Groom Wars

38. Risk

After boarding the bus for the elimination match, I sat quietly by Cadmus' side, watching the trees flash by outside the window until we parked by the side of the road. We waited for the staff to set themselves up in the pit. We were used to the anxious few minutes we stayed in the bus, armpits perspiring before being summoned.

My alliance and I had set our sights on someone big. We were planning to send in a person who had tremendous sway over the people in the house.

Of course, I was nervous to act; things could backfire, and our immunity only lasted to the next challenge day, but the greater the risk, the greater the reward. If we got rid of one of the marquesses, we would be almost unstoppable and have the leverage to become the biggest alliance in the house.

A producer summoned us, and we, along with the other participants, followed the well-trod trail to our destination. We reached the glade that held the hole where we would fight like gladiators for our survival.

We slowly descended the steps, sinking deep into the pit, and took our place in the bleachers. With the sun near its peak, we felt its light warming the back of our necks. One of the director's assistants arranged Leandro, Cadmus, Steven, Mike, Luke, Robby, Jet, Charlie, Junho, and me to the left side of the stands. The crowd of vulnerable participants pulsed to our right. They glanced at us wearily, recognizing the power we held over them.

This, dear reader, is what it felt like to be a king.

They watched us with fearful gazes. Swallowed their unease.

I smiled, bathing in the glory of my victory. Of my team's victory. If it weren't for my excellent teammates, I wouldn't be standing here today. Mike caught my smile and gave me a quick wink before returning his gaze to the pit. Leandro and I stood on opposite ends of our line. He turned his head to look at me, a brooding mask on his face. I saw his lips, thought of the sweet, hot kiss, and my smile vanished.

As we waited for the staff to finish setting up, Lord Columbia and Johnathon strode over to us. They were accompanied by Lord Quebec, who seemed a pale, sickly vampire. Not only was Quebec thin, but his face also had the sharp angles of a dehydrated corpse. Dark circles shrouded his eyes. He smelled faintly like germanium, a strong musky scent with a tang of citrus. A rich aroma I would always couple with the man's image of sickliness. Unlike Lord Quebec, Columbia had a craggy face, short black hair, a fit frame, and sharp, focused eyes.

With every day that passed, Lord Quebec looked more and more disorientated, but none of the staff bothered him when he performed poorly. He was prone to outbursts, fits, and violence that the staff turned a blind eye to. However, other, less affluent participants would get kicked off the show for the same behaviour.

There were also rumours that he sexually harassed his alliance members.

Despite the hatred surrounding Lord Quebec, he was still a marquess, someone we had to be careful around and respect. As he studied our line, the marquess's face was taut and ashen.

Leandro left his spot and stood between Lord Columbia and me. He and Lord Columbia watched each other wordlessly. Their standoff lasted a few seconds before Lord Columbia said, "I meant to congratulate you on your win yesterday, but I didn't get an opportunity to. Your alliance is in its prime, isn't it?"

Leandro chuckled softly but made no attempt to answer.

In the dirt pit, I espied a long rope that sat between two wooden platforms. I imagined the players would stand on their respective pedestals with the rope gripped in tight fists and try to yank their adversary off the opposite stand. A good old-fashioned 'Tug of War'. It would be funny to see someone faceplant in the dirt.