I hear a soft gasp, and even in the tiniest of noises, I recognize her.
My sister, looking more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. Atop her luminous blond curls sits a crown of diamond-encrusted branches. Her black gown is so long it sweeps past the throne she sits on and down the stairs of the dais, trailing beads like raindrops. In one hand dangles a bejeweled goblet, and her full lips are the bitten-red of faerie wine.
It’s more difficult to see the figure in the throne next to her, as there are half a dozen exquisitely beautiful faerie girls gathered around it.
One with a manicured hand laid on his shoulder. Another standing behind him, her fingers wound through his hair. There’s a girl lounging at his feet, her arm resting along his calf, and one perched on the armrest of his throne, a slit in her gown showing a scandalously long swath of leg.
But the one I can’t stop staring at is sitting in his lap. She’s got masses of long dark hair, and her gown is low cut enough to see how deeply her pale skin is flushed.
She’s got one hand on his chest and the other in his mouth.
Globs of golden honey drip from her fingers, across his lips and down his chin. She pumps them in and out and he sucks softly, his eyes fluttering closed, his head tipped back. He, too, wears a crown. It’s askew atop his dark hair, and his doublet—beaded black to match Lydia’s—hangs open at his throat.
I gasp, and it must awaken something in him.
His eyes open and his gaze snaps not to me, but to Lydia. In that single glance, there is aching intimacy, pulled as tight as a bowstring.
Gently, my sister reaches for him and lays a comforting hand on his arm. Something glints in the torchlight—a wedding band encircling her third finger.
The sight of it is sickening, shattering.
His eyes land on mine.
I mutter only one word. “Emmett?”
It’s as if a spell is broken. The whole party comes back to life suddenly, in uproarious, hysterical laughter—and it’s me they’re laughing at.
Chapter Nine
I turn on my heel and sprint from the room.
The world spins. I have no idea where I’m going, only that I need to be somewhere that isn’t here.
Moments later I hear the doors behind me swing open with a crack.
“Ivy!” Lydia calls. “Ivy, stop!”
I turn, panting, tears blurring my vision.
Her eyes are glassy, her mouth hanging open in surprise. “Ivy.” She says my name softer this time.
I look toward the doors. Emmett hasn’t followed her.
My sister crosses the hall to me and tentatively grasps my hand, as if to confirm I’m really in front of her.
I blink and see again the twin thrones, Emmett by her side.
“How long have you been here?” I choke out.
Lydia looks to the floor, devastation all over her face. “Two years,” she answers gravely.
Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I have to get the next question out. “And how long have you been married to Emmett?”
She yanks her hand back and looks beseechingly into my eyes. “It’s not Emmett.”
“Who, then?”
For the first time, I’m able to really look at her. Her blond hair hangs past her waist, and in addition to the bejeweled crown on her head, her curls are scattered with diamonds woven into small braids. Her warm brown eyes are lined with wet-looking black kohl and her lashes are long and dark. The light freckles that usually run atop her cheekbones are obscured with something that shimmers blue and purple like moonstone as it catches the light.
