“Who cares? It’s time to see if Illusion is more than just smoke and silver.”
I retreat, returning the wine to its ice bucket and joining Lila against the wall with my shaking hands clenched behind my back.
Silence, for a moment. Then Maxian says, “I will marry soon. Secure an heir for the future of Amyria and the Reign fae.”
“When?”
“Before excitement sours to unrest.”
My blood roars in my ears, and I press my lips together. Realization dawns like a swift stomach illness.
Jeremee had been right.
The Houses are shifting, and every faerie should fear it.
Hector wipes his mouth, tossing his napkin down. “Stew was pleasant. The rabbit was very tender.” The advisor laughs. “I could not taste the fear this time.”
The king smiles. “We improved the cages.”
For the rest of the evening, the fae finish plate after plate, their appetite unending, leaving no scraps behind to steal.
Chapter Fifteen
When the dinner finally endsand the males depart, Lila and I push the cart of dirty dishes down the servants’ hallway. We reach the Mouth, warm light leaking out onto the dark stones. The door swings outward, revealing a blond male with only four debt rings on each arm. He is my height, and we both tower half a foot over Lila. Behind him, the clamor of the kitchens washes over us, smells of butter and onion filling the air.
“How was dinner?” His crooked half smile snatches my breath, so strongly does the expression remind me of Jeremee.
“Oh, you know.” Lila shrugs. “The same as always.”
“Self-important and full of the advisor’s open-mouthed chewing?”
“Shh!”
They laugh until his attention finds me.
“Oh, hello,” he says.
“This is Carter, the king’s personal valet,” Lila chimes in. “Carter, this is Avery.”
“Night Crest for Illusion,” I start. “And, well—Reign, too.”
“Ah, so you were the one…giftedat the coronation. My condolences.”
“Well, I’m grateful she’s here,” Lila says. “We’ll have to show her that being in the Pith isn’t so bad.”
“The Pith?” I ask.
“What we call House Reign. Something the older faeries used to call it, and now it’s tradition.”
“How tolerable it is being in the Pith depends entirely on what the king had for dessert,” Carter says. “I’m heading to his chambers now to prep the nightly routine.”
Lila grimaces. “He chose the custard.”
Carter groans, knocking his head back against the open door, then shouts, “Fern, my love!”
From the clatter of the Mouth comes a boisterous voice. “I’ve got a knife in my hand, little shit!”
“Chef Fern!” he corrects, sapphire eyes flashing with mirth. “Why do you continue making these dairy desserts?”
