs his attention back to an older gentleman at his side. They have a similar look about each other, I surmise they must be father and son.

“Victoria, come here,” my father orders, and I snap to attention this time. A gong rings out in the room, and the older gentleman steps up onto a makeshift stage. I hadn’t noticed before, as I was too interested in the walls, but a fire pit sits on the staging. I can’t help but think that a little odd.

“Welcome everyone,” the man speaks. “Are we all ready to begin?”

The crowd murmurs a resounding ‘yes’, and I wait for the music to start.

“For those who don’t know me, I’m the Duke of Oakfield and the leader of this society. We're here today to continue traditions our forbearers have handed down to us, for generations.” He steps toward the fire pit and pulls out a metal rod. A couple of the men in the room cheer. I look at my father, but he pales and refuses to meet my eyes. “Bring the first one up.”

Two men jump down from the stage and take one of the girls by the arms. She screams, “No”, but is manhandled onto the stage with little effort. I can feel a heated gaze on me again, and I look to the man who was watching me before. He's watching me again. He smiles — though this time it isn’t the sweet one from before but an arrogant one. He steps forward and takes the rod from his father and, without hesitating, brands the screaming girl with a sickening sizzle of burning flesh. I stumble backward, trying to catch my breath, but my father grabs me and causes the world that I know to collapse when he says,

“Your turn.”

---