Page 10 of A Twisted Arrangement

“She was so happy talking to you, dancing around like she might levitate off her feet.” I rake my hand through my hair. “How could I take that from her? She needed that freedom, and I knew the second I got close to her, I wouldn’t let her step away.”

“So you ignored her for a decade?” It’s easy to hear my brother thinks I’m an idiot.

“How long do you think you could’ve stayed away from Misty once she was within arm’s reach?”

“So, what are you saying? You’ve been waiting for her?”

“Ten fucking years, Damon. Her time’s almost up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That my Little Sparrow is about to be mine.”

Chapter 5

Matthias

Black hooded robespulled low over silver-masked men line both sides of the stone aisle. The swish of heavy fabric is the only sound filling the underground cavern as they bow in unison when Damon enters the path, leading the way for me and our two younger siblings.

Sweat builds at the back of my neck, my own black robe suffocating in the heat. The string tying my gold wolf mask snags in my hair at the back of my neck, and I grit my teeth against the urge to correct it.

For how much I hate all of this, I respect the fact that there is power in ceremony. The men bowing around my brothers and me are the Saints, each a member of one of the twenty-six ruling families in the Orders of Saints.

Centuries of tradition have led us to this day, where billionaires bow their heads willingly, knowing that their service to the Order will be repaid.

Behind the silver-masked Saints, the Unsainted kneel, heads bowed nearly to the ground. As merely initiates to the Order, they are allowed inside the Vaults but are to be invisible. They are observers, men here to serve quietly in hopes to one day be brought in by their family as a Saint.

My boots click against each stone step as I climb the dais to where four thrones stand tall, Bash, Xander’s, and mine slightly behind Damon’s.

It’s only when we take our seats that the men around us take theirs.

The image laid out on the floor four feet below us perfectly represents the hierarchy of the Order of Saints.

One Saint from each family is seated while their remaining Saints stand behind them, and the Unsainted remain kneeling further back.

Damon leans forward, his gold wolf mask glinting where it catches light from the lanterns hung overhead, and lets all eyes settle on him before speaking. “Today, we have a treat. There’s a change of power in the Montave family. You may approach.”

There’s a gentle hum of excitement charging the room as two men step up from the back. Until recently, the Montave family risked losing their representation in the Order of Saints. A seat is forever owned by the family so long as there are living members, but only a male can occupy it.

They risked it all in order to bait in a bigger family to unite with theirs, and the plan worked. Earlier this week, Chloe Montave’s family sold her into an arranged marriage to the Ledukes’ eldest son. Unlike other marriages, the young Ledukes’ son took on his wife’s last name, following in the Order of Saints tradition.

The two men approach the foot of the dais, where there’s a long, thin table. The low murmuring turns dark when the newly minted Montave son removes his hood, revealing a maskless face. There are very few opportunities for a man to skip the Unsainted and go directly to Saint and, in this case, take the family seat.

I can practically feel the jealousy from the Unsainted, who will likely wait years to move up. There’d been a rumor thatChloe was going to marry one of them, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. There’s no point in marrying into another Order family; the seat would remain open until a male descendant was born. No member of the Order would give up their last name.

“I formally abdicate my role as the Order of Saints representative for the Montave family. I present to you my succumbent member, Noah Montave.” The elderly Saint lifts a knife from the ceremony table, slices through his palm, and lets the blood drip into a silver bowl before passing it to his heir.

Noah pauses for a moment, as if debating if he’s insane, before slicing his own palm.

“Bow before me and take your rightful position in the Order of Saints.” Damon’s voice is a clear demand that causes any lingering complaints to go silent. Once he’s spoken, all descension is out of the question.

“Thank you,” the older Montave replies and leans on the younger man’s shoulder. It’s as if he’d been holding himself together all of this time just for this.

Sick fuck, selling off his own daughter. It reminds me entirely too much of how Scarlet’s father tried to use her similarly.

A smirk threatens the corner of my lips at the memory of the deviant girl dressed up like a princess. She never did marry the man her family set up for her since her betrothed died suddenly.

My eyes trail down the line to the one open seat. Laurent’s.

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