Chapter 229: Chapter 229: The Red Line

MAILAH TURNED to the women.

They seemed to be waiting for her. At first, she thought they were human, but as she got closer, she realized they were… something else.

Their skin had a faint, pearlescent glow, like the inside of a seashell. Their eyes were the strangest part—solid, glassy black with no pupils at all. They moved with a terrifying, smooth speed, their feet making no sound on the floor.

Mailah felt a wave of nerves. Are they dolls? Spirits? she wondered. She wanted to ask what they were, but she didn’t want to be rude, so she kept the questions to herself.

The ladies didn’t speak. They didn’t even whisper. One of them made a soft gesture toward the bathroom. Mailah understood and walked inside.

As the hot water hit her skin, she thought about what Grayson had said. I am starting to reconsider your significance. It wasn’t “I love you,” but in his world, it felt huge. It was a crack in his icy armor. She was slowly finding a place in his heart, and that thought made her feel warmer than the shower.

When she stepped out, the three women were already there. They surrounded her immediately. Their hands were light, but they moved with a focus that felt intense. They began to rub oils into her skin and tinker with her hair.

Mailah felt a bit violated at first. It was a lot of touching from strangers who didn’t speak. She tensed up, her shoulders hitting her ears.

“Relax, miss,” one of the servants whispered. Her voice was strange, sounding like dry leaves blowing against stone. “Let us… do job. You be ready.”

The broken English surprised Mailah, but it helped her relax a little. She closed her eyes and let them work. They spent a long time on her hair, braiding it and pinning it back with silver clips. She felt like she was being prepared for a royal court from the 1900s.

The women brought out the attire for the evening. It wasn’t a ballgown; it was something far more purposeful.

When they finally helped her into her clothes, Mailah stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like a woman meant to command a kingdom.

She was dressed in a severely elegant riding habit. The fabric was a deep midnight blue, so dark it looked black in the shadows. The jacket was tight at her waist and chest, showing off her figure while still looking very formal and disciplined. It had a high, stiff collar that made her hold her head up high.

Beneath the jacket, a crisp white blouse peeked out, fastened tightly at her throat. It felt like a suit of armor made of silk and wool. Her long skirt was made of heavy wool, designed for riding side-saddle. It had no extra fluff—just a smooth, powerful weight that fell perfectly over her legs.

The women helped her pull on polished black leather boots that rose to her knees and fitted leather gloves. Finally, the servants placed a dark felt hat on her head. It shadowed her eyes, making her look mysterious and strong.

“Is this for the third event?” Mailah asked.

One of the ladies stepped forward. She held a choker made of blackened silver. In the center was a single, glowing moonstone. She fastened it around Mailah’s neck.

“The stone,” the servant whispered. “It glow bright when you near Ashford blood. In the maze, it find them for you.”

Mailah touched the cool stone. She didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looked like she belonged there. She looked powerful.

The sun was a bleeding line of violet and orange on the horizon when Mailah was led out to the edge of the forest. The air was cold, smelling of damp pine and old magic.

A crowd of guests stood at the entrance. They were silent, their glowing eyes watching the five figures in the center.

The Ashford brothers stood together. They were dressed in black leather and silver armor. They looked like a wall of dangerous, beautiful power.

Lucson stood at the front, his arms crossed, looking like a commander. Mason was leaning against a pillar, playing with a silver dagger.

Ravenson was a shadow among shadows, his eyes scanning the crowd. Carson was tightening his gloves, looking excited.

And then there was Grayson.

He stood apart from the others. When he saw Mailah, his eyes flared with that brilliant, pulsing silver.

A row of horses stood waiting in a corner. These weren’t the dark beasts the brothers rode; they were beautiful, sturdy animals, but they still had a wild look in their eyes. Mailah was helped onto a sleek chestnut mare.

“You’re late,” he murmured. But his voice wasn’t cold. It was a low, simmering heat that made her heart skip a beat.

“I had to get ready,” Mailah said. “Carson said you’re finally playing.”

“Stay behind the line.”

She turned to see Grayson pulling his massive black horse alongside hers. He was dressed in black leather and silver-thread armor, looking like a king going to war. His silver eyes searched hers, lingering on the way the midnight blue habit fit her body. For a moment, his gaze heated, and Mailah felt her heart give a violent leap.

Grayson reached out, his gloved hand tilting her chin up. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

“I’m just watching?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“For now,” Grayson said, his voice a low rasp. He gestured toward the forest floor, where a glowing, blood-red line had been marked across the roots and grass, stretching as far as the eye could see. “That is the Red Line. As a guest and an observer, you and the others must stay behind it. The forest inside is enchanted. If you cross that line, the woods will see you as prey, not a witness.”

Mailah looked at the dark, twisting trees. They seemed to move even though there was no wind. “And the game?”

“Each House must hunt a specific target—a spectral stag that moves through the shadows. But it isn’t just a hunt. It is a war of strategy. You can fight the other Houses. You can sabotage their paths. You can steal their progress. It is about who is the most lethal and the most cunning,” Grayson explained, his horse dancing impatiently under him.

“And the prize?”

“The heart of the stag,” Grayson said. “Whoever reaches the goal first must return to the starting point with the prize. But the win isn’t official until it is confirmed.”

He leaned closer, his shadow falling over her. “And that is where you come in. You are the witness. You have a role in confirming the victor. Only the one you acknowledge can claim the win.”

Mailah blinked, her mind racing. The witness? She remembered the meeting the brothers had after the polo match. She had wondered then what they were planning, and now she realized it was for the third event.

“Why me?” she whispered.

Grayson’s hand reached out, his gloved fingers brushing the back of her hand on the reins. The touch was brief, but it sent a spark of electricity through her entire body. “Because you are the only one in this forest whose eyes aren’t clouded by centuries of greed. Your word is the only one the King will accept as pure.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. His eyes dropped to her lips, and for a second, the world around them—the horses, the guests, the shifting woods—faded away. There was only the sound of her heart and the heat radiating from him.

“Grayson,” she breathed.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “Be careful. The woods are hungry tonight.”

Before she could respond, a thunderous sound echoed through the clearing. A man in a gold-and-black tunic—the King’s Herald—stepped forward onto a raised stone platform. He held a long silver trumpet, but he didn’t blow it. Instead, he raised a scroll.

“Silence!” the Herald bellowed, his voice magically carrying over the murmurs of the crowd.

The forest seemed to go still. Even the horses stopped shifting. Grayson straightened in his saddle, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the platform.

“By the order of the King of Exiles,” the Herald announced, his voice vibrating with an ominous weight. “There has been a slight change to the rules of the hunt.”

A murmur of confusion and fear rippled through the guests. Grayson’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip.

“Tonight,” the Herald continued, a wicked smile spreading across his face, “the witness… shall no longer be a mere observer.”

Mailah felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at Grayson, but he didn’t look back. He was staring into the dark, hungry woods, and the silver in his eyes was pulsing with a terrifying, frantic light.

“Grayson?,” she called to him.

The horn sounded—a sharp, screaming blast—and the red line on the ground flared into a wall of fire.

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