I want to be with Jeremee, the invitation to my bed a second from escaping my lips. But he’ll see my battered body. He will feel the shake in my hands. When he wraps long arms around me, will I think of Dominik?
Are you afraid, little faerie?The feel of those icy fingers. A flood of last night’s memories. My best friend stepping closer, eyes heavy-lidded, and my bruised chest heaves.
Am I still the day faerie from yesterday? Am I something less, and the male in Jeremee can sense it, ready to pounce on a thing that will lie down?
Is it scared or turned on?
I grip my door handle, and the heady air dries up.
Jeremee stops, blinking, as if the spell has been broken. “Avery, I’m…confused.”
Me too,I want to cry. We are pulling in two different directions—him spiraling into an Unluckie, and me soaring into an elusive Night Crest.
When we are together, I want it to be a beginning, not a goodbye.
I clear my throat. “The silver mare.”
The heat dies in his eyes, in my chest. He looks down the hall toward the light of the stairs, the sounds of the Nest below. “What about it?”
“Once the lady approves, I can share the plans.”
“Is it safe for Benji?”
“Absolutely. I promise.”
“Okay, then.” He scratches the back of his head. “I guess I should get going…”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
He nods and turns away, descending into the Nest. He doesn’t look back.
The only other time we have come close to crossing the line had been after my mother died. I had reached for him, tear streaked and in mourning attire, but he had gently refused and guided me to bed, tucking me under the covers, and left.
We’ve never talked about it since. He was a safe harbor after her death, when I needed him the most. Sometimes I wonder how much grief plays a role in our game, for him and for me. He lost his own mother shortly after Benji’s birth ten years ago. Grief spoiled my magic, my personality, and shrank my world. What has it done to him?
Unlocking my empty room, I undress, fingers grazing tender flesh in the shadows. I want to peel off my skin, layer by layer, to find the depth that Dominik has not touched, to escape the sound of bones snapping.
As long as the Illusion heir torments Kassandra, she will torment us, levying violation after violation, setting back any financial progress. But the opposite could be true: If I could ensure her safety and happiness, perhaps that would trickle down to us. Perhaps she would even consider revoking the complaint against Jeremee, if such a thing is possible. Tomorrow, Briar, Jeremee, Benji, and I will help her excel in the one area that might release her from Dominik’s grip and into the cushy embrace of royalty, bringing us with her.
Her prospect to the king.
We’ll pull together a great performance, flicker enough light and shadows for it to seem real. This is the House of Illusion, after all.
All Kassandra has to do is step into her role, play this game just once. All I have to do is convince her. It shouldn’t be too hard.
Chapter Seven
“Are you moonstruck?” Kassandra snapslater that afternoon. “There’s no way I’m doing that.”
I wipe sweaty palms on my skirts. The coronation is tomorrow, and this is my only chance to get her to agree. Kassandra is propped up in bed, arms resting on the plethora of pillows. Her arms are almost healed, and her complexion has started to return.
She gestures at Briar, who stands at her bedside. “Well, what do you think?” she asks.
“Truly, mistress?”
“Truly, Briar.”
My brows shoot up. Briar practically raised Kassandra, but it is startling all the same to see such intimacy between High Fae and faerie.
