Chapter Nineteen
The parlor is destroyed—the settee overturned, a broken mirror on the floor, the curtains ripped, as if a wild animal tore through the room.
Briar leads me to the bedroom, tears rolling down her cheeks. Kassandra lies limp in the bed. The room feels cold, far away, and I stagger forward, falling at her bedside, gaping at her black eye.
“I tried,” Kassandra says. “I was not strong enough.”
“I don’t understand,” I gasp. Briar sniffs and props up Kassandra’s head, tipping a vial of tonic into her mouth.
“Lord Eli,” I say. “We must tell Lord Eli. He can bear witness to what has been done, and he can Heal—”
“No,” my mistress rasps.
“We must.”
“He did not break my arms this time.”
“So? Any harm is unacceptable! The king said—”
“No!”
“Why not?” I ask. “Why not ask for help?”
“The House,” she whispers. “The House cannot appear divided.”
“Fuck the House,” I snarl. Kassandra bares her canines.
“Avery!” Briar scolds.
“Punish me for saying this, for it needs to be said. Lord Dominik is an unstable, abusive, violent male. He needs to be stopped.”
“My father is dying,” Kassandra snaps. “My mother is dead, I have few friends in this court, and the laws are not written in my favor. What do you suggest?”
“The king,” I repeat. “The king just said—”
“I canceled my appearance tonight. I have already sent word. I want to be alone.”
“He will propose.”
“And I am to stake our safety on the whims of another male?”
Our safety. I promised to become her spy, confessed to knowing a way around the oaths. She’s merely protecting her newest asset. Right?
We stare at each other, the pause unsettled.
“Perhaps we speak to the Council of Keepers,” Briar suggests softly.
“Hearts of Houses do not get a vote on the council unless they’re pregnant with an heir. We don’t even get a seat.”
“What of the debt you won?” I ask.
“The debt?” Briar echoes.
“It goes to House Illusion,” Kassandra says. “Even if it’s in my name, I do not own it.”
“Write to the advisor,” I say.
“Dominik reads every letter I send.”
“Then let’s—”
“Do you think I have not tried for two centuries, Avery? Do you think so lowly of me that I would not fight at every turn? Because I have. I have and it only makes things worse and I am so tired. I’m so tired.”
I blink, feeling numb.
“But we won,” I say. “You won. Today.”
Kassandra scoffs. “Only because the king allowed it.”
“But—”
“It’s rigged, this game. If I win by following the rules, they change them.
If I win through subterfuge, I am punished.
The point is not their victory; it is watching me lose.
As long as Dominik is heir, he will always use his strength to hurt me.
If I say anything to Maxian, Dominik will make sure I will never speak again. Not even as queen will I be safe.”
“You don’t know that,” I say weakly.
“He told me so. I do not want to test it.”
“Today, the king said he would protect you,” Briar offers. “You don’t have to tell him. You can show him.”
“Again, so I can exchange one pair of grabbing hands for another? Tie my safety up in sex? I’ve already kissed the kissing king, and look what good that did.” We say nothing. Kassandra sighs. “Briar, can you get some broth from the kitchens? And ice. My jaw hurts.”
My supervisor departs without a word.
“Change into your Reign outfit,” Kassandra says. “Then return to me.”
I do what she asks. When I return, the bowl of broth remains untouched by her bedside, and Briar is finished helping her into her nightgown. Kassandra drops into bed once more, Briar pulling up the covers. Kassandra then dismisses her, so that it is just us two.
“Oil, Avery,” my mistress says. “The silver-topped yellow bottle.”
I survey the dozens of pigments and glass bottles on her vanity and collect a pale gold one with a silver cap.
Pulling out the dropper, I guide it toward her, but she says, “You put it on.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I drop the oil onto my collarbone. It smells of vanilla and jasmine, musky but gentle, before finishing off with a twinge of something sweeter.
“Rub.”
I spread the oil across the hollow of my throat. She watches it drip between my breasts as I massage my chest. My skin gleams in the fireplace light.
She gestures to my exposed midriff above the gold pants. What the planes is going on? The king isn’t visiting tonight. What game is she playing now?
Kassandra parts her mouth, her eyes widening.
“Are you making fun of me?” I blurt.
“Yes,” she rasps. “Waist.”
Suppressing a grunt of frustration, I rub my midriff with the oil, the scent heady but a touch sweet, an intoxicating aroma I can’t identify. It’s…sensual.
I will never admit this. I should never even feel this.
But a small part of me relishes in the thrill of her instructions and my deliverance.
As if it’s a private show, a meal, a secret.
In the way she wets her lips, eyes trailing along my exposed skin, as if we explore my body together.
Even in her weakness, I feel her demands.
“Done,” she says, waving me off.
I stop, hands slick with oil. My face flares with heat and suddenly I want to wash, to change, to pretend it never happened. I feel empty now that she has taken her fill.
I recap the bottle and return it to her vanity. I force myself to stand in front of her once more, feeling cumbersome and dirty, like a greased pig.
Kassandra just surveys me, her expression unreadable.
“Was this truly necessary?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Peach. For Dominik, tonight.”
My blood turns to ice.
For Dominik.
She is not done playing the game. She has just swapped our places.