Page 137 of Heir of Illusion

“Let’s say for argument’s sake they do,” I say, turning to face him. My pulse quickens as I notice the limited number of inches separating our faces.

“I suppose there are many ways someone could benefit from the death of a God,” he muses. “But if a person were determined enough, there is a way they could take the God’s place.”

“What?” I ask as a cold chill creeps over my entire body, causing me to pull the blankets closer. “You mean they could become a God?”

“It’s possible.” He nods, adjusting his position to narrow the gap between us. “Very few know this, but when a God dies, their Heir doesn’t fully ascend right away. The process can take weeks or even months. And in that time, the Heir is incredibly vulnerable. Their body and powers are growing stronger, but they can often be unpredictable. If, hypothetically, someone were to kill an Heir during their ascension, they could claim the Heir’s destiny as their own.”

My mind buzzes as his words spark a myriad of thoughts. “That’s…”

“Terrifying?” He raises a brow.

“And more.” I shudder. “Has it happened before?”

“Only once that I know of,” he says as his leg brushes against mine. “I was told it was only a few centuries after the Gods first came to power. Supposedly, the one who intervened and killed the Heir was severely punished by the Fates.”

“Some Heirs were fated to rise, others to fall,”I murmur, repeating Maebyn’s words.

“Hmm?” he asks as his hand slips under my nightgown to rest against the bare skin of my back.

“Nothing,” I whisper as my body erupts in shivers. “If the Fates killed that person, then so much for your theory that they appreciate a little defiance.”

“Maybe it’s a case-by-case basis,” he says softly as he pulls me closer, curling me into his body as he slides one of his legs between mine. “We never truly know what the Fates have planned for us. There could come a day when they want a new bloodline to take over one of the Isles.”

“I suppose,” I say, thinking of Foley. Would the Fates actually punish someone for saving the world from the likes of him?

His face nuzzles into the crook of my neck, avoiding my collar as he inhales my scent. I lift a hand, brushing my fingers through the soft strands of his dark hair, enjoying the sigh of contentment that escapes him.

“So, if I was wanting to replace a God,” I say, turning the conversation back to my original question. “I’d have to know the identity of their Heir?”

“Correct,” he murmurs. “Otherwise, you’d risk the Heir completing their ascension before you ever found them. Most Gods are extremely skilled at hiding their children…” His words trail off for a moment as his mouth parts on a wide yawn. “It would take years of searching to even find a single lead.”

Which means that if Baylor is finally ready to end Maebyn’s life, he already knows where her Heir is hiding. With that terrifying thought, my eyes drift shut as I wrap my arms tightly around Thorne. No matter what comes later, here in this moment I feel safe.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

Ifind myself standing outside the doors of the royal temple with no idea how I got here. My brows pinch as I glance down at myself, realizing I’m wearing an extremely large white gown with a full skirt made of tulle. The style reminds me of the gowns the other ladies wear at court.

“There you are.” Bellamy’s voice steals my attention. He’s gliding toward me, his face pinched with worry. “I was afraid you were going to be late.”

Confusion ripples through me. “Late for what?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“Very funny, Ivy.” He grabs my arm and pulls it through his, leading us toward the double doors. “Come. We don’t want to keep them all waiting.”

I start to ask who he’s referring to, but suddenly the doors swing open. Hundreds of people rise from the pews and turn to face us. I recognize most of them as prominent high fae, many of them nobles. Every single eye is focused completely on me as my brother pulls me down the long aisle.

“What’s going on, Bel?” I ask, my voice too high. “What are we doing here?”

“See for yourself.” He points toward the end of the altar where a man waits alone.

Baylor.

His eyes shine with victory as he tracks my movements, marking each step that brings me closer to him.

Oh Gods… This is a wedding. Our wedding.

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