Chapter 40
Dinner and a Show
MAX
“Alright, I’ll leave you to…spruce up.” She raises a brow, her top lip curling slightly as though she doesn’t believe in miracles. “A servant will bring you a suitable dress.”
My guest chambers are larger than Mabel’s entire house.
The room is not warm, exactly, but exquisitely appointed. Woven rugs cover the bed and dressing areas, while the evening breeze pours through a line of open arched windows that overlook nothing but clouds and an enormous expanse of dark-blue sky.
A massive bed dominates the space, dressed in crisp ivory linens and layered with silk pillows. A chaise lounge sits beneath the windows, positioned to admire the stars rather than invite actual rest, while matching side tables hold crystal carafes and untouched fruit.
A folding dressing screen painted with radiant sun motifs shields a steaming copper bathing tub.
Someone has already laid out oils, soaps, and folded towels, all the necessary accessories to fix my current state.
I undress and slip into the bath, sinking into water so hot it stings, and immediately glance toward the opened windows, half expecting someone to fly straight through them. The sound of water shifting around me echoes strangely in the vast chamber.
E is doing the same thing somewhere in this palace, closer than my brother in the clutches of the Reds, yet impossibly far away. My only consolation is that Nick isn’t in imminent danger. As his twin, I’d know.
I scrub grime, dried blood, and sweat from my skin almost violently, but it does nothing for the knot between my shoulder blades, the soreness in my legs, or the creeping sensation that I’m being observed.
The hairs at the back of my neck rise, and I feel as though I’m being weighed and assessed by some invisible force that has already decided I’m unworthy.
By the time I step out of the bathtub, pink from the heat and still emotionally flayed open, a dress is waiting for me on the bed. Looking at it, it feels less like a kindness and more like a costume, but I put it on anyway.
Soft, fluid fabric falls in elegant lines from my shoulders to my ankles, leaving my arms bare, and appearing deceptively simple until I notice the gold rope cinching the waist and looping delicately across the back.
The white dress is maddeningly translucent in the light, as though the Fae women who wear these gowns possess bodies too flawless to bother hiding them entirely.
My curls clash against the polished ensemble.
Hours of rain have fluffed them into a wild red halo. I drag a wide-tooth comb through them with minimal success, working fragrant oil into the worst tangles until the chaos softens into something more intentional, and I braid the unruly mass in a loose boho braid.
No one stops me as I retrace my steps toward the throne room.
The palace feels different now that night has fallen. Lanterns illuminate the corridors, and the marble reflects their light, making the halls beautiful, disorienting, and difficult to navigate.
I’m almost to the throne room when a woman’s voice reaches my ears.
“Oh, E,” she purrs. “Harder.”
The mezzanine is just ahead, but I hesitate. I still feel queasy about wandering this castle alone, uncertain whether I’m allowed to be here at all, yet the thought of returning to my room is somehow worse. Not after hearing that.
Feeling almost dizzy, I clutch the golden railing and peek at the scene below.
“Yes, yes!” Iris’s voice carries a hint of despair.
“You’re such a good girl for me,” he says darkly.
Her body is draped over one arm of the glass throne as the man behind her rams in and out of her.
His hair. His height. His wings… Everything about him reminds me of Ezra.
The mirrors lining the walls allow me to see every detail of their coupling, even from above. A glimpse of the man’s engorged cock sets my cheeks ablaze, and a sickening jolt travels up my stomach.
Iris’s dress clings to every line of her body, catching the light from the lanterns in a soft shimmer of silver and gold.
The thin straps have fallen down her shoulders, drawing the eye to the delicate dips above her collarbones.
The thigh-high slit of her skirt has been lazily brushed aside, the man holding both sides of her bare arse.
“Please, please, please,” she gasps.
He tugs on her hair and grabs her throat. “What would your husband say if he saw you like this? If he saw you coming around my cock like a common whore. It would break what’s left of his cold, selfish heart.”
Long pale-blond hair falls past his shoulder, tucked behind his pointed ears.
His face is narrow and sharply defined, with high cheekbones, a long aristocratic nose, and a strong jaw.
Fair skin and pale blue eyes give him an almost ethereal appearance, further emphasized by the white and gold clothing favored by the Sun Court.
His face is pinched with concentration, his mouth curling into a rictus of satisfaction as he climaxes inside her. A dangerous edge lurks beneath his polished surface, waiting for the right moment to draw blood.
It’s him. The man from my dreams.
I stand there, frozen.
The man I saw in my visions, the one who led my mother into the forest and sneaked into her bedroom. The Fae she was fucking in secret.
It was the King of Light.
Ezra’s father.
I remember his name from the attic. Ethan Lucifer Lightbringer.
And it makes sense now why I couldn’t tell him and Ezra apart. Why I couldn’t make sense of it.
“You were particularly eager today, my little ice queen,” he says in a praising fashion, and my heart plummets.
His voice is so, so familiar. He used that same tone with me when he gifted me my first dead body. You did well, little Maxine, he’d said.
The dams of memories flood open.
There were other dead bodies. Every few weeks, he'd visit my mother under the guise of romance, then sneak off with me in the mornings.
He'd watch as I...consumed his kills, the same way I inadvertently devoured the soul of the Red Nick killed in battle.
The way I consumed my patients' souls without realizing what I was doing.
There must have been dozens of them until my mother found out.
It was he who came to our little cabin with the Reds after she put a stop to our outings. After she started running from him, too. He’s the one who betrayed her.
“I have a surprise for you,” Iris purrs before taking a dramatic pause. “The prodigal son has returned.”
The King of Light sinks his nails into her hips. “What?”
She smiles wickedly. “Ezra is back, but he’s got no memories of his life.”
The King of Light purses his lips. “What?”
Iris titters on the balls of her feet, looking thrilled to be the one to break the news. “You heard me.”
“No memories. Are you sure?” Ethan breathes, his confusion morphing into happiness, a strange, giddy smile breaking on his lips.
Iris’s eyes dance. “None whatsoever. I asked him and his companion to join us for dinner. And he actually sounded eager to meet you.”
Ethan’s smile dies as quickly as it appeared. “Where is he?”
“In his bedroom.”
The King of Light hurries off, and my heart beats in my throat. Ezra inherited Bloodsinger blood from his mother, not his father.
Could he be my half-brother? No, no. That would be too awful.
I can’t—
Iris slips the straps of her dress back in place and shoots me a knowing look. “I knew you’d come looking for me.” Her eyes shine with mischief. “But I didn’t know you liked to watch.”
She knew I was there all along.
“I’m sorry, I just—” I stammer.
“You want to know the truth about Ezra.”
“Yes,” I admit, unable to explain why I just stood there and watched them without revealing the horror I felt.
She motions me forward, shaking off her interlude with the king as though I interrupted nothing of consequence. No intimacy. No real feelings. Just two bodies scratching an itch.
“Well,” she says lightly, “I can tell you he’s not nearly as much fun since he lost his memories. He’s changed a lot since I last saw him.”
My throat bobs.
I’m both sad and jealous that she knew him. She’s obviously trying to rile me up by implying I don’t know the real Ezra, that I’m stuck with some skewed, watered-down version of him.
But what if she’s right?
“Tell me about him,” I ask, taking the bait.
“The man I knew was impulsive and passionate...” She chuckles to herself. “There was never a dull moment as long as Ezra Lightbringer was around. He needed to be the center of attention and loved leaving a lasting impression, especially where women were concerned.”
A strange look clouds her face as she tucks her dark hair behind her ears. “He was a serial flirt, plowing through the girls at the Royal Academy more efficiently than a reaper collects souls.”
I cringe at that. “You went to school with him, then?”
“Oh, just ask the question that’s burning your lips. Yes, I fucked him. Many, many times.”
The amusement on her face chafes me raw.
“We almost got married, he and I, but Willow Summers needed a husband, and I suspect her dowry was too good to pass up. Too bad, because she never loved him.”
Iris grimaces again.
“Why would she marry him, if not for love?”
She glares at me with that faint, disbelieving frown again, like she can’t decide if I’m being obtuse or downright stupid. “Fae often marry for power and connections, of course. The match made sense on paper, but Willow was gay, so their marriage was doomed from the start.”
Gay.
Iris, aside from her crude storytelling abilities, is offering my traitorous heart exactly what it wants: a loophole.
Proof that Ezra’s marriage was never real, that there was never some great love mourning his absence.
She’s handing me an excuse to believe that whatever exists between us might survive the truth, and I distrust it immediately for how badly I want it to be true.
“And he didn’t love her either? Not even a little bit?”
“Oh no. Back then, Ezra only had eyes for Beth.”
What? A third girl?
I should be thinking about Nick. About the king I’m about to beg for help.
About what he did to my mother and me. Instead, my thoughts keep circling back to Ezra as I try to reconcile the ghost I fell for with the prince Iris remembers.
The man I saw in the mirror, the one who taunted me to leave my fiancé, was confident and brazen and infuriating, but he only has eyes for me.
“Meanwhile, I was stuck with his brother, Elio,” Iris adds, a sour pout twisting her mouth. “But Ezra didn’t mind the rules so much back then, so we had quite a bit of fun together.”
“And now you’re fucking his father? How does that work?” I ask bluntly.
She arches one perfectly plucked brow at my outburst. “What can I say? I like blondes.”
With that, she heads off toward the back of the throne room.
“Wait! I’m just trying to understand.”
“There’s not much to understand, Red.”
I shudder at the nickname. I might have red hair, but Red is not what I am.
Iris goes on. “Loving a Lightbringer will bring you nothing but misery. As a Spring Fae, I’m kind of an expert on true love.
You should walk away before you’re in too deep.
It will spare you a lot of heartbreak. Sex with Ezra Lightbringer...
Nothing compares to it. Nothing ever got me quite that high again. ”
She sighs regretfully, shaking her head like she’s trying to shake off the memories. The mockery slips from her face.
“What happened to him?” she asks, and I detect a flicker of genuine concern.
She’s curious about the man he is now, just as I was curious about the man he used to be.
“He was living in my house, wasting away. We both thought he was a ghost,” I say quietly. “I never imagined any of this.”
Ten more questions bloom in my mind, my curiosity as insatiable as ever, and I shudder.
Ezra warned me, didn't he?
You're far too curious to give up on ever meeting me.
I love E, but some reckless part of me is equally obsessed with Ezra, the prince who visited me in my dreams.
Bad news. I'm the one who gets you in the end, Max.
Maybe that's why he sounded so certain. Not because of fate, or E's inevitable demise, but because he understood exactly how my mind works. He knew I'd become fascinated by the unknown. By the impossible gap between the man I love and the man he used to be.
A strange look crosses Iris's face, gone almost as quickly as it appears.
“Come along,” she says at last. “Dinner's ready.”