Lie, lie, lie.
The king holds up a hand to stop Dominik. “I will share the faerie, since I love my dagger so much,” he says. “Two moon cycles with me, then one with you.”
“Thank you,” Kassandra whispers. “Thank you.”
This must be an Illusion, a nightmare, another world.
The phantom hands let go. I sink to my knees, head bowed before the king, who still lounges on his throne.
“Your Magnificence,” I whisper.
“Besides, Max,” Dominik mutters, so that only the Upper Court and I can hear. “You did say you enjoyed the faerie’s mouth. Now you can enjoy it almost every night.”
A sob escapes me.
Movement to the right of the throne. The king’s executioner says in a gravelly voice, “I wouldn’t do that, boy—”
Something brown splatters against Dominik’s silver tunic. He shrieks, and a rank smell cascades over me.
Horse manure.
The executioner flashes forward and lifts up a small faerie boy with golden curls. I catch a glimpse of Benji’s round face, streaked with tears.
The court explodes into chaos.
Chapter Nine
Shouts puncture the air, andthe stink of dung fills the halls. The High Fae jostle one another to get a better look at the Heir of Illusion covered in horse shit. Pure terror grips me, and Jae cries out Benji’s name, but the mare rears, and he pulls the reins. Dominik throws himself toward Benji in the hands of the executioner.
“You fucking disgusting faerie!” he screams. “I willkill—”
“Silence!” King Maxian thunders. The ground trembles. The chandeliers swing above, and glass explodes. The room halts, and a rockslide of power tumbles through my body, freezing my muscles.
I drop to my knees and curl forward. Groans escape those who fall around me.
Get up,I tell my legs.Get up!
But my muscles are held by the will of another.
Crashes echo through the coronation hall as the crowd drops to the marble tiles, necks craning to look up at the throne. My breath becomes stifled, as if my lungs are petrifying to stone.
Thousands of candles undulate, hot wax sprinkling onto the crowd, and King Maxian waves his fingers, pulling the lights up again. He draws to his full height, no strain in his calm face.
“Now,” he says. “I have allowed you all to drink and swear and even squabble at my coronation.”
My gaze stays glued to him, eyes burning. I itch to blink but cannot.
“I will not tolerate the mockery this night has turned into. I am your king, so let me make that clear. This is my testament tonight. Remember this feeling.”
My nose presses against the ground. A collective whine fills the space as others are pressed forward, I can only assume.
The crunch of boots over ice shards.
“Executioner, bring me the boy.”
My genius thrashes, reaching out for the plane of magic, searching for water or a plant or dirt I can call to, can ask aid from, but it slams into that rock wall of power. It can only claw at the inside of my skull like a caged animal, spitting and scratching and raking nails against the hold of Reign.
My vision blurs and stings with tears, as I cannot blink.
