Author's Note: As you can tell by the date posted, I originally started this fic in 2013 and abandoned it after just a couple chapters. I'm back ten years later (thanks to this 2023 hunger games renaissance) and hoping to actually finish it this time around. Over the summer I basically completely rewrote the first few chapters and have been writing new chapters since. This story is also posted on ao3 (which is where I'm most active these days), but I will continue to update it on here as well. And finally, thank you so much for reading - I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
The atmosphere in the Town Square of District Two is hectic, and all around me are citizens buzzing with excitement. To make it all better, it's my name that's on everyone's lips. Clove Kentwell, the one to beat. I've earned my own reputation in this town, believe it or not, through ten long years of training and preparing for this day. I'm pacing back and forth anxiously, dark brown ponytail swinging from side to side. Cracking my knuckles, I glance across the aisle separating the boys and girls at my soon-to-be district partner and opponent in the upcoming Hunger Games, Cato Hadley.
His blonde hair is spiked up in that perfect, messy way, his signature smirk in place. He's the ideal District Two tribute: strong, attractive, arrogant, intimidating. Clinging to his arm is Adelina West, the mayor's daughter and Cato's girlfriend of two years. As far as the rest of the district is concerned, Cato and Adelina are desperately in love, and I'm the only one who knows otherwise. It was only three weeks ago, after all, that Cato and I were secretly hooking up in the showers above the training center. A shaming deed, I'm aware, but each of us vowed never to speak of it after that night.
As for Adelina, she's basically the very definition of perfection, with flowing blonde hair, striking green eyes, and a figure to die for. Since she's the mayor's daughter, her only real responsibility is to attend fancy events and stand there looking pretty. She attends the Academy with the rest of us and is actually pretty badass with a bow and arrow, but her parents would never allow her to volunteer.
The tributes-in-training come from some of the wealthiest families in the district, and almost all of us are blood-related to a previous victor, whether it be a sibling, parent, aunt, or uncle. More often than not, victors marry other victors, therefore creating offspring twice as ruthless as their already brutal parents. I am the only child of victors Baron Kentwell and Robin Eve, who I'm convinced married solely for the purpose of reproducing. Love isn't a word in their vocabulary, and I often find myself wondering if they would even miss me if I died in The Games. If anything, my family would probably see me as a disgrace if I returned home in a coffin. That being said, my only real option is to win this thing and come home alive.
Today is the most anticipated event of the year, Reaping Day. Practically everyone in the district is hung over from the Reaping parties last night, with the only exception being me and Cato. We were forbidden by our trainers to have so much as a single drop of alcohol, because apparently it would put us in the "wrong mindset" for this "very important day." They throw a huge party where we're the literal guests of honor, yet we have to spend the night being glorified sober monitors. Kinda bullshit if you ask me, but I don't make the rules.
I avert my attention to the stage, which is now occupied by the whimsical District Two escort Rhiannon Pearl. She dons a flowing green dress embellished with, you guessed it, hundreds of pearls of different sizes. Her auburn hair is long and wild with a crown of flowers placed delicately atop her head. She's somewhat of a legend in District Two; we all grew up hearing the folklore that she's a direct descendant of a witch who, 74 years ago, placed a spell on our district to empower our tributes and lead them to victory in the Games. I watch as she scans over the crowd of energetic citizens, probably trying to guess which two of us will be volunteering. I highly doubt she'd ever suspect me, one of the tiniest ones in my age category.
When the clock strikes noon, Rhiannon begins the long, drawn-out speech about the rules and regulations of The Games that every single person in the square has heard dozens of times. I steady my breathing, bracing for what will be the single most important moment of my life thus far. "And now," there's a dramatic pause as Rhiannon walks over to the bowl of girls' names, barefoot of course, "for the girls."
Her frail hands fish around the bowl for a good thirty seconds, and when she finally selects a slip of paper, I take a deep breath. This is it. This is the last second of my life that I'll merely be a trainee, for from this next moment on, I'll be a tribute and, in a couple weeks, a victor. She says a name I've never heard – definitely no one from the Academy – so I step forward.
"I volunteer as tribute," I proclaim and make my way up the stage, feeling the eyes of the whole district on me as I do so.
"What is your name, love?" Rhiannon asks, passing me the microphone.
"Clove Kentwell," I smirk, knowing damn good and well that everyone already knows who I am. Apparently my birth was a largely publicized event in the Capitol as well as District Two, since I was the child of two victors.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, for our male tribute." Again, there is pin-drop silence throughout the square as Rhiannon unfolds a white slip of paper from the reaping bowl, but she doesn't even get to fully read the kid's name aloud before Cato is lunging forward to volunteer. His eyes glint with maliciousness, and something about the thrill in his voice as he volunteers makes me question his sanity. He stares directly into the lens of the camera as he heads up to the stage, delivering a dangerous smirk. Damn, he's good at this. "And what is your name?"
"Cato Hadley," he declares, and his raspy voice echoes through the square.
I reach out my hand to him, and he shakes it. His hands are rough and callused, and I can't stop the memories of that night from flooding back into my mind. I can still feel those hands grazing my ass, pulling my hair, slipping inside of me. "You're fucking perfect, you know that?" he had growled into my ear between thrusts. "You've known me how many years and you're just now figuring that out?" I had taunted him in response.
Rhiannon's voice snaps me back into reality when she exclaims, "Let's give it up for the District Two tributes, Clove Kentwell and Cato Hadley!" At that point the crowd literally goes wild, cheering and applauding and hooting and whistling for us. But before I can even enjoy the chants of my name that are coming from the crowd, Rhiannon's cold, bony fingers are pushing me through the heavy double doors of the Justice Building, and I wonder for the first time in my life if I will actually be able to kill Cato Hadley.
The train ride to the Capitol is fairly short – only about six hours – and it goes so smoothly that it's almost unsettling. The mentors this year are Brutus and Enobaria, and to say I'm thrilled would be the understatement of the year. Both of them work for the Academy, not because they need to but because they enjoy it, and had a hand in selecting the two of us as this year's tributes. Having both grown up in Victor's Village, Cato and I are already highly familiar with each of them.
Ever since I've known him, Cato lived exactly three houses down from me with his two older siblings and their aunt, Lyme, the victor of the 54th Games. He never spoke about his parents, and I never asked.
I focus my attention on Brutus and Enobaria, hanging on to every word they say like the obedient little tribute I was trained to be. Enobaria won her Games when I was four years old and has been my all-time favorite victor ever since. At the Academy, it was well-known that I was one of her protégé; she devoted years to training me in the beginning, making sure I had the foundation that would be needed to excel there. She is to me what Brutus has been to Cato.
Brutus and Enobaria start bickering over something, as usual, so I get up and stroll over to the buffet table to grab a chocolate chip cookie, which is quickly becoming my new favorite food ever. Throwing my head back in bliss, I all but inhale the cookie, and then another, and another. I can't believe we don't have these in Two.
"Clove," Enobaria abruptly pauses her conversation to side-eye me while I'm in the middle of eating my fourth cookie, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Eating a cookie?" I say innocently. One of the first things they told us when we got on the train was to limit ourselves with the desserts, because apparently eating sugar too often will make us start craving it in the arena when we can't have any. Whatever. This could potentially be the last week of my life; I'm eating whatever the hell I want to.
"No more," she warns, exposing her fangs so that I know she's serious. I shoot an unconvincing shrug in her direction, and she rolls her eyes but lets it go, annoyed and unsatisfied.
Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into me these past few weeks. It's like I'm eating everything in sight, and I've been getting the weirdest cravings at the most random times. Last week, I literally walked halfway across the district to buy a sack of peanuts because I was almost positive that I was going to rip someone's head off if I didn't have some.
We spend the rest of the train ride discussing our angles, but it's pretty obvious that our actual personalities are the best option for us both. We don't need to pretend to be sweet or sly or sultry. We are skilled, and soon everybody will know it. I can't wait to get my hands on some knives in the Training Center just to see the looks on the other tribute's faces when they realize I'll probably be the one to kill them.
"I mean, I think it'll be pretty obvious right off the bat that I'm the one to beat," I hear Cato say to Brutus.
I laugh so hard I snort - I can't help myself. They both look over at me. "That's exactly why you won't be the one to win, you moron," I comment. I give it no more than five days before someone in our alliance inevitably gets too paranoid and tries to kill him in his sleep.
"I'm sorry Clove, was that triggering for you?" he retorts, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"I'm just saying, if you want to play alpha male all week long, don't be surprised if someone sees you as a threat and tries to take you out before you expect it," I state, and I can tell by the irritated look on his face that he knows I'm right. The Academy has recordings of nearly all the Games broadcast to date, and we have spent years of our lives studying them. The alpha male is, shockingly enough, not usually the first one to turn on the Careers alliance, but is almost always the target of the first attack.
"Is that a threat?" he cocks his head at me, but I can tell by his tone that he knows I won't be the one to turn on him.
"You know damn good and well that I don't need to wait till you're asleep to be able to kill you," I reply. "I want to be able to look you in the eye when I slit your throat."
He smirks. I swear I think I see him lick his lips for a split second. I narrow my eyes at him in return. He's enjoying this too much.
That night, after the train arrives at the Capitol, Rhiannon escorts us to our suite in the Tribute Center, still barefoot if you were wondering. "Because your district is so much closer than most of the others, you get a whole extra night here in the Capitol," she exclaims, as if that's the best thing about being from District Two.
We all gather in the living room to watch the recap of the Reapings, excited to scope out our competition for the first time.
The District One tributes seem pretty typical. The girl, Glimmer, reminds me a lot of Adelina – appearance wise at least. I can tell that she is smart but trying to play dumb, and I make a mental note to befriend her. As for the guy, Marvel, he looks useful enough. He's built about the same size as Cato, maybe a little smaller, and is obviously charming in a way that Cato and I inherently lack.
When it cuts to District Two, even I must admit how intimidating we look. Both Cato and I have the whole bite-your-face-off thing practically radiating from our bodies. Granted, Cato is at least a whole head and a half taller than me, but something about my smirk let's you know I'll definitely be a threat, despite my size. I'm glad I initiated our handshake because it makes it obvious that I'm not afraid of him, and I'm even more glad there are no subtitles of the thoughts that were going through my head during that handshake.
The rest of the program is pretty dull, to be completely honest. I was sort of hoping that District Four might have actually produced some tributes worthy enough to be in the Career alliance this year, but of course, they look like the usual weaklings that have been coming from there ever since Odair won nearly a decade ago.
We'll definitely have to look out for the guy from Eleven once we're in the arena, considering he's about the same size, if not larger than Cato and Marvel. If he gets a decent enough training score, however, we might even ask him to join the Careers.
District Twelve, as much as I hate to admit it, nearly steals the show. At first, one of their twelve-year-olds is reaped, and I'm surprisingly relieved when the kid's sister Katniss volunteers in her place. She doesn't seem to pose too big a threat, and she obviously knows that, considering she hugs her sister like it's the last time she'll ever see her again. After the boy from Twelve is reaped, Caesar Flickerman reappears on the screen, rambling on about his excitement for The Games and blah blah blah blah…
"I think the tributes from One are the obvious choice for an alliance," Brutus states, and everyone agrees, Cato a little too eagerly.
"We'll let their mentors know that we're interested, and hopefully everyone will hit it off at the Tribute Parade tomorrow," Enobaria says, looking at me in particular. "Try to play nice, please, Clove," she adds, knowing I wasn't exactly great at making friends at the Academy.
"I am nice," I argue, and it is Cato who laughs so hard he snorts this time. "What?" I snap at him.
"You pulled a knife on me the first time we met," he chuckles, adding, "and you were only nine."
I roll my eyes. "Yes, and it was nice of me not to actually cut you with it."
"Just maybe...don't be so much yourself tomorrow. Try to make a good impression, crack a couple of jokes," Enobaria suggests.
"I know how to talk to people, Enobaria, I'm not an avox!" I protest.
"I know, I know," she contends, but shoots Cato a look that I'm sure says please-keep-her-in-line-tomorrow-or-else.
So maybe my sense of humor is a bit dry. And yes, I can have kind of a short fuse when first meeting people, but so does Cato. I am not and never have been a people pleaser. The only people's approval I ever sought was that of my trainers and my parents. Why would I change who I am to try to make people like me? Then I wouldn't be me. And everybody is gonna want to be me when I win the Hunger Games in a couple of weeks.