Page 139 of Heir of Illusion

“The king is in a meeting right now, Lady Iverson.” Huxley announces. “Though, I’m sure you’d be most welcome to return later.”

I start to tell him it’s alright, but I’m cut off as the door opens, and Bridgid rushes into the hall. Huxley’s cheeks turn pink, and I suddenly understand the guard’s reactions to my arrival. I imagine covering up your boss’s affair is incredibly stressful. Not that they need to bother.

Bridgid halts in her tracks when she notices me, her damp eyes brimming with accusation.

“You must be pleased with yourself,” she spits. “You got everything you wanted.”

A feeling I never thought I’d associate with Bridgid settles in the pit of my stomach. Pity. Overnight, she went from having everything she’d ever wanted, to suddenly being shunned by her entire community. It doesn’t matter that much of her pain was brought on by herself. In some ways, she’s also a victim of Baylor’s cruelty.

“I didn’t want any of this,” I tell her honestly.

She sneers, pushing past me to storm down the hall. Some of the weight that’s been sitting on my shoulders all morning lessens. It’s strangely invigorating to tell the truth instead of reciting whatever lie will produce the best outcome.

“My lady?” Huxley draws my attention. “Did you still want to see the king?”

Do I?

Usually, stepping into this room sends a wave of nervous energy barreling through me, but it’s strangely absent today. Being here almost feels like a continuation of my dream, as if I’m not truly here, so what I say or do doesn’t matter.

I nod and Doral opens the door, announcing my arrival. “Lady Iverson, Your Majesty.”

As I walk into the room, I find Baylor standing beside his desk, flipping through an obnoxiously large pile of folders.

“Have you seen Kaldar?” he demands, not bothering to glance up from his task.

His demeanor is frantic, and based on the unbrushed state of his hair, I’d guess he’s had quite the morning, thanks to the absence of his adviser.

“Not today,” I tell him honestly.

He doesn’t question my vague answer as he flips open one of the folders and scans its contents before chucking it aside with more force than was necessary.

“He picked a pretty fucking selfish time to disappear,” he complains. “That whole family has been causing me too many problems of late.”

Instead of pushing down my annoyance as I normally would, I roll my eyes, not caring if he notices my disrespect.

He points to the pile that reaches his chin. “It’s his responsibility to organize this mess and summarize the important details. But now he’s up and disappeared, leaving me to sort through all of this.”

I help myself to one of his plush chairs as he continues ranting. Usually, I would wait for him to invite me to sit, but I don’t give a fuck about ceremony or decorum today.

“As if I don’t have enough on my plate with all the Angel of Mercy fanfare,” he continues. “Not to mention that business with thealmanova. Which, by the way, I’m very disappointed in your friend Remard. This should have been handled already. I need this fucking alliance settled.”

“Then maybe you should deal with it yourself,” I point out.

He chuckles, grabbing another folder. “Very funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

He goes quiet as my words register. Glancing up from his papers, he watches me carefully. “Everything alright, pet?”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Do you know what yesterday was?”

“No.” He shrugs. “But you can send my apologies if we missed some event.”

“It was the one-year anniversary of your wife’s death.”

His body goes completely still. “Why are you bringing that up?”

The flippancy in his tone grates against my skin, opening all my barely healed wounds.

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