"Now." The ruler turned toward him. "Your dance."

"What?" Emilio stared at him. "Man, I can't dance."

Clearly, the ruler couldn't have cared less. He held out a golden crescent-shaped knife. Its handle was inlaid with glittering gemstones. "Choose."

Emilio didn't take it. 

Choose?

What was he supposed to choose?

One of the women?

No fucking way.

He decided to play dumb instead. "I have no idea what you want me to do."

"Kill." The ruler nodded toward the dancers. "Woman."

Okay... that's kind of hard to misunderstand.

Of course he wanted to shake his head. Tell him no. Rip the knife out of his hand and throw it into the fire. But he wasn't naïve enough to believe Mateo would survive that.

If this bastard could slaughter his own wives with such obvious enthusiasm, he wouldn't hesitate for a second to execute a prisoner.

I have to do it. His fingers trembled as he wrapped them around the jeweled hilt. He looked toward the dancers. The young women moved across the stone plaza, swaying to the rhythm of the drums. Their expressions were peaceful. Emilio was pretty sure they'd been drugged—the same way shamans used hallucinogens to reach higher planes.

"So you want me to walk over there," he said in disbelief, "grab one of them by the hair, and slit her throat?"

The ruler answered with an amused smile.

These people are completely fucking insane.

No wonder Iliyan found it so easy to kill Mayu. If this ritual is as normal here as celebrating Christmas back home...

The thought of Iliyan gave him a tiny spark of hope.

Is this what he's been waiting for?

If Emilio walked among the dancers, he'd at least be farther away from his psychotic fiancé.

All they needed now was a distraction...

"Now," the ruler repeated sharply.

Rolling his eyes, Emilio got to his feet. "Jesus, man. Give me a second to get used to the fact that you're turning me into a fucking murderer." He walked to the edge of the platform and jumped down with considerably less grace than he'd intended. Sand shifted beneath his feet. 

Hundreds of eyes followed him. Waiting. Watching. As if they expected him to hand someone a medal instead of a death sentence.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Just pretend you're playing some virtual reality game. None of this is real. It's not real.

It didn't help. Not even a little.

He'd been here far too long to keep lying to himself like that.

Iliyan did it. He killed an innocent girl to save me. Now you have to do the same for Mateo.

He took a step forward. His heart hammered against his ribs.

A breeze brushed across his face as one of the women danced past him, her face lifted toward the heavens, both arms reaching skyward.

Emilio swallowed. Count to three. Like it's some twisted game of musical chairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

One.

Boom. Boom.

His heartbeat pounded in time with the heavy drums.

Two.

A bead of sweat slid down the side of his neck.

Three.

His eyes flew open.

Don't think.

Don't think.

A woman danced barely five feet away.

He stepped toward her. Wrapped one arm around her neck. Pulled her against him.

The warmth of her skin seeped through his clothes. Her hair brushed against his chin.

Don't think.

Do it, Emilio.

Do it.

But...

Iliyan...

Iliyan wasn't there.

No distraction.

Nothing.

Hundreds of eyes burned into his skin.

"I'm sorry," Emilio whispered. A sob escaped him. Then he reversed his grip on the crescent-shaped blade and drew it across her throat. Blood sprayed forward.

She collapsed against him.

Emilio stumbled backward beneath her weight. Tears blurred his vision.

No.

No, no, no.

Shaking from head to toe, he shoved her body away. His stomach clenched violently.

He forced himself to breathe. In. Out. Don't panic.

Don't throw up.

You're a god.

You're a god.

His legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, but somehow he managed to turn around.

It was over.

He'd done it.

He'd claimed his place beside that bastard.

He climbed back onto the waist-high platform and lowered himself silently onto the throne.

His cheeks were wet. Tears. Blood. He couldn't tell anymore.

Rigidly, he stared into the distance while trying to pull himself back together.

It wasn't working.

He felt like he could pass out at any second.

And the only people he believed could calm him down... weren't here.

As if in a trance, he watched the ruler's other wives take handfuls of flower petals from woven baskets and scatter them over the dead woman's body.

Some of the petals drifted away like tiny boats on the stream of blood flowing from the corpse.

The ruler rose to his feet and addressed the crowd.

Emilio heard his own name.

Something about having made a choice.

Whether the woman he'd selected was supposedly the worthiest, the most beautiful, or the least worthy, he couldn't tell.

He caught the word yawar—blood—over and over again.

And sisay.

Prosperity.

Good fortune.

His attention slipped away again, swallowed by the dark red blood that continued to spread across the sandy stones.

Blood that I spilled.

He looked down at his hands. Dark smears stained them too.

The knife was gone.

Did it slip from my hand?

Did His Holiness take it back without me noticing?

He looked up again when another sentence from the speech caught his attention.

Bring me her children, so they may accompany their mother.

"What?" Emilio lurched to his feet and grabbed the ruler by the arm. "I'm not killing any children," he said in the native language. "Neither are you."

The ruler slowly turned toward him. His face had become an emotionless mask. His black eyes were cold. He reached for the crescent-shaped knife hanging at his side. "You rather I kill your friend?" A smile spread across his lips. "I will serve him at feast."

Emilio clenched his teeth. Asshole.

Isn't there anything I can do?

His silence was answer enough.

The ceremony continued.

Three children were led into the center of the square.

Toward the motionless body of the woman Emilio had killed.

He sat back down and turned his face away before anyone could force him to slaughter the children himself.

In the brief glimpse he'd caught, he'd seen that the oldest couldn't have been more than six.

His eyes burned.

No one protested.

Not even the children cried.

It was as though they'd known from the moment they were born that this was how their lives would end.

Maybe they did.

Maybe this is just another weekly celebration to them.

Across the platform, Mateo caught his eye. "You can't stop this, E."

Child murder.

They're murdering children right in front of me, and I still can't—

A wet gurgle.

A short scream.

Emilio squeezed his eyes shut.

Then another thought hit him, freezing him where he sat.

They're probably his own children.

With a harem and no such thing as condoms, he's probably fathered dozens of them... and kills them before they grow up and become rivals.