Dominik misunderstands. Maxian seeks change, even if he fears it, or fears the talk of males like Dominik. The king needs someone strong by his side, someone like Kassandra.
“What do you mean?”
“A wife does not win, even if she could,” Dominik grits out. “And never in public.”
Across from us, Maxian leans forward in his chair, gripping its armrest. He stares at us, adjusting himself. My fear curdles to disgust. Does he interpret my breathing as lust?
Is it scared or turned on?Dominik asked all those weeks ago. Perhaps to these fae males, they are one and the same.
Yet the plane shimmers between us. Hardly noticeable at first but like a heat wave, once level with the magic, I can see it swirling in the air. Gathering what little awareness I have left, I reach out to the plane and feel Dominik’s power not just surrounding us but extending outward like a spider weaving his web.
An Illusion.
Dominik has shrouded us in an Illusion.
Can Maxian not smell Dominik’s magic? Unless the fae has layered another Illusion on top of the primary. This, I realize, is his grand gesture. This is why he siphoned the plane. And I spent the night feeding into his anger, willing him to store only more power.
“Do you understand now, little faerie?” he whispers. “They cannot see you. Well, not the real you.”
Maxian glances away, clearing his throat. My thumb rubs against the golden moth ring, but I can’t lace away and leave Lila alone. The three figures move around the room undisturbed, like actors in a play.
“I understand,” I breathe. “I promise.”
“Promise what?”
“That I will make her docile.” The words are like ash in my mouth, but I have no intention of seeing them through.
Dominik tsks. “Remember, this is what happens when you try to win.”
His incisors pierce the crook of my neck, breaking the flesh. Agony rips through me. Crying out, I thrash, but more flesh tears.
“Help!” I shriek through the pain. “Help, please! Help me—”
The king’s attention flicks toward us, then back at the cards.
Dominik clamps down harder, like a wolf. Blood gushes from my neck as another wave of pain erupts. I scream and scream. He rips out his teeth.
“Do you need a reminder?”
“No, please—”
His teeth sink into me once more, lower, severing tendons, and I cry out again, twisting. Fire rips up my neck and down my arm. Darkness blots my vision.
I think of my father.
I slam my head back into Dominik’s nose. He swears, his magic loosening its hold. I fight harder, scratching nails against real flesh raking them down phantom hands, elbowing him wherever I can, stomping on his feet. The grip falls away. I collapse to the ground, clutching my neck. Blood spurts onto the carpet. So much blood, it makes my head swim. How deep did he bite?
The world blurs.
“Help,” I moan. “Please—somebody.”
The king slowly turns his head, brows furrowed, cards still in hand, eyes unfocused.
“Is everything okay?” he asks Dominik in the chair.
“No!” I shout.
Yet an echo of my voice replies, a hollow imitation. “We’re wonderful, Your Magnificence.”
