When I looked up, Prophet Cain was staring at me. There was challenge and excitement his eyes. At that moment I did not care how handsome the new prophet was, for his dark soul rendered him utterly unattractive to my eyes.
The prophet walked back to his seat, acting as though nothing had transpired between us. My dress remained up at one side, caught in my fallen headdress. I pushed the hem to my feet and clutched my veil and headdress to my chest.
I looked up as a young girl walked from the right-hand side of the room to stand next to the prophet. She was a pretty blonde with blue eyes. My stomach dropped. She looked no older than fourteen. She was just a child.
My stomach dropped further when she placed her hand on Prophet Cain’s shoulder and he covered her hand with his own. He looked up at her, and I could see the affection he held for her in his gaze. She was admiring him with the same, if not a greater, passion.
She was his consort.
I met the young girl’s eyes and was startled at the jealousy and envy shining from their bright depths. She was glaring at me with naked hatred. The prophet did not seem to notice, or care. He brought his lips to the back of her hand, then faced me once more.
“The Rapture is imminent, Cursed. I am sure you are aware of that fact. You will also know our scriptures prophesize that to save our people the prophet must wed a Cursed Sister of Eve.” He leaned forward. “For the longest time we feared all hope had been lost. No Cursed resided in New Zion . . . but now there is you.” Our eyes locked. “Just when I fear our Lord has abandoned us, he restores my faith tenfold.” I never broke his stare. I straightened my back and held my head high. Many seconds passed, then Prophet Cain’s upper lip hooked into a smirk.
I kept my face from showing any expression. I appeared stoic on the outside, but inside, I was trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Prophet Cain sat back, taking the girl’s hand in his own. It was obvious he loved the young girl, whatever his brand of love may be. It was even more clear that she was infatuated with him.
“We will wed soon, Cursed,” Prophet Cain declared. “Our people do not even know you exist. Their hope of being saved before the Second Coming is waning.” He pointed at me. “You will renew their spirit. When the time comes for them to take up arms against the devil’s men, you will help them gain the courage to fight.”
I looked at the girl again. The prophet must have seen my curiosity, for he said, “This is Sarai, Cursed. She is my head consort.” He kissed her hand. “She is my only consort at the moment. She is my heart.”
Gripping the material of my headdress tighter, I whispered, “Harmony.” I shook my head, unable to stop the anger bubbling under my skin. Unable to hold back my words.
“What?” the prophet asked, turning his attention away from his consort. I raised my head. My lips trembled when I saw his furious glare.Swallowing, I cast a nervous look around the room. The guards were all staring at me in shock. I saw Solomon and Samson clenching their jaws in frustration. They were disappointed by my inability to be submissive.
“I said, what?” he repeated, his voice harder.
I rolled my head to face him and, chasing my nerves away, replied, “Harmony.”
The prophet cocked his head to the side. Sarai glared at me. “You dare to tell him your name?” she asked, her sweet voice laced with the most potent venom. I suddenly saw why the prophet liked this girl. She was a child with the savage spirit of a twisted woman twice her age. Pretty but cruel. Prophet Cain looked up at her with pride. He looked at me, and his face became a mask of disdain.
Prophet Cain rose to his feet and slowly walked down the steps to stand before me again. I kept my head down, staring at the stone floor. His fingers landed under my chin and tilted my head up. My gaze found his brown eyes. There was absolutely no trace of kindness, nothing to make me believe our new prophet was a good man. “Tell me, Cursed. Why do you think I would want to know your name?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I did not respond. Prophet Cain lowered his face until it was opposite mine. He smiled, but it was a cold, demeaning sneer. “You are a product of the devil. You have been perfectly created for a single sinful purpose—to tempt pure and God-fearing men. Your name is nothing, just as you are nothing. You will be nothing until you are wed and I cleanse you of your innate immoral allurement. A prophet’s greatest battle is defeating the devil himself. The devil that created you as his vehicle to make good men fall.”
Prophet Cain stroked my cheek. “Even as I stand here now, I can feel your pull. I want you, devil’s whore. You are quite literally the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.” My eyes widened as his eyes darkened with need. But quick as a snake, his hand drew back and sliced across my cheek. Taken off guard, I stumbled on the uneven stone floor. I fell, shielding my face from further strikes. He crouched down beside me. I flinched as he lifted his hand again . . . but all he did was push back his long brown hair.
“Your name is nothing to me, Cursed. And from now until the coming Armageddon, you will do well not to use that viper’s tongue around me. I will not tolerate insolence, especially from those born and designed to take me into sin.”
Prophet Cain signaled to Solomon and Samson. They crossed the room, and Samson dragged me to my feet. “Take her back to the cell,” the prophet ordered. “The wedding will be soon. Tell her guardians to make sure she is ready.”
“Yes, my lord,” Solomon replied. Without giving me time to cover my head or veil my face, they took me from the room and out of the mansion. We hurried down the gravel path and over the grass that took us back to the cellblock.
I rushed to keep up with their long strides, clutching my injured wrist to my chest. My cheek was swelling from Prophet Cain’s blow, but I ignored the pain. It was pushed aside by the abrupt truth of what was about to be my future. It had to happen. I knew it did, but it did not stop the fear of the difficult road that lay ahead.
I was going to be wed to that man. I could not bear to think of what that marriage would be like . . . of what my life would be . . . of what I would become, what he would make me—broken, worthless . . . the cursed woman he believed me to be. But I had to see it through. There was no other way.
Solomon and Samson took me back to my cell. I could hear Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth’s voices in the hallway, asking them what had happened to me. If the prophet had deemed me a Cursed.