“You may look up,” the king murmurs.
When I do, I can’t breathe at the curiosity curving his brows. He is not angry at a bucket of water; he wants to know why I’ve placed it here.
He thinks himself an intellectual,Kassandra said. Perhaps he isone.
“As you know, the House of Illusion entertains,” I start. Overthe king’s shoulder, I see Dominik stiffen. “But it is so much more than that. Its females are so much more than that.”
Dominik steps forward. “My king, she—”
The king waves a hand. “Is this not one of yours? Let us see what you have taught her.”
The Illusion heir glowers. I force myself to look at the tanned face and square jaw of royalty. While his attractiveness should twist my nerves, it does something else. He may be the most powerful creature in this room, but right now I have his attention. He is young to adulthood, like myself. He is a striking stranger who sits across from me in a tavern whose attention I want to capture and keep.
“The House of Illusion does more than entertain. And so can its females, when given the chance,” I say. “What is an Illusion? The wise Lord Dominik once said that it is truth in another light. All the Illusion fae do is change the light.”
“I see.” The king scratches his jaw. “And how does this relate to a bucket of water?”
A small chuckle ripples through the crowd, and I realize the room has gone silent. My nerves rack up, but I focus on that beautiful face. A friend. I am in a tavern, telling a handsome friend a story.
“Tonight, the water will change shape. It will appear as many things, but it is always water. You may see a female in one light. Pretty, delicate…” I wet my lips, taking the risk. “Fuckable.”
A laugh from the king as he runs a large hand through his bronze locks.
“But a female is many things,” I rush on. “As are males. And just like a male, she can perform. She can please. And she can push.”
The doors to the entrance hall swing open. A gasp from the crowd. Before retreating from the dais, I speak one last time: “Your gift, from the House of Illusion, Your Magnificence.”
But the king’s gaze has already caught onto the figure at the back of the room. As I turn, my jaw goes slack. I knew it wascoming, and still—I almost fall to my knees at the sight. Kassandra can be cruel, vindictive, spoiled, and jealous. There is a part of me that is twisted and mangled and ashamed of myself because she has said I should be.
Yet she is magnetic. As the doors part, Kassandra enters the throne room atop a pregnant silver mare. The animal nudges forward, flipping her silver mane, and so does Kassandra.
All my lady wears is a constellation of diamonds and pearls that drape across her skin and over her nipples and pool between her thighs. Lingerie made of gems, swirling and streaking along her toned stomach, perfectly curated to her measurements, meant for her wedding night, which has yet to happen. Her lips are a smudge of blood red, as are her sharpened daggerlike nails.
I detest my mistress, but not even I can deny the truth.
She is the most stunning fae in the room.
The loud male swallow behind me indicates I’m not the only one who thinks so.
The crowd parts as the silver mare enters the space. Her sides bulge with a growing foal, though one that will not come for many months. It makes the horse appear larger, more powerful. A mountain of a creature. And the fae atop her like some celestial being.
I back up with the group of nobles who crane their necks. If they could tear their gazes away from Kassandra for a moment, they would see Jeremee, walking along the aisle of people, the horse’s reins in his tattooed hands, hovering just at the wings of this performance. And if they were to look beyond Kassandra, which no one is doing but me, they would see Benji with a rake, pushing manure into a contraption.
With Jeremee’s help, Kassandra guides the silver mare to the king and Dominik, their mouths agape. It stops about a yard away, stamping at the ground with a hoof. King Maxian blinks as if in a stupor.
Kassandra slides off the mare, Jeremee helping her down. She flashes him a smile, and he blushes. My stomach lurches. Toanyone else, he’s another Crest; to Kassandra, he’s a part of the plan. The king shifts, his jaw sets, a small bulge of muscle on one side.
Kassandra sweeps toward King Maxian and curtsies. He offers a large hand, and she slips hers into his palm. He kisses her knuckles, eyes dipping to her mouth.
“Lady Kassandra.”
“Your Magnificence,” she hums.
I almost choke at how different her voice sounds. Husky and deep. Intimate in a way that I shouldn’t be hearing. But that’s the point.
“The Healers say she will have a colt,” Kassandra announces, gesturing to the mare.
The water rises out of the bucket, swirling and forming into a shape four feet tall. A foal made of water. The king tears his gaze from Kassandra’s breasts to observe the advanced root magic, which shifts and molds into a detailed rendering of the animal. The water horse whinnies, and the crowd gasps at the sound. Even the mare huffs in response.
