Page 1 of Vicious Kings
One
BILLIE
The ceremonial gown hanging on my door resembles a death shroud. Midnight blue fabric, silver threads reflecting the dying light in my sparse room.
Guess it's an appropriate enough outfit for the occasion.
Twenty fucking years of training, bleeding, breaking, and reshaping myself into the perfect weapon. Tonight, I finally get to find out what kind of killer I am.
"Stop staring at it like it's going to bite you." Vera squishes through my narrow doorway, fighting her puffy golden skirts the whole way. She never knocks. That's what happens when you've been best friends with someone since you could barely hold training daggers. "It's only fabric."
"I'm not staring." I turn back to my blade and keep sharpening. Steel against whetstone. Five strokes each side. Always five. "I'm thinking."
"About what? Whether you'll be a blood binder like your mother or get enhanced strength like your father?" Vera drops onto my bed, springs creaking under her. She has that big Cheshire grin, red curls bouncing over one shoulder. "Either way, you're going to be unstoppable."
Blood binding. My mother could stop a heart with a thought. Make arteries burst. Turn a body's own life force against itself. She was legendary.
Until she wasn't. Until she went on that mission to kill Prince Corvinus Luxellier and never came home.
Enhanced strength runs in my father's line. Simple yet brutal and highly effective. He can rip heads clean off, crush bones to powder, tear through supernatural flesh like wet paper.
"Both would serve me well." I set down the blade and pick up another. Five more strokes. "As long as the Shepherd doesn't send me on some bullshit first-year initiation mission."
Vera laughs, but it's too bright. "Are you kidding? You're the best hunter we've produced in generations. Everyone knows you're getting the big one."
The big one. The mission I've dreamed about since I was old enough to understand why my mother never came home. Prince Corvinus. Fae royalty with a taste for human flesh and a talent for manipulation. The bastard who probably has my mother's head mounted on his wall like a fucking trophy.
"I hope so." I test the blade's edge against my thumb. Perfect. If all goes well, I'll be shedding this ridiculous gown and leaving the compound, the only home I've ever known, before the Unmasking even cools.
"Are you nervous?"
I look up.
Vera's still smiling, but her eyes aren't in it. She's worried. About me, about tonight, about what comes after.
"No." My voice sounds flat and final. I don't do nervous. Nervous gets you killed. "Why would I be?"
"It's just... everything changes after the Unmasking. You know that, right?"
Of course I know that. Once they remove the binding spell that's kept my resonance locked away since birth, there's nogoing back. I'll know what kind of hunter I am, what I'm capable of, and the Shepherd will decide how best to use me. Most hunters get sent out within a week of their Unmasking. The strongest the very same night.
Some come back.
Some don't.
"Change is good." I stand and walk to the gown. It's heavier than it looks. "I've been preparing for this my entire life."
Vera joins me, running her fingers over the embroidery. Silver threads form protective sigils across the bodice, each one blessed by Saint Seveline. "You've never worn anything this fancy." Her lips twitch. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe I've ever seen you in a dress."
"Not since I could dress myself." My voice comes out as dry as the mesh fabric puffing out the skirts. It's a far cry from my training leathers, and the bodice is too restrictive for even basic defensive maneuvers, but hunters love tradition. "Help me with it? You're better at this sort of thing."
"But of course. I have to outshine you atsomething," Vera teases, whisking the gown off its hanger.
"Please. You know we need healers as much as hunters."
She does. Vera was born for it. In a month, when she turns twenty, the Saints will confirm what we already know.
We've always been as different as two people can get in spite of being born into the same clan a month apart, down to the day. Her big fiery curls and my bone-straight brown hair that won't hold a curl for anything, despite years of Vera trying. Her light brown eyes and freckles against my dark blue eyes and near-translucent skin. She's always flaunted her curves. I've always hidden mine under leather. She treats boys like instruments. I treat them like the plague.
