Ione expelled a bitter laugh. “No, you’re not.” She stalked over to a chest of drawers, opened one, then shoved the contents into her bag. “And if he’d chosen me, I wouldn’t be sorry either.”
Cassandra remembered what Tristan had told her. That since Ione had rescued him, he’d never felt like she really lovedhim. That any affection she’d shown was inspired by duty to the movement.
Is that why she was so upset? Because she thought she had to give up everything she’d worked for?
“You don’t have to leave,” Cassandra said, reaching for Ione who took a very purposeful step back. “Tristan doesn’t want you to.”
Ione snorted. “So magnanimous of you to deliver that message on his behalf.” She opened her closet, her frown deepening before she fished out her opal-topped, platinum circlet. She regarded it with a sad, bitter smile before tossing it to Cassandra. “He didn’t offer you a ring, but perhaps you’ll accept a crown. Not like I need it anymore.”
“But you’re still the Delphine.”
“Am I?” Ione asked, crowding into Cassandra. Ione had a few inches on her, but Cassandra didn’t cower. Ione’s indigo eyes flicked to the circlet. “The irony is they don’t even need a Delphine. The Goddess herself blesses the Anointed, as long as they believe. But I guess my presence helped bolster their faith.” Cassandra had no idea what Ione was talking about. “Did he tell you what he did?”
Cassandra swallowed, but didn’t answer. She trusted Tristan with both her life and her heart, and braced herself for whatever anger-induced lies Ione was about to spew.
“He named me his successor. When he was worried he might not come back from Tartarus.” Ione’s laugh was cold enough to frost glass. “He vowed before Trophonios that if he died before he married or bore an heir, that I would ascend the Crystal Throne.”
“Are you implying that you’re athreatto me? If you think?—”
Ione’s cackle raked across Cassandra’s feathers. “No, you stupid bitch. I’m saying you weren’t supposed to survive. That’s not how your and Tristan’s story has ended. Ever.”
Cassandra’s head spun, recalling everything Reena had said in the Halfway before sending her soul back to Ethyrios.
About Tristan always choosing her.
About him cratering Tartarus with Adelphinae’s hammer.
In every previous version of this world, Tristan and Cassandra had died before becoming Emperor and Empress.
“I don’t want Tristan,” Ione hissed. “I want what I was promised.”
A chill prickled down Cassandra’s spine.
Ione struck, but Cassandra was quicker. She grabbed Ione’s wrist and the memory that overtook her made her sick to her stomach.
Atop a translucent throne veined with gold flakes, a younger, bare-backed Ione straddled a brawny male with two enormous, iridescent black wings.
“You love me,” Ione demanded.
“I love you,” Leonin grunted, her long, blond hair wrapped around his wrist as he thrust up into her.
“You’ll never leave me.” She gripped the armrests for leverage as she rocked her hips in his lap.
“I’ll never leave you. Never.” Leonin pressed his face into the side of her neck.
She fisted his shoulder-length black hair and wrenched his head back, unmistakable lust crawling through his obsidian eyes.
She stopped moving. A necessary manipulation. She needed to force him to agree. He hadn’t during the Turning ceremony last night.
She wasn’t Fae yet, though she knew she would be soon. She and Leonin had a plan for that, too. How they would hide it from Mila. The idealistic young Prince was so obviously in love with her. Bedding him would ensure no one knew who’d truly Turned her.
Leonin.
The male who’d promised her everything.
Well, almost everything.
She leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I will be Empress.”
