Page 1 of Heir of Illusion

Chapter

One

Icradle my lover’s head in my hands, longing to shatter it against the hardwood floor.

My fingers trail over the smooth marble bust, finding it cold and unyielding. A perfect likeness. Holding his face up to mine, I search his hollow eyes for some kind of explanation or apology. But the only message he offers is an engraving on the bottom.

Long Live the King.

I set the bust back on the display, smiling when I notice the dark red smear I’ve left behind on his cheek. The blood on my hands tonight is Baylor’s fault—it’s only fitting that it should stain him too.

Glancing around Darrow’s apothecary, I find it hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here. He’s replaced the chandelier with some obsidian monstrosity. Its shards reflect moonlight onto every surface. A few new mirrors hang throughout the shop, bringing the total up to twelve, and I spot an array of the so-calledhealingcrystals he peddles to his clientele.

Lost in this sea of shiny trinkets, it’s hard to know where to look.

But that’s Darrow’s genius.

He gives his audience an obvious fool, distracting them with excess and vanity. He never lets them see the sharpness of his teeth or the shrewdness of his gaze until it’s too late.

The ceiling creaks in a steady pattern as I listen to his restless pacing upstairs. Despite being the owner of a fine country estate, Darrow sleeps here more often than not. I’d guess that has something to do with the fact that, unlike his country neighbors, Darrow’s estate was purchased instead of passed down, and his money was earned instead of inherited.

Though it could also be the proximity to the city’s brothels keeping him here in Solmare. I’m told he’s a frequent visitor.

I debate with myself whether to ring the bell to alert him of my presence or simply knock over his expensive bust of the king’s face. Watching Baylor’s head break into tiny pieces would undoubtedly lift my mood.

Reining in my more destructive instincts, I reach for the bell. Most people don’t appreciate receiving late-night visits from me. They typically end in bloodshed, like my previous meeting tonight. But if Della knew I was here, she’d want me to at least attempt civility, a perilous feat for someone in my line of work.

The moment the bell jingles through the dark room, Darrow’s movements above cease. Several seconds pass before his soft steps pad toward the stairs. He probably thinks he’s being quiet, but my hearing is far superior to his.

Darrow descends the staircase with a careless smile carefully painted onto his face. Despite the late hour, he’s still dressed in a fine suit made of velvet and embroidered with gold filigree. Not a single one of his honey blond curls is out of place, each of them falling against his shoulders in a way that perfectly frames his strong bone structure.

I have to admire the flawlessness of his facade.

Laughter bubbles out of me at the sight of a jeweled dagger tucked into the waistline of his trousers. As if that would be anything more than a minor inconvenience to me. His gaze narrows as he searches for the source of the sound. Though his brown eyes roam over the spot I’m standing in—he’s unable to see me.

As awraith, I can disappear at will.

It’s an extremely rare type of illusion magic that makes me a valuable asset. Or a formidable enemy. Even before the war that put Baylor on the throne, before the Goddess of Illusion disappeared, my brand of magic wasn’t common.

“Show yourself,” Darrow demands, only a hint of fear creeping into his hard tone.

Rolling my eyes, I release the illusion. If he’s shocked by my presence in his shop, he quickly covers it underneath a charming smile. I pretend not to notice him unsheathing his ridiculous weapon.

“Lady Iverson,” he croons as he saunters down the last step. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit from my favoritepet?”

Pet—the king’s endearment for me. When I first came to live with King Baylor, he started calling me his little pet. Back then I thought it was sweet, but that was before I realized the name was a reference to how he’d collared and domesticated me.

It turns out I was the last one to be let in on that joke.

Keeping my face blank, I hold Darrow’s gaze, not giving him the reaction he’s hoping for. Behind the king’s back, his subjects often spit the word at me. Similar to Darrow, they wield it cruelly, using it as a slur.

“Perhaps you require my assistance with a difficult matter?” he asks, a seductive grin pulling at his full lips. “I assure you, my lady, you would be in extremely capable hands.”

I offer him my sweetest smile in response, one usually reserved for my master, before I brush my arm out and knock the king’s bust to the floor. Listening to it shatter is just as satisfying as I’d hoped it would be.

“Oops.” I shrug as my smile turns wicked. “Sorry about that, Darrow.”

He sighs, staring dispassionately at the shards of marble scattered across the hardwood. “Pity. You’d think by now the king would have you housebroken.”

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