Chapter Eight
Kassandra is right. Hector speaks for over an hour in a gruff monotone voice that has the High Fae nodding to stay awake. He starts at the beginning, with Lucan the Wanderer.
Lucan, a High Fae of the celestial plane, took pity on the brutish beasts of the earthly plane who devoured and destroyed one another.
He brought a piece of the celestial plane with him as he descended, losing his wings, and planted celestial seeds into the earth, spawning a new plane: one of magic.
Lucan’s Tree spread magic through the air with its sap and seeds and roots.
He and his descendants used their geniuses to access magic, and to guide the beasts and humans into the light.
Children of the humans and fae became the faeries, those with little genius.
The humans, diseased and distrusting as they were, began dying off.
Even the mighty fae could not help the unclean.
As the centuries rolled over, the High Fae fine-tuned their magic until each House could control different areas of the body and soul while faeries merely plateaued in power.
It was only logical, then, for the High Fae to govern themselves and the faeries.
It was benevolent, truly. So, the Houses divided up the valley of Amyria and governance for the good of all, establishing the system of debt and labor.
House of Death disagreed, and so began the Dark Rebellion. And the rise of General Gregor Vandorne and his Lynx of the Lowlands, Iros Morella—Kassandra and Dominik’s father. Together, they raised armies to defeat even Death itself, banishing the House to the desert as repentance.
“The four Houses perceive the genius differently,” Hector says, nodding to Lord Eli.
“For House of Healing, it is like a muscle; Illusion, another sense; and for Death, our essence. But the House of Reign never mixed with the humans, and so their geniuses remained pure. In this light, we understand it to be the most important element in all of Amyria: inheritance.”
I place a drink in Kassandra’s gloved hand, and she knocks it back faster than I can blink.
“Tonight, Prince Maxian Cornelius Vandorne will prove the power of purity. Tonight, the only living descendant of the Sun King, Gregor the General in life and Gregor the Great in death—may he wander well—”
“May he wander well,” the crowd echoes.
“—will claim the title of king of Amyria and display his testament. Just as his father did, and his father before him. He will once again prove that the Houses stand longer when they stand together, and guided under one, they can prosper on the same land. So, with great pleasure, I call up the son of the Sun King, the Mountain—Prince Maxian Cornelius Vandorne.”
The male rises from the throne. With every step, energy ripples outward, the High Fae swaying. He drops to his knee before his uncle, facing the crowd.
Hector waves his hand. Between one blink and the next, a lacquered box appears in the advisor’s grasp. The crowd inhales, murmuring. It is as if Hector pulled the box from the plane itself. He lifts the top and retrieves a golden crown, speckled with rubies and sapphires and diamonds.
“Do you, Maxian Cornelius Vandorne the First, vow to protect and serve the realm until your last breath?”
“I do.”
“Do you, Maxian Cornelius Vandorne the First, vow to improve the lives of all under your protection until your last breath?”
“I do.”
Protection? I raise a brow.
Hector turns to the other males on the platform. “Will the representative of the House of Illusion please step forward?”
Dominik does, then drops to his knee. Hector repeats the oath of fealty to Eli, representing the House of Healing, and the king’s executioner, representing the House of Death. Then he turns to the crowd.
“Do you, noble High Fae of the realm, accept and swear fealty to Maxian Cornelius Vandorne the First, and the House of Reign, should he ascend to the throne?”
A collective “We do.”
“We do,” I mutter.
“Then”—Hector beams, weathered face crinkling—“as we are all in agreement, I declare Maxian Cornelius Vandorne the First as the head of House Reign and king of Amyria.”
He places the golden crown on Maxian’s brow.
As the new king rises, he gestures for everyone to do the same. He gives a small smile, almost self-conscious, but mostly endearing. Dominik sweeps up to him, bowing. The king nods in approval and the Heir of Illusion faces the crowd.
Kassandra stiffens as his gaze lies upon her, then slips to me. He raises his fist in celebration or in warning; I am unsure.
“Houses Illusion, Healing, and Death propose an additional title that shall be used in reference to your new status and life as king, and that shall be called upon until your death, when granted a new title.”
The king smiles fully now. “And what is this title befitting the life of my reign?”
“We propose ‘Maxian the Magnificent’!”
No one moves. Then the king nods, face gleaming in the candlelight. “I accept the title.”
The High Fae erupt into cheers and shouts, glasses raised, wine spilling. Someone jostles me from behind, but I plant my feet firmly on the marble. Dominik claps the king’s forearm and raises up his fist. The crowd yells in delight.
“Time for the Housewarming gifts!” the Illusion heir shouts. “And more wine!”
The High Fae around us sparkle with laughter. Kassandra turns to me.
“Time to perform,” she says.
“Time to impress,” I say, ignoring the bubble of nerves.
As the king lounges on the throne, a goblet of wine in hand, the executioner drifts to the bottom of the dais.
A pair of servants emerge from the opposite side of the hall carrying a black chest. They lay it before the executioner, who lifts the top.
Dominik hovers closer. From my spot up front, I can hear him suck in a breath.
“Three black opals from the House of Death!” he announces.
The shuffling of noble feet, some clapping.
As the chest of gems is placed at the king’s feet, he picks one up, holding it to the light. The midnight-black stone catches the light—laden with specks of crimson and orange and sky blue and mint green. The rarest stone in all of Amyria.
Delegates from the House of Healing present their gift next, a range of the finest spices and herbs from the Healing gardens. In the chaos of the crowd, Briar and Kassandra leave to prepare her gift. I haul a giant bucket of water from the servants’ entrance.
I watch the back of the room, waiting, hoping, praying to the planes that this works. Dominik expects her to conjure little songbirds, but pretty performances and twinkling tears don’t garner favors.
“And the gift from the House of Illusion,” Dominik bellows, scanning the room for his sister.
That’s my cue.
I heave the bucket in front of the dais. It slops down before the set of stairs, liquid teeming over the edge and splattering onto the tiles. My heart pounds, but I meet the stare of the Heir of Illusion. His lupine grin strains as he bends down so that we are eye to eye.
“What are you doing?” he grits out.
“Presenting a gift for the king.”
“Is this some sort of ruse?”
“No.” I smile. “It’s an Illusion.”
“When I get my hands on you—”
“Dom,” a voice calls.
Dominik pulls back. The violet focus of the new king falls on me. I curtsy, tugging up my beige skirts.
“Y-Your Magnificence,” I stammer.
The sound of fabric shifting. My heart drums louder as the thud of boots crosses the dais.
“You’re fucking dead,” Dominik hisses, retreating.
“You may stand,” the king declares. Again that voice, deep and soft like distant thunder. I straighten and keep my gaze fixed on his boots. A faerie had shined them to gleaming perfection. The king speaks again. “You bring water?”
“Your Magnificence, I…”
They are running late. To ensure she doesn’t look the fool and I’m not smitten where I stand, I have to think of something. I think of my mother.
Calloused hands peeling potatoes. A calm, melodic voice, telling of the twists and turns of the palace map.
Rubbing small feet, sore from hours of running buckets of water in a sweating kitchen.
Taking a breath, I cup the sound of my mother’s voice in my memory.
I draw on that calmness, that alluring lowness, the lilt of her sentences.
“You may look up,” the king murmurs.
When I do, I can’t breathe at the curiosity curving his brows. He is not angry at a bucket of water; he wants to know why I’ve placed it here.
He thinks himself an intellectual, Kassandra said. Perhaps he is one.
“As you know, the House of Illusion entertains,” I start. Over the king’s shoulder, I see Dominik stiffen. “But it is so much more than that. Its females are so much more than that.”
Dominik steps forward. “My king, she—”
The king waves a hand. “Is this not one of yours? Let us see what you have taught her.”
The Illusion heir glowers. I force myself to look at the tanned face and square jaw of royalty.
While his attractiveness should twist my nerves, it does something else.
He may be the most powerful creature in this room, but right now I have his attention.
He is young to adulthood, like myself. He is a striking stranger who sits across from me in a tavern whose attention I want to capture and keep.
“The House of Illusion does more than entertain. And so can its females, when given the chance,” I say. “What is an Illusion? The wise Lord Dominik once said that it is truth in another light. All the Illusion fae do is change the light.”
“I see.” The king scratches his jaw. “And how does this relate to a bucket of water?”
A small chuckle ripples through the crowd, and I realize the room has gone silent. My nerves rack up, but I focus on that beautiful face. A friend. I am in a tavern, telling a handsome friend a story.
“Tonight, the water will change shape. It will appear as many things, but it is always water. You may see a female in one light. Pretty, delicate…” I wet my lips, taking the risk. “Fuckable.”