Page 11 of Heir of Illusion

“The king has requested your presence at his table this morning,” he grinds out, frustration leaking through his pores.

As a second son from a wealthy family, he obviously thinks relaying this message is beneath him. Since his older brother inherited the title, lands, and their family’s seat on the council, Kaldar went into politics. Despite not being blessed with any magic, he’s made himself indispensable to the king, becoming his chief adviser. But unfortunately for Kaldar, Baylor often treats him like an errand boy instead.

A high fae forced into servitude—the horror.

Noticing movement behind him, I realize he’s brought along my two lady’s maids, Alva and Morwen. I open the door wider to let them in as Kaldar makes one of his typical quips.

“Be a good pet and don’t take too long. You wouldn’t want to keep your master waiting.” He smirks, but I don’t bother giving him a reaction before slamming the door in his face.

Alva and Morwen hurry to draw me a warm bath, adding scented oils to the water. I breathe deep, trying to allow the calming blend of rose and neroli to relax me. Neither of my lady’s maids bat an eye at my suspicious bed clothes as they help me undress. After several years of being assigned to me, they’ve both come to expect a few oddities.

Morwen bends down, helping me remove my pants. Her straight dark hair is pulled into a braid, exposing the slightly pointed edges of her ears that mark her as a half fae. As she pulls the leather material down my legs, she catches sight of the still-healing wound on my calf, along with blue and purple bruises from where the shadow had wrapped around me. I wince as her hand brushes over the injury.

She looks up, arching a brow. “What’s this?”

Dried blood is caked to my skin, making it appear worse than it is. At least it’s scabbed over and should be fully healed within a few days. If the blade hadn’t gone so deep, the only trace of the wound would be a faint pale line that would eventually fade back to its original color. One blessing of being high fae is that we heal quickly.

An image of the reaper flashes through my mind, sending a flare of heat up my neck as I’m suddenly filled with a strange sort of embarrassment.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Just an accident.”

Alva moves in closer, peering over Morwen’s shoulder as her sweet face clouds with fear. “Are you doing it again? Did you want this to hap?—”

“No,” I cut her off, not letting my thoughts wander in that direction.

Both of them stare at me, waiting for an answer. I sigh, knowing they won’t let this go.

“It was…” I search for a way to tell them what happened without mentioning Darrow or the reaper. “Complicated.”

Alva’s brows pinch together, but Morwen narrows her eyes, waiting for me to elaborate.

“It wasn’t what you think.” I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t dothatanymore.”

Or at least, I haven’t in the last few months. But sometimes I still crave the relief that would come after the pain. Without it, there’s no end to the guilt that builds inside of me with each life Baylor forces me to take. Maybe it’s wrong, but some misaligned sense of justice makes me associate suffering with atonement. It tells me the only way to pay for what I’ve done is to be punished. Only then can I finally be clean.

Which is why sometimes I used to stand still instead of dodging a hit. I’d even deliberately let an opponent reach for their weapon, knowing there was no way they’d be able to permanently wound me. Whatever minor injury they caused was nothing compared to what Baylor forced me to do to them. Still, it helped ease the worst of my shame.

“I promise,” I instill as much sincerity into my voice as possible.

They drop the subject, but I can tell they don’t believe me. And they shouldn’t. I’m nothing if not a liar.

After I’m bathed, they dress me in a silk gown the color of sage. It hugs my chest, accentuating my curves in a way Baylor will appreciate. Gold metal adorns the shoulders of the sleeveless design, while the plunging neckline draws attention to my ruby collar. There are high slits on both sides of my legs, making it easier to access the blades I have strapped to my thighs.

I stare at my reflection as Alva brushes out my rich copper waves, taming them to soft perfection. Movement in the corner of my eye pulls my attention to Morwen. She meets my gaze in the mirror as she picks up the broken clock on my bookshelf and adjusts the time, pushing it ahead by over an hour.

I quickly glance back at Alva, but it’s clear she didn’t notice, her attention focused on the gold barrettes she’s using to pin my hair out of my face. I make note of the time, knowing I’ll be cutting it close. But if Morwen risked setting the meeting in front of Alva, it must be important.

Morwen returns to my vanity without a word and begins lining my eyes with brown coal, highlighting their slightly upturned shape. My brother used to say I had fox eyes. He’d claim it was because of their amber shade, but secretly, I think it had more to do with how mischievous I was.

To finish me off, they dust my face and body with a shimmery powder that makes my skin appear smooth and poreless. The king expects his pet to appear a certain way: deadly but beautiful.

He wants everyone to covet what only he has tasted.

The entire process takes less than half an hour, but by the time I thank my lady’s maids and open my door, Kaldar is fuming. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, hiding the smirk forming there. The girls return to their other duties as Kaldar trails behind me through the halls.

“I don’t need an escort,” I remind him. “It’s not as if I don’t know the way.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” he mumbles at my back.

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