Page 26 of Crown of Steel

A knock at the door makes me flinch. It’s soft enough tomake me realize that it’s not someone standing at my door, but at our dorm door. I wait for a full ten seconds in the hope that someone else miraculously appears and takes care of it. Then curiosity kills the cat and I sneak out of my dorm and walk toward the door. When I swing it open I stand face to face with Claude, the porter.

“Uhm, hello?” I stammer.

His oval, pale face is blank. “Régis Deveraux?” He asks rhetorically since he knows who I am.

“Uhm, yes?”

“You have received a letter.”

“A letter?” I ask, flabbergasted.

“Oui.” He hands me a cream-colored envelope. “For you.” Then he turns on his heel and walks away without a single word.

“Uhm—” When he disappears around the corner, I dip my gaze to look at the envelope clutched in my hand. With an ink pen my name is written on it in curly letters.

My hands tremble a little when I tear the casing open to take hold of a letter, the words written in that same, curly handwriting:

BIENVENUE

You, our brother, who carries his heritage with dignity and pride, who walks this world with his head high, searching—not quite finding—to belong. And belong you shall, brother, because today is the day that your life will change.

You are invited to become part of the inevitable, the circle of gold that will keep your spine straight and your dignity intact. To meld into a group of people who are like you, brother, who were once searching but who found—found—what life really means.

Loyalty.

Respect.

Tradition.

Sacrifice.

Soon, your Initiations shall begin.

Hell no. I’m not going there.

PART II

DENIAL

A spicy, resinous scent flooded through the darkness. A darkness that was merely lit up by the flickering fire and those decorative torches that occupied the corners of the small space. They were hidden in the dungeons of Monterrey Castle, in a room with wooden flowers on its ceilings. Bars outside the small windows were used by flapping bats that squeaked into the night.

Rumor had it that this part of the building was deserted save from a handful of teachers who resided here.

They were lies.

The truth was that the south wing was kept desolate for history to slip through the cracks of the ancient wooden flooring and its stone walls. To make sure that what was done between these facades would never be forgotten in time.

The rebellion that shook the streets of Paris back in 1789. That revision of destiny to those who made it here, in this castle. They had been the lost elite, but after a few years of hiding, they were ready to be found again. Ready to reunite, to strike. To become unforgettable.

What kept them together?

Loyalty.

Respect.

Traditions.

Sacrifice.

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