Page 4 of Heir of Illusion

I lean across the counter, my voice softer now. “I know how generous our king is with those who please him.”

Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by condescension. “I’m sure you do.”

My jaw clenches. “He gave you the deed to this building in exchange for my collar.”

“What if he did?” He sighs, pushing a curl out of his face. “What do you want me to do about it now?”

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head on. “I want you to remove it.”

Darrow starts to laugh, but my hard eyes tell him I’m not joking. “That’s impossible,” he says cautiously.

My hand returns to my blade and his brows shoot up as I remove it once more. A horrible screech fills the room as I drag the tip across the glass display case between us.

“You see, I don’t think that’s true,” I argue, moving to stand before him. “You’re paranoid, always careful to keep antidotes for every poison on your premises.” His throat bobs as he watches me twirl the knife between my fingers. “You’d never make a deal that could come back to hurt you. You wouldn’t have given the king something that could be used against you without knowing how to defeat it.”

Every ounce of derision fades from his expression as he pulls his focus away from the weapon and meets my gaze once more.

“Sometimes the risk is worth the reward,” he says softly. A faint trace of shame flashes in his eyes as he releases a deep sigh. “Iverson.” I flinch at the pity in his tone, but he keeps speaking. “There is only one way to rid yourself of the collar. The king must remove it himself.”

No.

Lead sinks into my stomach as my limbs stiffen. This has to work. There are no other options, nowhere else I can go for help. I can’t keep living this way. Not after—I cut that thought off, knowing now is not the time to get lost in my guilt.

“You’re lying,” I insist through clenched teeth.

Unable to stand still, I move through the shop, picking up every item I can find. Glass shatters as I knock several crystal bottles to the floor, searching for something,anything, that can help me.

“What are you doing?” he demands as I reach for a vial of purple liquid. Taking it from my hands, he carefully sets it back on the shelf.

“You have to have something that would work,” I mutter as I head for the back room, knowing he keeps special items hidden there. “You may play the fool, but I know you. You’re too careful to take that kind of risk.”

He steps in front of me, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to halt.

“Iverson, there’s nothing here that would help you,” he says gently, his brown eyes imploring me to see reason.

But I can’t.

A lump forms in my throat, and I’m sure I am choking, sure the collar has seized this moment to strike. I push Darrow away and step back. He nods, his eyes full of unwanted understanding.

I’ve always felt a strange kinship with Darrow. He may have helped the king destroy me, but we’re two sides of the same coin. Both of us bastards who conned our way to the top, occupying spaces we have no right to.

And we’re both hated for it.

Forcing air into my lungs, I turn his words over in my mind as I try to spot the lies he’s so skilled at hiding.

“You said there’s nothingherethat would help me,” I say slowly, watching his face close enough to spot the slight tightening around his eyes. “But what about somewhere else?”

All at once, his sympathy turns to annoyance as his expression hardens.

“Iverson, I think it’s time for you to?—”

He stops mid-sentence as my head jerks toward the door. An awareness settles over me, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention. The sensation of ice pressing against the back of my neck and dripping down my spine sends shivers racing through me.

Someone is approaching the shop.

Their presence is heavy. Dominant. Oppressive in a way that rivals even the king. As I lick my lips I can almost taste them on the air. Like deja vu, it’s familiar in a way I can’t place, yet some distant awareness in the back of my mind recognizes the sensation.

Darrow stiffens, looking around for the source of my abrupt change. “What’s going on?”

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