by Caitlyn Dare
Shattered Legacy
Gravestone Elite Book One
Caitlyn Dare
Copyright © 2021 by Caitlyn Dare
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Pinpoint Editing
Proofreading by Sisters Get Lit.erary
Contents
Prologue
1. Bexley
2. Mia
3. Bexley
4. Mia
5. Bexley
6. Mia
7. Bexley
8. Mia
9. Bexley
10. Mia
11. Bexley
12. Mia
13. Bexley
14. Mia
15. Bexley
16. Mia
17. Bexley
18. Mia
19. Bexley
20. Mia
21. Bexley
22. Mia
23. Bexley
24. Mia
25. Bexley
26. Mia
27. Bexley
28. Mia
29. Bexley
30. Mia
31. Bexley
32. Mia
33. Bexley
34. Mia
About the Author
Also by Caitlyn Dare
Taunt Her
Prologue
Mia
“You’re not ready?” My mother freezes in the doorway, her expression slipping. “But we leave in less than an hour.”
“Do I have to go?” I protest. “The whole thing seems like such a waste of time when we all know he’s going to be paired with Brook.”
Not that I would ever want to hear my name called. But at least if there was even a shred of mystery around which girl was going to be chosen as Cade Kingsley’s prosapia, it would give the evening some entertainment value.
“Mia, sweetheart,” she comes up behind me and places her perfectly manicured hands on my shoulders, “the Eligere is a rite of passage, you know this.”
My stomach twists. “But it’s just so… so archaic. Dressing us up like virginal brides in front of all those people…”
No, thank you.
“Mia, this isn’t a punishment, it’s a gift.” She lets out a soft sigh. “I know Cade showed preference to Brook during the courting phase, but it doesn’t mean anything. Only Quinctus can decide the fate of an Electi.”
God, she makes it all sound so normal, when living in a town like Gravestone is anything but.
As soon as you start high school, you hear the whispers about this place, the traditions… the strange rules. And if you’re lucky enough—or unlucky enough, as the case may be—to descend from one of the founding families, you get to reign supreme over the rest of us lowly folk, forcing us to partake in these ridiculous rites of passage.
Please. What girl with even an ounce of self-respect and aspirations wants to end up tied to one of the Electi?
The Chosen.
The heirs of Quinctus.
If you ask me, it’s just a smokescreen for some really messed up arranged marriage scandal.
A scandal I have no desire to be a party to.
I want to escape this town and its fucked-up traditions… but part of me can’t deny I am slightly intrigued. Nobody gets to know what happens behind the doors of Gravestone Hall.
And tonight, I have an open invitation.
“Please, Mia, don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Your father—”
“Yes, mother,” I snipe. “I’ll be ready.”
Because that’s what you do in a place like Gravestone. You follow the rules, smile where necessary, and always respect your elders.
Of course, it isn’t like that for every teenager in Gravestone. Some have the luxury of moving into the area and having zero ties with the founding families. Unlike me. Our name, Thompson, descends from the Cargill line. My great grams was a Cargill until she married a Thompson… and here I am, bound to this strange life, expected to fall in line just because of my name.
“The car leaves in,”—she checks her diamond-encrusted Rolex, an anniversary gift from my father—“forty minutes.”
“I said I’ll be ready.” It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. The dress code for the Eligere is written in lore. All girls of age from the founding bloodlines—or verus line, as we call it—must enter the choosing at least once.
Although they are rarely picked.
My mother leaves me alone, and I begin to dress. The white gown flows over my slender form like a waterfall. I take my time braiding my dark blonde hair into a crown across my head and then pin the remaining curls into place with golden tipped pins. Adding a dusting of blush to my cheeks, I smear a lick of kohl liner under my eyes. The girl staring back at me in the mirror looks meek and innocent. A girl on the cusp of becoming a young woman.
In mere weeks, I will start college. But tonight, I will stand in front of Cade Kingsley as a prosapia.
A trickle of trepidation races down my spine. Everybody knows Cade and the Electi, even those who don’t understand what it all means. He’ll be a senior at Gravestone University in the fall, but I can still remember Cade as a senior in high school. I was in ninth grade, and he was everything I wasn’t. Popular. Confident. Gorgeous.
Cade Kingsley, heir to the Kingsley line and notorious playboy, is finally going to discover the identity of his future wife.
And I am one of the offerings.
Gravestone Hall is the imposing gothic building that sits at the end of Prosperous Street. The entire town has been built leading toward it, making it the beacon landmark. The huge limestone bricks give it an eerie quality as shadows dance over the frontage.
“Ready?” my father asks me, squeezing my hand.
I give him a polite nod, unable to speak over the nervous energy pinging in my stomach. It’s silly, really. We all know the outcome of tonight’s Eligere.
The car pulls forward outside the steps leading up to the entrance, and the door opens. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, welcome,” a young man says, reaching in to offer my mother his hand.
She climbs out elegantly, her silk gown swishing around her body. Temperance Thompson is always the picture of refinement. She thinks a woman’s worth amounts to the designers she wears. It’s something I didn’t inherit. I did, however, inherit her hazel eyes and soft, dark blonde curls. Usually I wear them down, hanging like a cape over my shoulders. Tonight, however, they are intricately arranged on my head, leaving my shoulders and neck bare.
Tonight, I have no armor.
My lips curve grimly at the thought. I’m safe here. Cade didn’t even attempt to court me. I know of at least four girls he took out on a date. Maisie Godiva told her friends at school that she gave him head in the cemetery. But I’m hardly surprised. Maisie gives out blowjobs like Santa gives out presents.
At first, I was relieved he didn’t come for me. I have never had any interest in entering their world. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little. I know I’m a wallflower compared to most girls in this year’s choosing. I’m pretty but not beautiful, slender but without those voluptuous curves guys seem to love so much, and I prefer lounge pants and leggings to dresses and stockings.
I have no desire to be judged on what’s outside. A person can be beautiful to the eye but rotten to the core.
And a place like Gravestone… wel
l, it’s full of bad apples.
My father slides gracefully from the car and waits for me. I gather the dress in my hands and climb out, thanking the young man. His eyes skate down my body, lingering on my chest and the soft curve of my breasts. Heat rises inside me. I’ve never had a man look at me so brazenly before. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.
Lowering my eyes, I push a loose curl from my face and offer him a small smile.
“Miss Thompson,” he stutters over my name, “you look beautiful.”
“Mia,” my father barks, his expression displeased when I meet his eyes.
As we head inside, I feel the guy’s hungry gaze follow me. Does he know why I’m here? Does he know what happens after the formal dinner ends?
The founding families—or Quinctus, as we call them—aren’t stupid. They know how to cover their tracks and dress up their stupid traditions as celebrations and invite-only dinners.
Tonight is no different.
“He’s watching her,” I hear my father grumble.
“Relax, Garth. She looks beautiful. He’d be a fool not to look.” My mother casts me a reassuring smile, but I avert my eyes.
When they talk like this, it makes me feel like I’m nothing more than a possession. A thing. It makes me feel like my life isn’t my own.
I hate it.
I hate that I’m bound to these silly traditions. Suddenly, I want to run. I want to slip off my brand-new kitten heels and flee. But the minute we enter the Hall, all the fight leaves me.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking in the vaulted ceiling and stained windows.
“I can still remember the first time I stepped foot in here.” My mother joins me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I nod, too awed to reply. Other families mingle. I spot a couple of girls from my school and we share an awkward wave. My father greets their parents, working the room like he was born to do it.
He wasn’t.
It’s my mother’s bloodline that gives us the right to be here.
Right.
I swallow a derisive groan.
It isn’t a right, it’s an order.
“Come, Mia. Let’s find our seats.”
Of course, there’s a three-course dinner to get through before the Eligere starts. I think it’s just some kind of mental torture for the prosapia, but whatever.
The ballroom is a huge, elaborate room that has been dressed in white and gold. Flowers adorn the tables and huge floor-standing candelabras line the room. I pick out the other prosapia, six in total. Only Brook is missing. But she’ll want to make a fashionably late entrance, no doubt. She was in my class, so we’re the same age, but she’s always acted superior. Probably because she’s Phillip Cargill’s stepdaughter. He’s the town mayor and a Quinctus elder, one of the most powerful men in Gravestone. Brook was always full of herself, but the second her mom shacked up with Phillip, she became insufferable.
She honestly believes it’s her right to be paired with Cade.
Good luck to her. Cade isn’t exactly nice. Sure, he has those chiseled good looks and an arrogant charm, but there’s something about him. Something dark lingering under the surface.
Something I want no part of.
As if I’ve summoned him from my mind, the room grows quiet and Cade and his posse make their grand entrance. Everyone—the other prosapia, the parents, even the servers handing out flutes of champagne—stops to watch them. The next generation. The Quinctus heirs… the Electi.
Cade Kingsley, Tim Davenport, Ashton Moore, Channing Rexford, and Brandon Cargill.
They move like a well-oiled machine, Cade slightly in front with Tim and Ashton flanking his sides, and Channing and Brandon coming up behind. They look ravishing in their matching black suits, although they all wear them in their own style. Channing has his collar unbuttoned, no tie. Tim looks the most clean-cut of the five, shirt tucked in and cuffs visible. Brandon’s suit looks a little wrinkled, like he just rolled out of bed, or someone has been grabbing at the material. It wouldn’t surprise me; rumor has it he’s the biggest player of them all. It’s easy to see why, though, with his easy smirk, bright blue eyes, and hair as dark as the night. Ashton has left his jacket off, draping it over his shoulder like he’s in a photo shoot. And Cade… Cade looks positively breathtaking. His eyes catch mine, only for a second, and a shiver rolls down my spine. He knows who I am, but he doesn’t know me.
Because he didn’t give you a chance. I silence the little voice. I never wanted to be picked, I never wanted any of this… but I am only human, after all. An eighteen-year-old girl with dreams and desires. I press my thighs together. It’s hard not to look at the Electi and imagine things… dark, sinful things.
But then a gong rings out and the spell is broken.
They are the Electi. The chosen. The future of Gravestone.
And me?
I’m no one.
Dinner is a total bore. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t two hours of listening to various prominent residents of Gravestone giving speeches about the town’s prosperity and bright future.
By the time Phillip Cargill steps onto the stage, I’m half asleep.
“Good evening friends.” His voice echoes through the room. “Now that the formalities are out of the way, we can move onto more important things. Those of you here tonight understand the history of our great town, the importance of our heritage. Tonight, we will uphold one of our most sacred traditions: the Eligere.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I now ask the prosapia and their fathers to join me in the Sanctuary for the ceremony.”
My stomach flutters as my mother squeezes my hand. “Good luck, sweetheart. Remember, if you are not chosen, it doesn’t reflect on you.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes.
“Mia,” my father says gruffly as he stands. I gather myself and accept his offer of help. The two flutes of champagne I drank with dinner rush to my head as the room grows small around me.
Everyone is watching, waiting with bated breath to know who Cade will emerge from the sanctuary bound to.
Of course, to anyone outside of tonight’s ceremony, the engagement announcement that will follow the Eligere will be nothing out of the ordinary. Kids grow up, they attend college, date, and fall in love.
Only those with verus blood know the truth.
Everything is hazy as my father leads me out of the ballroom and down a simple stone hall. Maisie Godiva and her father are ahead of me. Her dress is slightly less demure than mine, cut low in the back and hemmed with pearls. It doesn’t surprise me. Her mother is a bit of a show-off. Brook leads our quiet caravan. When she finally arrived, everyone had stopped to admire her dress. The prosapia are supposed to present themselves in a simple white gown, something pure and innocent to honor the union oath. But in true Brook fashion, her gown was something akin to a wedding dress, layered with lace and fine gold embroidery.
She is most definitely the sun, outshining the rest of us.
Eventually, we reach the Sanctuary, a place few people in Gravestone ever have the opportunity to visit.
“Ready?” my father asks me as we step inside.
“I guess,” I murmur, wondering if anyone can ever be truly ready for something like this.
Candles flicker wildly in the cavernous room, bouncing shadows around the smooth limestone walls. It’s simple in its decoration, nothing at all like the grand ballroom. But it only adds to the mystery and intrigue.
“Welcome to the Eligere.” Phillip has slipped on a black robe that hangs to the floor. “Gentlemen, please present your daughters before the Electi.”
I spot them then: Cade and his three sidekicks all standing poised and ready. Ashton isn’t present because he isn’t a true Electi. Of the four heirs, Tim is the only one already engaged. He and his fiancée, Fawn, were paired when he was just a freshman. But Channing and Brandon will both have to be paired eventually.
My father walks me to the line and kisses me on the cheek. “What
ever happens here tonight, I want you to know I love you, Mia.”
My brows pinch, and I want to ask what he means, but he melts into the shadows.
“This is crazy,” the girl beside me breathes. I’ve seen her around town, but she’s older than me.
Phillip begins speaking again, regaling us with the history of the Eligere, the importance of unifying families and continuing to strengthen Gravestone’s influence. But his voice becomes white noise to the blood roaring in my ears.
It’s silly, we all know whose name is going to be pulled from the calix.
Cade and Brook are written in the stars.
“Maddoc.” Phillip calls forward another robed man. I vaguely recognize him but can’t place where from. My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, and the air in the Sanctuary is thick with anticipation. I can practically feel the other prosapia hold their breath as Phillip dips his hand inside the calix.
“Are you ready to meet your prosapia, Cade?”
Cade steps forward, nodding. “I am.”
He’s as cool as a cucumber, smug even, as if he’s enjoying having eight girls lined up for his entertainment.
Asshole.
My teeth grind together behind pursed lips as I try to focus on something, anything, that will help distract me from the fact that this is fucking crazy.
Phillip pulls out the small slip of paper and unfolds it, keeping his eyes on the prosapia. “Tonight, one of you will be chosen. It is a great honor, a great privilege, to be bound to an Electi.” His eyes flick to the note, a deep frown marring his forehead. The blood drains from his face as he looks back to us. “I-I don’t understand—”