Page 93 of Heir of Illusion

Smugness pulls at the corners of Thorne’s mouth.

“Fuck you,” I whisper to him, making his eyes widen innocently.

“What was that, my lady?” the guard calls.

“Nothing! I’m just…” I search for a suitable excuse, my mind still hazy from Thorne’s close proximity. “Drunk?”

The smirk turns into a full-blown smile as the God tries to stop himself from laughing.

“That’s nice,” Huxley says lamely.

I roll my eyes, ready to murder the young guard.

“Was there a reason for your interruption?” I ask, my voice taking a shrill tone.

“Oh, right,” he says, as if he truly forgot why he knocked in the first place. “The king has requested you join him in his chamber tonight.”

Thorne goes rigid against me.

Bile rises in my throat at the thought of going to Baylor right now. All of the heat that had been building in me disappears at once, leaving nothing but ice behind. Pale eyes bore into mine, daring me to speak. His hands grip me tighter, but nowhere near painful. I’ve never felt more trapped by my circumstances than I do in this moment.

“I’ll be right out.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

Thorne goes cold as the mask slips over his face. He pulls my legs away from his hips, lowering them to the ground before stepping back. My arms fall limp at my sides as the shadows disappear from my wrists. Without saying another word to me, he turns and walks to the balcony, opening the doors and stepping out into the brisk night. A second later, the sound of wings flapping against the wind carries him away.

My hands shake as I adjust the fallen straps on my gown and smooth out the wrinkled silk. I try to focus on my breathing exercises, but it doesn’t help. I glance toward the door where Huxley waits on the other side to escort me to Baylor. Right now I should be brushing out my hair or touching up my face.

I should be conjuring myeidolon.

Rose.

Something cracks in my chest. A tiny fracture that splinters, piercing my heart. I should be calling forth Rose. But I’m not. I can’t.

Abomination.

Whore’s daughter.

Killer.

I know the names I’ve been called, most of them accurate. I don’t deny what I am. But right here, in this moment, I can’t be the person who sends Rose to him. I don’t want to look too closely at why giving her a name,that name, has changed things so much. I don’t want to acknowledge the connection it created in my mind because she’s not real.

But are you?

That hateful voice in the back of my mind rears its ugly head.

You are nothing but a deceiver. You lie, even to yourself. You’re just as fake as her.

But what I experienced tonight was real. The way Thorne touched me was the realest thing I’ve ever felt, despite the fact that he’s just as much of a liar as I am. Is that why we’re drawn to each other?

“Lady Iverson?” Huxley’s voice calls again.

I have no idea how long I’ve stood here trying to pull myself together. The only thing I know is, come what may, no part of me is stepping foot outside of this room tonight.

“I’m unwell,” I shout through the door. “The wine has made me sick.”

“Should I fetch a healer?” His voice fills with concern.

“No,” I say quickly. “I just need to sleep it off. Please send the king my apologies.”

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