Page 70 of Heir of Illusion

Water sluices down my flushed skin as I rise from the tub and wrap myself in a silk robe. My damp hair leaves a trail of droplets over the floor as I make my way to the door. I open it to find Huxley, one of the kings guards, standing across from me. His cheeks turn bright pink when he notices my lack of attire. Clearing his throat, he coughs several times before speaking.

“The king has requested your presence this evening, Lady Iverson,” he says, the words sliding into my stomach like a knife.

The guards always say the same thing. Always frame it as a request, but the idea that I can say no is an illusion. No one denies a king. A useless scream rises in my throat, but I keep my mouth shut. Giving voice to my rage would accomplish nothing. Instead, I nod politely as I hold up a finger to signal I only need a moment.

The door clicks shut between us. Like the walls of a battle trench, the small barrier offers me only a moment’s reprieve. I remind myself I need to be strong and emotionless. A perfect liar. But more than anything, I want to kill him. Kill all of them. I want to burn this entire city to ash and let the flames consume me too.

But instead, I sit down at my vanity and fix my face like a good actress.

Using a fluffy towel, I soak up some of the water from my hair before combing out the fiery waves. Next, I rub a soothing lotion over my body, making my skin smooth and supple. To add life back into my complexion, I lightly dab a berry tint onto my lips and cheeks, giving me a flushed appearance. My face is perfect, apart from the hollowness of my amber eyes, but he’s never noticed that before.

It’s almost funny that all of this soft beauty is required for such an ugly fate.

Hot tears threaten to spill, but I hold them back. If I let them fall tonight, they’ll never stop. I’d hoped that with Bridgid as his new mistress, I’d have a reprieve from any late-night summons. Unfortunately, it seems the distraction she offers him is limited. I meet my own gaze in the mirror as my fingers dig into the wooden vanity. Could the weight of my rage be enough to crack it?

“You are so much more than this,” I whisper to my reflection.

There was far more conviction in Leona’s voice when she first spoke those words. Deserved or not, she truly believed them. Steely resolve settles over me at the reminder of the late queen. Clenching my eyes shut, I reach for that hidden spot deep within, the place where my power resides. Calling it forward, I let the pain rip through me. My mouth opens with a silent scream as the familiar agony cuts me in half. My nerves are strained to the brink, my cells shredded to bits.

The process feels endless, but in reality, it only takes a few seconds.

I gulp down heaving gasps of air as I lean against the vanity for support. Blood tickles my upper lip as it drips from my nose. I wipe it away with the back of my hand as I gaze intoeidolonsvacant eyes. She’s an exact copy of me, even down to the berry tint on her full lips.

“You know what to do,” I whisper, wincing from the pounding in my head.

Her silk robe trails behind her as she gracefully crosses to the door and disappears into the hall, taking my place like she does every time Baylor calls me to his chambers. I listen as Huxley greets her, completely unaware he’s speaking to a fraud. When the sound of their footsteps retreat down the hall, I crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head. The first part of this process is difficult, but what comes next is much worse.

The first time I created aneidolonwas only one month after Leona died.

In the weeks following her death, Baylor gave me space. I don’t think he expected me to be devastated by it, to need so much time to mourn. But when the first late-night knock came, I panicked. I told the guard I would be right out, but instead I curled into a ball on the floor and rocked back and forth with a dagger clutched in my hand.

I have no idea what I planned to do; I only knew I wouldn’t let them take me to him. I couldn’t let him touch me that way again after what he did. Even just the thought of it made me sick.

That night, it felt as if the world was being ripped apart. Something inside of me was breaking, shattering into tiny pieces that couldn’t be put back together. The collar was so heavy around my neck, as though it was digging into my skin. I was convinced the weight of it was going to crush my bones. I still don’t know how I kept myself from crying out, but eventually, something inside of me snapped.

As the minutes passed, everything calmed down. Sweat cooled against my skin, leaving me shivering. And when I opened my eyes, I was staring at an exact replica of myself.

I didn’t tell a soul what had happened. If the king were to discover it, I’ve no doubt he’d find some way to use it to his advantage. But deep down, a small voice whispered that wasn’t the only reason.

Shame curdles in my gut every time I think about what I use myeidolonfor.

My duplicate doesn’t have her own consciousness. She’s more of a machine than a person. She relies on commands, along with my instincts and muscle memory that have been copied into her. She can experience physical sensations to a certain degree, but she has no thoughts or internal emotions.

Still, I hate myself for sending her in my place.

And yet, I’m unbelievably grateful.

Maintaining the illusion all night is incredibly taxing for me, but I’ll gladly suffer the headaches and nosebleeds if it means I don’t have to touch him. I can block out the link that connects us, ensuring I don’t feel anything that’s happening in his room.

Without myeidolon, I don’t think I would have survived the past year.

I don’t think I would have wanted to.

Chapter

Nineteen

My fists connect with the punching bag in rapid succession, hitting it harder every time an unpleasant thought flashes through my mind.

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