Chapter Six: The Test
1212 Words
The silence in the dining hall was suffocating.
Every flicker of candlelight seemed to spotlight Mia, every pair of Blackwood eyes trained on her like predators circling prey. The question still hung in the air, heavy and merciless.
What makes you worthy of the Blackwood name?
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her fingers gripped the velvet edge of her chair until her knuckles turned white. The urge to look down, to shrink into herself, clawed at her—but Adrian’s hand was still on hers beneath the table. Firm. Immovable. His grip was not gentle, but grounding, as if commanding her silently: Do not break.
Mia inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of that command settle into her chest. She couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. Not here. Not now.
Her eyes lifted, meeting the patriarch’s. The man at the head of the table was ancient yet terrifyingly sharp, his presence like a blade honed over generations. Lines carved his face, but there was nothing fragile about him. His gaze was iron, his silence a trap.
What could she say? That she wasn’t worthy? That she had been forced into this marriage, a pawn plucked from obscurity? That she was terrified, out of her depth, and drowning?
No. That would kill her faster than any poison.
Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.
“I can’t claim to be worthy,” she said, every syllable a fight against her fear. “Not yet. Worth is proven, not given.”
The room shifted. A rustle of disapproval, a faint scoff from Sofia down the table. But Mia pressed on, her courage surprising even herself.
“What I can promise,” she continued, her voice gathering strength, “is that I will not dishonor the name I’ve been given. Whatever test you put before me—whatever trial—I will face it. And I will not break.”
Her chest heaved when the words ended, her throat raw from the force of them.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Sofia’s laugh sliced through the air, brittle and mocking. “How noble. How… quaint. Do you think this is a fairy tale, little waitress? That courage alone makes you one of us?”
Heat rushed to Mia’s cheeks, humiliation burning. But before she could reply, Adrian’s voice cut in, dark and silken.
“Careful, Sofia.”
The warning in his tone was unmistakable.
Sofia’s painted lips curled, but she subsided, her eyes glittering with venom as they flicked back to Mia.
The patriarch leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Interesting,” he murmured, as though Mia were a specimen to be studied. “You have a tongue, girl. That much is clear. But words are easy. What I want to see is action.”
The room stilled again. Even Adrian’s hand tightened on hers.
“What do you mean?” Mia asked, her voice smaller now.
The patriarch’s gaze pinned her like a hawk. “If you wish to wear the Blackwood name, you will prove your worth. Not in speeches, not in defiance—but in deed. There is a way we test outsiders who claim a place at this table.”
Mia’s stomach dropped. “Test?”
A ripple of unease passed down the table, though some faces lit with cruel anticipation. Sofia’s smile widened, hungry.
“Yes,” the old man said, his tone final. “A Blackwood must show strength, loyalty, and cunning. You will be given a task. Something only those who deserve to remain among us can survive.”
Mia’s breath hitched. The words were not metaphorical. She could feel it in the way the family leaned forward, their eyes gleaming with dark interest. This wasn’t going to be a parlor game or a symbolic ritual. It would be something dangerous.
“What kind of task?” she whispered.
But the patriarch only smiled, thin and cold. “You’ll know soon enough. For now, eat.”
The command dropped like a gavel.
The conversation around the table resumed, forced and brittle, but Mia barely heard it. Her appetite had vanished, replaced by a stone of dread lodged in her stomach.
She stared at her plate, the golden roast gleaming under candlelight, and tried to steady her breathing. What kind of test? Images flooded her mind—trials of violence, humiliation, blood. The Blackwoods weren’t ordinary. They dealt in shadows, in power laced with fear.
A whisper brushed her ear.
“Breathe,” Adrian murmured, so low only she could hear.
Her head jerked up, meeting his gaze. For the first time, his eyes softened—just slightly, a flicker of something almost human beneath the steel. His hand squeezed hers once, reassuring yet commanding at the same time.
The gesture steadied her enough to lift her fork, though every bite was like swallowing glass.
The rest of dinner blurred into a haze of polite cruelty. One relative questioned her about her education, pretending interest but dripping with disdain when she admitted she hadn’t attended university. Another asked about her parents, and the pity in their tone stung sharper than knives.
Mia answered each question as best she could, clinging to calmness, reminding herself not to let them see her crumble.
But Sofia wasn’t finished.
“So,” Sofia drawled after her wine glass was refilled, “tell us, Mia—how does it feel to be plucked from obscurity and paraded as a Blackwood bride? Do you ever wonder why Adrian chose you?”
The question was poison wrapped in silk. Mia’s chest tightened. Did she wonder? Every moment. And yet, here, in front of all of them, she couldn’t afford to confess weakness.
She forced her lips into a small smile. “Every day feels like a test. Perhaps that’s the point.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Sofia’s face before the smirk returned. “We’ll see how long you last.”
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Dinner dragged until at last the patriarch rose, signaling the end. Servants swept in to clear the plates, and the family began to disperse with murmured farewells. But before Mia could exhale relief, the old man’s voice stopped her cold.
“Mia.”
Her spine stiffened.
“Yes, sir?” she managed, her throat dry.
He studied her, his eyes gleaming like embers in the dim light. “Your test begins tomorrow night. Be ready.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Tomorrow. Not weeks, not days. Tomorrow.
“What kind of—”
But he turned away, his dismissal sharp as a blade.
Mia stood frozen, her pulse roaring, until Adrian’s hand slid around her waist, guiding her toward the doors. The contact was steady, protective, but there was no softness in his voice when he finally spoke.
“You asked what it means to be a Blackwood wife,” he said quietly, his breath brushing her ear as they stepped into the night air. “Tomorrow, you’ll find out.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine, terror and anticipation tangling into a knot that stole her breath.
And as the car door shut behind her, she realized with a cold jolt—there was no way out.
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