Chapter Seven
“I don’t understand.” Ben rests his head in his hands. “Maybe you all understand, but I don’t get it at all.”
“Nope, utterly and completely lost,” Este replies. She looks like Marion in miniature. Same light brown skin and dark curls.
Their eyes are the same too, big and brown and framed with thick lashes like a baby doll. At only seventeen, Este is the youngest
in our little group. She speaks less than her older sister, but when she does, she does not waste words.
Rhion paces the room. “How do I explain? Bram, and Bram alone, can reach into the space between worlds and open the door.
It’s as simple as it seems.”
“That’s the reason Others have only come through in London and Bath,” I say. “Bram has to let them in himself.”
Rhion nods and snaps his fingers. “Yes, exactly!”
On the bright side, there is no door somewhere, swinging open, allowing droves of fae to cross over into our world. But it
also means I need Bram to let me into the Otherworld himself.
Disappointment crashes over me like a tidal wave. I try to swallow it, but a sob escapes my lips. Olive pats my back weakly.
“I’m never going to get them back, am I?”
Rhion pauses. “No. Don’t say that.”
I wipe a tear that’s escaped down my cheek. “Why not? It’s true.”
Rhion crosses the room and bends at my knee so we’re eye to eye. “Why do you think the folk love humans? So much we’d overthrow
a queen and wait centuries to be reunited with you?”
“Because you’re all pea-brained little sadists,” Faith says under her breath.
Rhion doesn’t take offense. “Not entirely untrue. But it’s more than that. My kind may live forever, but we have one fatal
flaw: our short attention span. The average human child has more ability for focus and self-control than a thousand-year-old
fae. We love humans because we love human society. Our towns in the Otherworld are pale imitations of your cities because
we couldn’t be bothered to build them. There are no fancy stores with candies wrapped in wax paper or pleasure yachts that
carry us down rivers. Our society is functional, but hundreds of years behind yours.”
“And Bram means to halt all our progress,” I say.
“That he will,” Rhion agrees. “But there is another reason the folk love humans. It goes beyond fascination. Some of the folk
can feel particularly strong human emotions. It’s a hit better than any faerie wine.”
“They’re getting drunk off of us?” Emmy asks in horror.
“Not everyone. But yes,” Rhion answers gravely. “The stronger the emotion, the greater the feeling of euphoria.”
The sinking feeling in my stomach has only gotten worse. “I appreciate your information, but I’m still not entirely sure how
this helps us get to the Otherworld or overthrow Bram.”
“They’re one and the same,” Rhion says. “You need to get to the Otherworld to rescue Lydia.”
All at once the puzzle pieces slot together in my mind. “You want me to get Bram drunk. Drunk on me.”
Rhion grins. “Clever girl.”
Brief elation quickly gives way to nausea. “I know that I am his wife, but I can’t fake loving him. I don’t have it in me.”
“I didn’t say it had to be love. What I said is that it has to be a strong emotion,” Rhion answers.
We work well into the night on a plan, as the housekeepers bring us more beeswax candles to keep the room alight and trays
of cheese, bread, and pickled vegetables to snack on while we work.
By the time I climb the hill back to the Royal Crescent, the first pale blue streaks of dawn are slipping across the sky,
and I feel something like hope for the first time since my wedding day.
That night, I appear in the doorway to Bram’s room as he readies himself for the revel. His private quarters are as spotless
as his room at Kensington Palace. Not a scrap of parchment is out of place, not a bed linen wrinkled.
His valet buttons him into an elaborately beaded black cloak.
Bram eyes me in the mirror. I’m leaning against the doorjamb in my revel finest, a dress made of layers of sea-green gossamer,
embroidered with tiny beads. I think I look a bit like a mermaid.
“If you’d come to me earlier, we could have matched,” he says sarcastically.
I need him to like me, especially tonight, so I just smile and say, “Oh, are we going to be one of those couples?”
He almost grins.
This revel is held in Lord Huron’s house, two over from ours, in the middle of the Royal Crescent.
He’s enchanted dragonflies, or maybe just trapped them, but they’re flying all over the place and keep getting stuck in my hair and tiara.
I swat them away, but can’t stop flinching as they buzz by me.
I stay on the dais by Bram’s side, lording over the party silently.
Rhion appears below us and offers a brief bow. “Come to the bonfires, Your Majesty.”
I place a hand on Bram’s shoulder. “No, thank you, I wish to stay here with my husband.”
Rhion regards us. “You make a handsome couple. It’s clear how devoted you are, my queen.”
I clutch my chest like Rhion’s compliment has taken me off guard. Bram smiles too; it pulls at the edges of his mouth, not
quite enough to show his dimple, but enough it’s clear he’s pleased I’ve earned Rhion’s approval.
“You have a lovely wife, Your Majesty.” Rhion bows, then disappears into the crowd. The drum of the faerie band thrums through
my veins, buzzing at the same pitch as the dragonflies.
Bram’s arms snake around my waist and pull me onto his lap.
His breath is hot on my neck. “You look beautiful tonight.”
A shiver crawls down my spine. “Thank you,” I breathe out.
He picks up a loose blond curl and twirls it between his fingers. “You look so much like her.”
“Like who?”
He trails a finger along my jaw. “Your sister.”
Nausea claws up my throat. It takes all the resolve I have not to stand and run from this room or find the sharpest fork with
which to stab him.
I pour Bram another cup of faerie wine from the decanter on the table next to us, and tip the goblet to his lips.
“I’m bored,” I sigh. “Let’s go home?”
He pulls me by the hand from the party. The tunnels connecting the houses are still full of people dancing, singing, passed-out
drunk, or kissing passionately up against the stone walls.
The heel of my shoe drags through the thick pink icing of a smashed cake.
I kick off my shoes as we tumble through the doors of Bram’s bedroom. I fling myself onto his bed, giggling like a schoolgirl.
I try to kick under the blankets but the bed is made all wrong. The pillows are facing the wrong end.
I pull one from behind my back and examine it. “Why are these at the foot?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are the pillows at the foot of the bed?”
He furrows his brow in confusion. “Do humans always sleep facing the same direction?” He shrugs. “How odd you all are.”
The reminder of his lack of humanity always makes my hackles rise. Like some basic animal instinct is screaming from inside
of my bones for me to run.
Instead, I interlace his fingers through mine and pull him onto the bed toward me.
This is it. The part I’ve been practicing in my head.
I imagine Emmett: the curve of his neck, the crinkle by the sides of his eyes when he grins, the way his hands gripped my
waist. But mostly I think about how it felt when I glanced at him from across a ballroom. He was always a head taller than
anyone else, easy to spot, and in that moment when his eyes met mine, I knew I had an ally. I knew that there was someone
in that room who was looking for me, too.
I miss that feeling.
I miss him so much.
I close my eyes and cup Bram’s face in my hands. He sighs and I let the feeling of immense love wash over me like a golden
light.
The memories I’ve kept at bay for months because they’re too painful to touch come flooding back to me: Emmett and me waltzing
in his room, arguing in the corner of a dusty boathouse, sharing a bed in a coaching inn, spending our last night together
in Kensington Palace.
It crashes over me like a wave and I’m lost in it, tumbling through the force of feeling.
I open my eyes.
Bram is looking up at me glassy-eyed. His chest rises and falls slowly.
I lean down, nearly kissing him. My bottom lip brushes his just barely.
“Ivy.” He slurs my name.
He wrenches his lips from mine and trails them up the column of my neck. I arch against him. His touch revolts me, but I let
him think it’s passion.
“Ivy,” he sighs.
I scrunch my eyes closed and grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. My hatred crests over a dam I can no longer stop from breaking.
It overtakes me, the pure revulsion I feel for him. Like spiderwebs of ice, it races through the marrow of my bones.
I pull myself out of his touch and try not to gag. I needed to be strong enough for Emmett and Lydia, but I just can’t do
it.
I’ll have to tell Rhion we need to find another way.
But then I open my eyes and look at Bram. He’s tipped back on the pillows, the sun-kissed waves of his hair around his perfect face like a halo.
Weakly, he interlaces our fingers and pulls me back toward him.
He’s loose-limbed and pliant. Drunk, I realize. Drunk like we’d planned for.
“It tastes different,” he slurs into my ear.
“What does?” I whisper.
He gazes up at me, a dark angel nestled among the snow-white linens of his bed. Shadows dance across his perfectly sculpted
face. He sucks his full bottom lip between his teeth. “Love is nice, but your hate tastes so much better.”
A chill goes through me.
A shadow fills the door. Rhion, waiting in the darkness.
“Show me, Bram.” I run my fingernails along his scalp and he purrs like a cat.
“Show you what?”
“You know what. The Otherworld. Just a peek.”
“I shouldn’t,” he protests.
“It’s been my dream ever since I was a little girl. Remember, I told you that day in the barn back in the spring, the day
you gave me your ring.”
His hands are sloppy as they reach toward me, but his touch is soft. Silently, he twists the gold band inlaid with the small
pearl that I’ve worn ever since that day. I take it off at night and set it in a dish next to my wedding band and engagement
ring, my stomach turning as I slip them back on every morning.
He doesn’t answer.
“You never got me a wedding present.” I pout.
His eyes flutter closed. “You hate me.”
“So, so much.” I whisper so quiet not even Rhion can hear. “But only sometimes.”
Bram extends an arm lazily across the bed, then with a turn of his wrist like he’s opening a door, something clicks.
I blink against the sudden light flooding the room. I pry open my stinging eyes and see it: a perfect rectangle of verdant
green landscape.
With the sharp edges of the door around it, the image looks almost like a postage stamp. The gently rolling hills are dotted
with trees in a riot of autumn colors. Crimson leaves float gently on the breeze, landing on the ground in a silent flutter.
I squint against the sunlight and can barely make out the vague shape of a shining castle in the distance.
“Go on.” Rhion appears right behind me.
I stand from the bed, my knees shaking. I never actually thought we’d achieve this. For all my dreaming as a child, for all
my scheming as queen, I didn’t really believe I’d ever get to see the Otherworld.
I glance at Bram on the bed. His eyes are closed and his mouth hangs open.
“I’ve got him,” Rhion whispers over Bram’s sleeping form. “Go.”
I step one foot through the doorway and can’t help but look down. One slippered foot sinks into sun-warmed green grass and
the other remains planted in the shadowed cream carpet of Bram’s bedchambers.
I cast one last look at the room and at Rhion. If all goes according to plan, the next time I cross this threshold, Emmett
and Lydia will be at my side and Bram will be gone.
“We all believe in you, Your Majesty,” Rhion says with more reverence than I deserve.
I nod in wordless gratitude. Then I muster every ounce of bravery I’ve ever possessed, and step fully into the Otherworld.