Page 12 of Heir of Illusion

The king always changes the rules, ensuring they can never be predicted. Some mornings, he wants to be by himself, and my presence is unwelcome. Other mornings, he demands I join him. Apparently, my ability to walk around unchaperoned is also subject to change without warning.

I glance over my shoulder, hating the sight of the advisors smug face. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I could gut him before he even has a chance to unsheathe the little dagger at his waist. Perhaps someday wishful thinking will lead to reality. Hope blossoms at the thought.

Kaldar’s expression morphs into a scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”

I raise my eyebrows, my face becoming a mask of confused innocence. “Like what?”

He grunts, shifting his attention. I turn away from him once more, smiling to myself as I imagine the sounds he will make when he dies by my hand.

Men such as Kaldar are all the same. At first, they’re overly confident in their inherit superiority, but once you have them unarmed and at your mercy, they beg. They cry and plead, so unused to being on their knees for anyone, so shocked to be facing real consequences for their actions.

After all, exceptions must be made for people of superior birth.

When we arrive at the king’s breakfast chamber, I wait for his private guards, Doral and Huxley, to let me in. Even as his favored, who has been summoned to him, I am not permitted to walk inside unannounced. When the doors open and I’m ushered inside, I don’t bother glancing back at Kaldar.

The king’s breakfast room is lavish and bright. It’s connected to his bedchamber, offering it an air of intimacy. Morning light gleams through the open balcony doors, giving us a view of the ocean below. Paintings of quaint country landscapes hang on the walls, and bouquets of fresh flowers sit on every surface. The cheerful yellow wallpaper mixed with the warmth of the wooden furniture paints an inviting picture. It’s meant to draw you in, to make you feel safe and welcome. Make you feel at home.

But it’s all a lie.

“Iverson.”

Baylor rises from his seat at the head of the table, coming to greet me with a fond smile. I offer him a deep curtsy, silently hating how familiar my name sounds on his tongue, as if he’s far too used to saying it.

His straight, pale blond hair hits right above his shoulders, barely brushing his gold dolman. Proud, pointed ears poke out between the strands, on display for everyone. And a gilded crown adorns his forehead, marking him as the king, in case anyone was unaware.

While he’s never shared exactly how old he is, I know he’s seen centuries come and go, yet his face shows no evidence of it. Based on his complexion, I’d guess he stopped aging somewhere around his late twenties. Like all fae, he has been blessed with the eternal beauty of youth. As a child, that beauty used to dazzle me. Now I struggle to find even a single thing to admire about him.

Baylor—the Beast of Battle, the King of the Seventh Isle, and my biggest regret.

He kisses me thoroughly, his tongue invading my mouth to taste what belongs to him. His possessive hand grips my arm, while the other paws my backside. I lean into him, forcing myself not to recoil from his touch. A soft hum rises in my throat, a noise that says I have craved this as much as him.

When he pulls back, there’s a covetous gleam in his dark blue eyes as they settle on the low neckline of my gown. “I’ve missed you, pet.”

“Me too,” I lie, falling into my role effortlessly. It’s an easy part to play, especially since it wasn’t always an act.

“Damn these preparations for keeping us apart.” He pulls me closer, his nose nuzzling my cheek. “I’m going mad without you.”

I give him a patient smile, pretending I don’t find his proximity nauseating. “I cannot always be your main concern.”

I’ve relished his distraction these last few months as he’s been working tirelessly to prepare for his twenty-fifth anniversary as king of the Seventh Isle. The rulers of the other Verran Isles have been invited to attend a ball in Baylor’s honor, though it’s doubtful that all of them will join us.

“Have you heard back from any of the other monarchs?” I ask, careful not to call them what they actually are.

Unlike Baylor, the other seven rulers are Gods. They didn’t have to fight a bloody battle to conquer their thrones. They were chosen by the Fates, and their realms belong to them by birthright. A fact he is incredibly sensitive about.

Selim, the God of Accords, and Cassandra, the Goddess of Divination, have already confirmed their attendance. Selim rarely misses an opportunity to strengthen his bonds with the other realms. But Cassandra hasn’t attended an event since Maebyn, the Goddess of Illusion and the former ruler of the Seventh Isle, disappeared a quarter of a century ago. Since the two were extremely close, her decision to attend Baylor’s anniversary ball surprised everyone. Secretly, I wonder if perhaps one of her famous visions was responsible for her change of heart.

“Kerys, Alastair, and Atreus have declined,” he complains. The Goddess of Love and Hate, the God of Chaos, and the God of War. Not surprising since they would have to travel the furthest. “I’m still waiting to hear from Eyrkan and Killian.”

“I’m sure they will reply to you soon,” I lie.

Eyrkan, the God of Life, is the self-appointed leader of the Gods and likely thinks attending Baylor’s party is beneath him. His refusal to respond is petty, but expected.

Killian is different, though. The God of Death is famous for turning down every invitation he receives. All the Gods are known for being secretive, but none so much as Death. Since ascending into Godhood ten years ago, he has remained incredibly private and little is known about him.

Baylor smiles, leaning in to give me another quick kiss before helping me into the cushioned chair to the right of his—a place of honor. These kinds of small gestures are well rehearsed, designed to make me feel special. Important.Favored.

Fresh berries, pastries, scrambled eggs, ham, and roasted potatoes make up our meal. The smell of garlic and rosemary brings my appetite to life, but it sours immediately when my gaze snags on the porcelain plate before me. A rim of cornflower blue hugs the inner edge with a sweet dusting of lilac flowers adorning it.

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