Briar gives a slow nod. “It would be quite the entrance.”
“So you’re both moonstruck.”
“My lady, if I may speak plainly,” I say.
“Ugh! I can’t think straight with your thoughts pressing against the plane. Your anxiety tastes like iron.”
“I—” I stop.What did she just say? My emotions…leave a residue on the plane?
“Mistress, what do you know of the crown prince currently?” Briar asks. “You grew up together, but surely, he must be the same male.”
“He thinks himself an intellectual, but I suppose there are worse males. And worse-looking.”
“What else?” I ask.
Kassandra picks at a piece of lint on the blanket. “They always thought me annoying. Always tripping after Maxian and Dominik and Eli when we were children. I’m sure he still views me as a sister.”
“Force him not to.”
“And how would this plot help with that?”
“The seamstresses have been working on something special for a few months now,” Briar answers.
“For planes’ sake, I’ll think about it,” Kassandra mutters. “First, I need something modest for tonight, unless you fools think it wise to visit my father in lingerie.”
“I pressed your conservative navy dress,” Briar says, lips twitching with a smile.
“Good. I’d rather not shock his weak heart and hasten my brother to head of House.”
Once we finish readying Kassandra, Briar and I follow her into the palace halls to her father’s room. Upper members of House Illusion swirl around the four-poster bed in the center of the musty chamber: A blue male scribbles on parchment while a blond male paces. In bed lies the Head of Illusion, his breaths scraping in and out of his open mouth.
I try not to stare from my spot in the corner, but the sight of a High Fae decaying from time is one I have only ever seen in this room. Until adolescence, I didn’t know that High Fae could even pass away, with some in the Nest claiming their masters to be well over a thousand years old. Although faeries birth more children and in a shorter time, most of us die in our six hundreds, from a weak heart, a drooping left side, or diseases like the one that took my mother. But time, like death, seems to track down everyone in the end.
Kassandra kneels by the side of the Head of Illusion, reaching out to clasp the papery hand from the blankets. “Papa,” she starts.
“Dom,” the male rasps.
“No, Papa, it’s me.”
“My Heart?”
“Yes.” Her shoulders sag in relief. “Tomorrow, I will be the one to present the Illusion gift to Maxian. Lord Tomas, your advisor, has already approved.”
The sky-blue male looks up from his parchment. “That’s right, my lord. It is a grand gesture that could solidify a union between Illusion and Reign.”
“We are not yet partnered?”
“The contracts take time, my lord.”
“Where is my child?”
“I’m here,” she says, stroking his arm.
He glowers at her hand.
“My son,” he blurts. “I want my son.”
Something shifts, a pang in my ribs.
