“Don’t try it, child,” Rowan warns in a dark tone. “Running will only delay the inevitable and leave you unable to sit.” Gripping me by the arm, he drags me from the luxurious vehicle before letting the door slam shut with the kind of finality that inspires teeth-grinding.

I’m angry and indignant and desperate to stop the tears from escaping down my cheeks. What an utter fool I was in thinking I could get through this without falling apart. I’ve straddled the line of a nervous breakdown since I turned eighteen two months ago when my uncle and his men thwarted my last escape attempt. No amount of begging had saved me from a brutal session with Rowan’s whip, and it won’t save me from what he claims is my duty.

And he’s gone above and beyond over the years to make sure this day happens, going so far as to drive away anyone who might be an ally. Kitchen staff, servants, even Angeles, the old man who used to tend the gardens and was like a grandfather to me.

All of them, gone.

Save for my ladies, I’m alone in this. Faye and Elise exit the limo and flank me on either side, and the three of us stand as a united front. Their presence is a comfort, but I still can’t help but wish the ground would open and let the soil bury me.

Panic is just a few breaths away.

I’ve never been touched by a boy, and the thought of being at the mercy of twelve experienced men is horrifying. My only saving grace is the terms of the contract, which prohibits them from taking my virtue until the night of the wedding.

With a displeased frown, Rowan hands me a handkerchief. “You are minutes away from meeting Chancellor Castle. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

I yank his offering from his hand and dab at my wet eyes. “This is wrong. My parents wouldn’t have wanted this for me.”

“Your parents aren’t here.”

“Why are you doing this? Is it the money?”

“My dear, innocent Novalee. The money is a bonus, but while you’re locked away here, serving the Brotherhood, you’ll be out of sight and out of mind. Someone has to rule our lands.”

After all the times I’ve pleaded for an answer, I’m shocked to get one now, and it’s confirmation of what I suspected to be true. Uncle Rowan wants my title, and with me gone, he has a better chance of securing the permanent transfer of power. Twelve months is a long time to be absent, especially amid such political uncertainty.

“Come,” he says, taking me by the arm as a young woman appears from the iron doors of the estate, dressed in full maid uniform. “The chancellor awaits.” He urges me forward, and the metaphorical chains that bind me tighten to an intolerable level.