Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

Aina

A cold, gaping pit instantly opened in the bottom of Aina’s stomach. Panic surging through her veins, Aina turned frantically to Molly, tugging hard on her silk sleeve. "Molly! Molly, listen to me!" Molly turned, smiling brightly as she adjusted her mask. "What’s wrong, Travis?"

"Did you... did you remember to ask your brothers not to touch me tonight?" Aina asked, her voice cracking slightly under the noise of the music. "You promised you’d tell them!" Molly blinked, her bright expression flickering for a second before a sheepish smile crossed her face. "Oh! Um... well, to be completely honest, I totally forgot to text Malric before we left the dorms..."

Aina’s heart plummeted straight to her shoes. "...But don’t worry!" Molly added quickly, patting Aina’s hand reassuringly. "It’s fine! I’ll be glued to your side the entire night! Nothing bad is going to happen to you under my watch—"

Before Molly could even finish her sentence, her eyes suddenly went wide with sheer horror. She slapped both hands over her mouth, her face turning a ghastly shade of pale green.

Without another word, Molly violently yanked her hand away from Aina, lunged across the floor, and dived headfirst behind a massive, potted ficus plant in the corner of the room. A second later, the unmistakable, violent sound of the princess throwing up echoed over the baseline of the music.

"Molly!" Aina gasped, dropping to her knees beside her and hastily gathering Molly’s sleek, short bob of hair back so it wouldn’t get ruined. A few snickering upperclassmen started to drift closer to gawk at the sight of a princess hugging a potted plant, but Beatrice immediately rounded on them like a mad dog.

"Piss off! All of you!" Beatrice spat, her eyes flashing dangerously until the gawkers quickly scrambled away into the crowd. Cleo stepped forward, holding her stomach with a grimace. "Oh, gross, Molly, are you okay—urp!"

Cleo gasped, clapping a hand over her own mouth as her face drained of all color. Before anyone could stop her, Cleo dropped to her knees beside Molly, shoving her way toward the same unfortunate potted plant and vomiting violently into the soil. "What on earth is happening?!" Beatrice yelled, staring at her two friends in utter shock.

"I... I don’t feel so good either," Delilah whimpered, swaying on her feet as she clutched her midsection. "My stomach feels like it’s being torn apart from the inside..."

Beatrice and Aina stood side by side, being the only two left in the group who felt completely, totally fine. They shared a look of pure, bewildered panic.

"Did you guys catch a stomach bug or something?!" Beatrice asked, rubbing Delilah’s shaking back. "We definitely... ugh... ate something bad," Molly groaned from behind the plant, leaning her head against the wooden planter with a pathetic whimper.

Cleo wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, cursing under her breath. "I can’t believe this! The absolute night of the year, and I’m throwing up in a tree pot! My luck is literal garbage!" Delilah groaned from the couch, her eyes closed tight as she held her stomach. "Why... why are Beatrice and Travis completely fine? We’ve been together all day!"

Beatrice shook her head, thoroughly stumped. "I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast!" Aina’s mind raced through the past twenty-four hours, frantically connecting the dots until a sudden lightbulb clicked in her brain.

"The nectar," Aina blurted out, her eyes widening. "The iced nectar in the private changing room at the boutique yesterday!" Molly, Cleo, and Delilah had all downed multiple glasses of the complimentary drink while trying on dresses. Beatrice had been too busy dancing in front of the mirror to touch it, and Aina hadn’t taken a single sip because she had been too stressed about her disguise.

All three sick girls let out a collective, miserable groan of realization as the truth hit them.

"Travis..." Molly whimpered, looking up from the floor with tear-filled eyes. "Could you... could you please go get me a glass of water? My throat is burning..."

"Yeah, of course!" Aina said readily, standing up immediately.

But as she took a single step away, she froze. A sudden wave of paranoia hit her, and she quickly dropped back down, whispering in a low, frantic voice into Molly’s ear. "Wait... is it really safe for me to wander off alone to go get water when your crazy brothers are actively roaming around this cabin? What if Malric sees me?"

Molly, too miserable and sick to handle a conversation, simply let out a sharp, irritated cry. "Travis! Please!" Aina flinched. "Okay, okay! I’m going!"

Adjusting the mask over her face, Aina straightened her broad suit jacket and began weaving through the densely packed crowd. She kept her head low, steering clear of the main dance floor and heading toward a long refreshments table tucked against the far wall, the only table that served actual water instead of heavy alcohol.

She reached the table, grabbing a fresh, sealed glass bottle of water off the linen tablecloth. Suddenly, a loud, synchronized chorus of high-pitched chimes echoed through the air.

DING! DING! DING!

Every single student in the room reached into their pockets as their phones buzzed in unison with an official broadcast notification. Aina felt her phone vibrate violently against her thigh inside her suit pocket. Nerves tightening into hard knots, Aina pulled the phone out, unlocking the screen.

It was an official announcement sent through the school’s global student network. The sender was listed in bold, blood-red lettering: PRINCE MALRIC.

[ACADEMY BROADCAST - PRINCE MALRIC]

It is with great honor that I announce this year’s official target for the Iron Fang Bash.

Tonight’s pig is none other than Travis Whitelock.

Make this a party he will remember for the rest of his miserable life. The first person to bring him to me, humbled, on his knees, and begging for mercy, will be highly rewarded.

Attached directly below the message was a high-definition, crystal-clear picture of Aina’s disguised face with a mask.

Aina froze, her breath completely halting in her chest. Slowly, terrifyingly, she lifted her eyes from the glowing screen. All around the refreshment table, dozens of students had stopped dancing. They lowered their phones, their masked faces turning slowly toward her, their eyes locking onto her suit with sharp, predatory intent.

Shit.

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