A crevice.
A crack in the wall means a crack in his own genius, in hisability to wield magic. My wounded genius spasms to life, one last time, and begins to burrow.
“You didn’t give it away, did you?” he seethes.
“I didn’t,” I force out, my genius digging deeper, deeper into the crack in the wall.
“Then why do you still have so many rings? Did he also not pay the assault fee?”
“I—well—”
“Avery,” he bellows. “The truth!”
My attention snaps, my grip on my genius slipping. The moth drops to the stony ground, stunned. I take a breath, eyes stinging at the loss of control, as Reign magic clamps down on my tongue, as it roots through my mind looking for an answer I’m not willing to give, snagging on the memory I wish to hide.
“A complaint,” I hear myself say. “A complaint from House Illusion added the rings back.”
Maxian closes his eyes, forcing air out his nose.
“My king…” Carter tries again. “Shall I get a glass of water?”
The king seizes both of my elbows, his magic all encompassing.
“Your Magnificence,” the executioner starts. “What is—”
The king of Amyria laces us into the plane.
Chapter Twenty-six
My knees sink into plushcarpet. A medallion of coral and cream, a border of pink roses. The vibrancy stuns me, like the color of my mother’s cheeks on a hot day. A female screams, a gruff male voice shouts: “Maxian! I—”
“Hector.”
“—what are—hon, can you—”
I scramble to my feet, taking in bright walls, azure drapery, and a wide four-poster bed. A naked female with sage skin and long limbs stumbles from the mattress like a doe. She clutches the bedsheets to her breasts, grappling for her dress on the floor. She appears familiar and in a less shocking situation, I could place her. Instead, my attention moves to Hector Vandorne as he sits up in bed, gray hair curling across his chest.
For a moment, I’m not sure what shocks me more: that the king’s advisor has a nipple piercing or that his centuries-younger mistress just had her tongue around it. Or that the king just laced us into his bedroom “to interrupt.”
Maxian turns to the female, who’s bowing, apologizing, fixing her hair. In her movements, I catch a flash of silver. Not a coin, but a ring. She’s married, too.
“Was it consensual?” he asks.
The female blinks at him. “I—of course!”
“Speak the truth or I will dig it out of your mind.”
The fae blanches. “Yes, Your Magnificence.”
“Good. Now, Illusion or Healing?”
“Illusion, my lord.”
Maxian reaches forward, touching a hand to her shoulder. Her mouth opens in protest, before she disintegrates into the plane like mist.
“Maxian Cornelius Vandorne!” Hector shouts. “It is inconceivably crass to lace another male’s mistress.”
“Clothe yourself, Uncle. We need to talk.”
