Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Esther took the seat beside me, while across from her, Alexander’s father sat, his gaze immediately locking onto mine. No matter how many times I saw him in passing, it was never any less unsettling how much he looked like his son. Even with his face painted it was like staring into a future version of him down to the unsettling intensity that lingered in his expression. But there was something more predatory about him that made my skin crawl. The rest of the table filled up quickly—Keres, Pandora, Jamison, Phoenix, and Osiris, along with a few others I didn’t recognize. They were all men, save for us Electi and Esther.
I noticed the empty chair beside Alexander’s father and assumed it was meant for his mother. She wasn’t here, though, and I wondered why. I hadn’t formally met any of his family, really. It struck me as odd, especially with our marriage looming.
Shouldn’t I know them before that happened? The Isle was big on family, traditions, and bloodlines.
“She wasn’t feeling her best,” Esther leaned over and murmured.
She’d seen me staring at the empty seat. I was about to reply when Alexander’s father suddenly spoke.
“You look beautiful,” he remarked loud enough to carry across the entire table—and beyond. The compliment wasn’t directed to anyone else but me.
Murmurs of agreement spread through the gathering. I glanced at Alexander, unsure of how to respond, but his father continued before I could say anything.
“You’ve been blessed by the Isle,” he said, now looking pointedly at Alexander. “She should have been here all along.”
The room buzzed again, a little louder with more agreement.
It wasn’t simply a compliment, it was an endorsement, a proclamation to everyone in attendance. He was explicitly stating that I belonged here, that I had always belonged here.
But why now?
Why make such a declaration on a night meant for a sole purpose? Was it another test? A show of power? Or was there something else going on that I wasn’t aware of? Alexander’s hand found its way to my thigh beneath the table, his grip firm but reassuring. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. "Take it as a compliment, deliciae. It means more than you know."
Bishop, seated further down the table, raised his glass in a small toast. “Indeed, she’s a gift to us all.”
Jamison seated a little further down from Esther, grinned, his tone lighter than the rest.
“It’s true. We all see it. The Isle has a way of revealing those meant for greatness and it’s granted us three of the foretold Electi and our Sponsa Diaboli.”
Keres caught my eye, her confusion clear as day. Three of the foretold? How many more were there? The Impío doctrine either didn’t mention this or I had overlooked it somehow, which was doubtful. I clenched my hands in my lap, trying to steady my nerves. The pressure of Alexander’s hand on my thigh kept me anchored, but it also served as a reminder that I was still very much under his control.
The conversation around the table continued, but I felt distanced from it all like I was watching from the outside. Alexander’s touch, though meant to reassure, only added to the weight of the moment. As the meal was served by masked servitors, I did my best to blend in and not draw attention, but it was nearly impossible.
Masked nuns and fellow disciples began serving the food, our table first. Plates of meats, vegetables, and greenery were placed before us, and though I barely recognized most of the dishes. Our table was served first, followed by the others. Before anyone could eat, Alexander rose to his feet.
Instantly, the room fell into silent reverence that bordered on worship. I could feel it, thick and palpable in the air. Every gaze was locked onto him.
Alexander’s voice was slow, deliberate, each word dripping with a sinister weight, as though the very stones of the Chapel absorbed the darkness in his tone “His eyes swept over the room like a shadow crawling across the floor, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips—but it was devoid of warmth, a cold, calculated gesture that never touched his eyes. “We do not mourn this loss,” he continued, and his voice seemed to echo off the walls.
“To mourn is to deny the truth of the cycle, to defy the Isle’s will. Instead, we honor the inevitable return to the darkness from which we all came. Tonight, we honor Jamison, and the child returned to the shadows.”
His father watched from his seat, pride etched into his features, the resemblance between them a haunting reflection of shared power.
Alexander's voice deepened, growing more sinister, more hypnotic. “The child may no longer walk among us, but its soul lingers within the Isle. Nothing here is ever utterly lost. It is not forgotten, for the shadows remember. And in that memory, we find our strength. The Isle breathes through the lives it claims, and we—its chosen—stand united by that unholy bond.” He raised his goblet high, the dark liquid within catching the flicker of candlelight.