Page 7 of Their Fierce Little Monster

Whispers buzz all around me from the spectators, and in the past, I was one of them, curious about the poor victims. Now that I’m one of them, I hate it.

Quickly, I lift my veil, realizing I’ve held it so tightly in my fist that the fabric is wrinkled where I crushed it. I slip it over my head, the material falling across my face, and the world around me pales.

I need to slip under the rope, but I can’t get myself to move. My heart beats against my rib cage as something in my head screams that today’s wrong, so I wait here like a coward a while longer.

Viscount Rylan strides onto the stage, head high, and my arms stiffen at my sides because this is officially commencing. His blond hair is pulled off his face. His cloak drags behind him, and the hood covers his head, casting shadows across his face. The Moonstone crest of dual silver moons glints from his chest.

Everyone falls quiet, and I’m strangled by the silence.

Move already. Join the others. Remember to breathe.

As I step forward, reaching for the rope, a hand closes firmly around my arm.

Kazak leaps to my thoughts, and I swing around with a smile, needing him here right now. Except, it’s not him standing there, holding on to me.

Baron Lester sneers, close enough that the scent of the cloves he chews to sweeten his putrid breath fills my nostrils. It doesn’t work. “Dawn, you need to come with me,” he commands urgently.

For a moment, my head spins, confusion rattling me, and everyone else falls away. “I—wait—I have to attend the Choosing.”

His fingers constrict around my arm. “You don’t want to make a big deal of this here, so let’s go now. This is the Viscount’s order.” He talks to me as though I’m a child.

My stomach coils in on itself, my breaths racing because I’ve heard of horrible things that happen to the girls the Viscount selects. But I’m not one of them. I can’t be. This has to be a mistake.

I pull against the Baron’s iron grip, frantically glancing around, praying I find Kazak. But he’s not here, and neither is Nilly or Pell. Everyone else knows better than to interfere with a Baron.

“Get a move on.” His scornful gaze darkens as I stumble after him from the square and through the crowd that parts for us. I flick a glance back, catching the Viscount lifting his attention our way, and he’s grinning, giving the Baron a nod, who returns the gesture.

Everyone else focuses on the Choosing, not even paying attention to us.

“Wait, please, this is a mistake.” I tug against him as anger curdles in my stomach that he’s doing this to me. Part of me thinks maybe it’s a better thing than being handed over to a monster, except I know deep down I can’t convince myself.

And no one ever gets pulled from the Choosing. Well, unless they’re married or dead, and this is why so many marry before they reach eighteen. To avoid being added to the Chalice.

“I’m sorry for whatever I did wrong,” I plead, stumbling on wobbly legs as he draws me away from the square.

“Quiet. Just do what you’re told. Now, hurry up. The world doesn’t wait for you.” The man is large, and he doesn’t slow down even as I claw at his fingers around my arm.

“You’re not supporting the Day of the Choosing,” I say, aware that I’m pushing my luck. “Or the law set from our Elite King that anyone unmatched over the age of eighteen must attend.”

The Baron cuts me a sharp glare, strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration, lips rolling off his teeth. “You stupid girl, you think anyone cares about what happens to you?”

“But my name’s in the Chalice,” I retort, digging my heels in the ground. Others are staring but doing nothing about it. They’re all too afraid to stand up to the Barons.

His glare is flat and icy cold. “If you think so.” Then he hauls me harder, and I trip over my feet, terror gripping my heart.

My mind spins out of control because the last time a Baron took a girl away, she came back a week later covered in bruises and never spoke about it. No one questioned her wounds because that meant challenging the Viscount and the Barons.

“Just fucking move,” he snarls, and we’re leaving the main village behind and heading toward the farming district. To where there’s an open field that very few people visit. To where no one will hear me scream.

“Just tell me what’s happening, please,” I demand, my feet skidding behind him as I tug against him with each step.

Dark clouds slide overhead, almost green, promising a terrible storm. We’ve left the square way behind, where I no longer see anyone, and I’m in a really dangerous situation.

“What did the Viscount say? I have a right to know if I’m being punished and for what reason.”

The look on his face could skin me alive. “You have no rights because you don’t belong in this village.”

And the truth smacks me right in the face. This is what it’s all about. I’m the lost girl who most steer clear of, who doesn’t fit in.