Chapter Twenty-One
Despite its exclusivity, the lounge itself appears as any grand fae room.
Wood-paneled walls, a lush green rug, and brown leather chairs.
The fae eat around the table, and the executioner hovers by the door.
Dominik demands a new drink from me. Then another.
I create a reflection of his taste over and over and over.
My genius isn’t tired; rather, it is exhilarated.
When he glowers at me, I raise my chin, hold his gaze.
I see you, I think. I know who you are and what you’ve done.
It is the curse and the power of the prey, to know the predator better than he knows himself.
After the meal, Lila delivers water to the fae, and I take out the wooden box from under the cart. Lifting the lid, I trace the velvet cushioning, the thick, short sparks like rolled fallen leaves. Next to them is a round clipper.
First, I bring the box to the king, who plucks up a spark. Using the clippers, he shears off one end, then snaps, and a tiny flame ignites from his index finger.
A gasp escapes before I can help it, for I’ve been trying and failing at the same trick.
Those violet eyes find mine, flickering with the reflection of the fire.
His lips quirk into an uneven grin, and I wonder what he would’ve been like had he not been born a royal.
If he had been born a faerie, if we worked together in the palace, we might have been friends. Or not. Or something more.
“It’s not as hard as it looks.” He holds the flame to the tobacco, wrapping his lips around the other end. He puffs until smoke streams from the clipped side. “Tell me your thoughts.”
“It was the speed that shocked me,” I say. “As if it were as easy as breathing.”
“It was.” He leans back in his chair. “Perhaps one day it will be for you, too.”
“My magic is done maturing.”
“Is it?” His gaze roams over me like a lazy lover’s. “You used it tonight to make the drinks. I can scent it on your body as clearly as that oil.”
“Oh, I…” Heat creeps along my chest. It reeks! Kassandra would say, but the half-lidded look Maxian gives me is anything but disgust. Smoke curls from his mouth.
“You’ve never worn oil before.”
What the planes is going on?
“Well…” I stop. “I purchased a small vial at the last Full Moon Festival.”
When he smiles, I know I have blundered. Reign fae—like the old fae of bedtime stories—can detect a lie.
“Who’s it for?” he murmurs.
For Dominik, Kassandra said from bruised lips. My heart thuds, my tongue thick with fear. Hector once asked which oath my body would submit to if forced: Reign or Illusion? I do not want to test it.
“Don’t be nervous, Avery, dear.”
“I’m not nervous.”
His grin grows. He’s condescending, sheltered, conceited.
He is everything wrong with my world. The reason my best friend is dead.
Yet I can’t tear my attention away as he wraps full lips around the spark, his broad chest expanding on an inhale, his corded forearms flexing where he’s rolled up the sleeves.
“I like both on you,” Maxian says, smoke streaming. His gaze dips to my abdomen. “That oil. And the smell of your magic. Like spring rain.”
He’s drunk. He’s bored, as Lila warned he would become, and he wanted Kassandra here tonight. Something in me curdles.
“My magic is nothing compared to my mistress’s,” I say. “Lady Kassandra’s magic is like wind and crystals.”
The crooked grin melts away, and Maxian nods, swallowing. “Go to my friends. But come back to me afterward. I want to talk.”
When I reach Eli, he peers into the box of sparks I offer.
“I shouldn’t.” He sighs.
“You could, my lord.”
“Not all desires should be indulged.” He looks at me in that quiet way of his.
The king snaps a flame to life, then extinguishes it. Over and over.
I hope the king hurts you, Benji said. I wish for it.
But I see Benji, too, holding up a golden coin, his face splitting into a grin as part of his body returned to him once more. It tickles. There is no length I will not go to for my little brother.
So much has happened in such a short time. Yet only now do I realize that the game is just beginning.
“Perhaps just for tonight.” Eli grabs a thick, short spark and cuts it. He snaps his own flame, and in a moment, smoke coils up from his tobacco. His gaze falls to Lila across the room at the bar cart, and his expression softens.
“Where’s my spark?” Dominik snarls from his chair.
I jump. Eli blinks and the look is gone, replaced by wariness.
“Dom.” The king’s voice slices the air. “What did I say about speaking to my faerie like that?”
I stiffen.
“Your faerie?” the Illusion lord sneers, eyes bloodshot. Silver hair falls limp over his face like overcooked noodles. “She played for Illusion today.”
“And you played for Death.” Eli sighs. “But you’re too loud to ever be mistaken as that.”
“Shut up, you self-righteous prick!”
“Drink water, Dom,” Maxian replies, calm. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
The plane jerks in one direction, then another. Dominik simmers in his chair, and Maxian and Eli tense. I wonder if a fight between the highest of the fae will break out right here.
The grout was pink.
Blood that had soaked into the floors during the Dark Rebellion.
The plane buzzes in my ears like a swarm of wasps, and I feel the vibration through my teeth. The executioner shifts in his corner.
“A smoke for Death?” I blurt. “Or do you consider sparks your cousins?”
It isn’t a clever joke, but the males in the room startle anyway, and the pressure eases.
“You are incorrect,” the executioner says. “On both counts.”
“I’m shocked Death is so serious.” The sarcasm slips out before I can reel it back. I cover my mouth. The king smirks, and Eli huffs a laugh, and I can finally breathe as the plane rights itself. Lila gives an impressed smile.
“Apologies,” I follow up, face burning.
“You are brave to jest with a Death fae.” The king twists the spark between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re not exactly known for their humor.”
“I got a laugh out of Death once,” Eli pipes up. “When was that? Seventy-five years ago?”
“Eighty-one,” the executioner amends.
Maxian laughs. “I’m convinced he wears the mask so we don’t see how much he smiles. Isn’t that right, Executioner?”
Eli giggles—giggles like a child, the king joining in. The executioner just folds his arms.
Perhaps there’s more than just tobacco in these, I think.
“Shall I bring some dessert?” Lila offers.
“Lovely!”
“My spark?” Dominik whines behind me, the sullen fae almost forgotten. I hold out the box. He grabs one, clips and lights it. An invisible hand presses against my back, pushing me closer to him.
“What game are you playing, little faerie?” he hisses.
“Game, my lord?”
“No wonder my sister enjoys your company. You have even less wit than her.”
“ ‘Than she.’ ”
“What?”
I stare down at him. “In this context, I believe it’s You have less wit than she.”
He grips my hip with a cold hand. I yelp, but an unseen hand covers my mouth, and another spins me so that I stand by his side, facing the others.
“May I borrow her, Max? Only for a moment,” Dominik calls across the room. His shift in mood stuns me. The king glances up, his pupils dilating.
“Avery?” he asks.
A phantom hand squeezes my throat.
“Whatever Your Magnificence requests,” I say past the presence pushing against my windpipe. Sweat dampens my neck.
“Which do you prefer?”
The hand tightens, and my knees almost give out.
Maxian squints at me through the haze of smoke, blinking.
Perhaps if he weren’t drunk, he could see it.
If he wanted to use his truth magic on me, I would welcome it, just this once.
But no, he just watches, and my heart sinks as he considers that he must be the exception to the rule, that I would choose truth for integrity’s sake, and not a lie to save my skin.
“Avery,” the king repeats.
“Illusion.”
A muscle tics in his jaw, but he nods, puffing a spark and looking away. “I see.”
My insides crumble as Dominik pulls me onto his lap, banding an arm across my midsection like the first time we met. My body shudders as my spine presses against his torso. His breath reeks of the alcohol I fed him.
“We’re going to talk, you and I.”
Lila glances our way, biting her lip. The king puffs and dishes out cards on the table between him and Eli, who rests his chin on his fist. The Healing fae mutters something to Maxian, who just shakes his head.
“About what?” I ask, breath coming in tight.
“How quickly you wrapped your lips around the king’s cock.”
“I—”
A phantom hand returns to my throat. I watch in horror as the males across from us exchange cards. Do they not see the assault happening, or am I just unworthy of saving?
“You think the king will protect you, just because he fucks you? He’s done that to a thousand other faerie whores. You won’t be the one to change him.”
Taking a breath, I think about what I can use. What do I have? Information. Access. Influence.
“You fear I will tell the king what you do to his future bride,” I say.
“I fear nothing,” he snarls.
“Then why prevent her from joining tonight? Why resist—”
“You know nothing of our politics.”
I bite down, teeth scraping the Illusion of flesh, the trick so advanced I can even taste the salt of sweat. Dominik curses, the Illusion dropping away.
“Explain it to me, then,” I urge, reaching for my genius. “So that I may better encourage their engagement.”
“The king needs a wife. Not a wild thing.”
My mind stutters, slips along a frozen pond of horrifying images. It is easy to rage in my room alone; out here, I am trying to pry myself from the predator’s grip as he whispers how I will be eaten.
I need time.
“Then let the king tame her,” I say.
“The king doesn’t even know himself,” he hisses. “He thinks he wants a wild fae to whom he can sell submission, but he needs a wife who can take his temper so that the kingdom does not have to.”
“Temper?”
“It worked for Gregor the Great and his queen.”