Page 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

D enials rise to the tip of my tongue.

This can’t be true. But when Thorne’s eyes find mine again, I know it is. That mask I’ve seen him don many times is in full effect now. He carries himself with the power and authority of a God. Questions pound against my skull, one after another. How? Why? Was it obvious? Was he laughing behind my back at how easily I believed his lies? Was a single word out of his mouth true?

Baylor’s anger radiates off him in waves, seeping into my skin and igniting my own bone-deep rage. Whimpers echo through the ballroom as courtiers cower in fear of the ring of fire swirling above our heads. Some duck into the alcoves, hoping to hide from the wrath of Death. Others push their noses deeper into the floor, as if they are trying to sink through it.

But I don’t cower or hide or sink.

Instead, I hold my head high, my shoulders back as I watch him stride toward me.

I want Death to feel my disrespect.

The slight curve of his lips as he approaches tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing. It also makes me want to pull out my dagger and drive it straight into his gut. It wouldn’t be enough to kill a God, but I could make it hurt. Whatever amusement simmered behind Killian’s eyes fades quickly as his attention dips to Baylor’s hand. Taking full advantage of my revealing gown, he’s slipped his fingers beneath the seam of my low back-line, squeezing the bare flesh of my hip.

“I am pleased to welcome you to my kingdom, Killian ,” Baylor hisses.

“I assure you, King Baylor, the pleasure is all mine.” Thorne’s tone is deadly soft, raising the hairs on my arms. He lifts a gloved hand, gesturing to the two people behind him. “May I present my advisers, Griffen and Fia.”

The king spares them a cursory glance, but my focus stays on the woman. Fia . The one who was so comfortable whispering in his ear earlier? Is she his lover? My fury intensifies as her dark eyes settle on me.

“What a delight to meet you,” Baylor says dispassionately. “I trust you already know my pet, Lady Iverson.”

I drag my gaze away from Fia to find Thorne still watching me. He’s not even bothering to hide his anger.

“Of course.” He flashes his teeth in a predatory smile. “But she won’t be yours forever.”

Baylor goes rigid. Something sharp skates over my hip, threatening to break the skin. Claws . The side of him I fear most is rising to the surface. The king has never been great at controlling his vertere nature. Instead, it seems to control him. I hold myself unnaturally still, not wanting to attract the attention of the Beast of the Battle.

The crowd, however, has no such survival instincts. Not a single one of them understands how precarious this situation is. Several guests audibly gasp at Thorne— at Killian’s —open disrespect. Many even lift their heads from the floor to watch this dangerous scene play out.

Thorne carries on as if he’s completely oblivious to the room’s reaction as he deigns to glance at Baylor for the first time since he arrived.

“Soon, what you believe is yours will be mine ,” he promises.

Barely a second passes before the tips of Baylor’s claws pierce the skin beneath my dress. Despite the pain, I don’t react outwardly. I know better than that.

“After all,” Thorne continues, “every soul belongs to Death, eventually.”

The room is silent as we all wait for Baylor’s response. He takes his time, his simmering stare focused solely on the God before him. “As you say, Your Excellency. I hope you and your companions enjoy?—”

“I would love to dance with your charming wraith ,” Thorne cuts him off.

“No,” I say quickly as Baylor’s claws threaten to dig deeper into my side. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

If Thorne keeps this up, he’s going to push the king too far. Baylor is going to quickly forget all the reasons he cannot fight a God.

“Come now, Lady Iverson,” Thorne croons. “We are allies , are we not?” I narrow my eyes at the way his velvet-soft tone makes the word sound much more intimate than it is. “Why not prove to everyone here how close our two realms are? Consider it a stipulation of our alliance.”

Baylor’s face twists into some semblance of a smile, but it appears painful and forced. In this moment, I’m sure he regrets ever making a deal with Death.

“My pet would be honored to dance with you,” he says between clenched teeth. “But don’t forget, while her soul may be yours eventually, she is mine.”

A dangerous glint enters Thorne’s eyes, but he doesn’t respond. I bite the inside of my cheek as Baylor pulls his claws from my skin. Hopefully whatever pinched expression may have momentarily crossed my face will be written off as unease over being so close to Death. A scream of frustration rises in my throat, but I swallow it down as I force myself to take Thorne’s gloved hand.

He gazes over the crowd, finally acknowledging their existence. “Rise.”

All at once, the swirling fire above us disappears and the shadows recede. The room returns to its former glory, though it takes a few moments for the revelry to recommence. The low tones of a cello swell through the room as the band returns to their instruments. My lips curve down as I recognize the haunting melody.

The Ballad of Death.

I cut a glare at Thorne as he leads me onto the dancefloor. “Interesting song choice.”

His lips twitch. “A coincidence, I’m sure.”

Every eye in the room is trained on us as we stop in the center of the dancers. I ignore them, focusing all my attention on the God whose arm slips around my waist. His gloved thumb brushes over my bare skin, sending a shiver skating through me. His nearness is dizzying as he sweeps us into a sensual dance.

“You almost look as if you’re unhappy to see me,” he whispers, only loud enough for me to hear.

“Because I am.” I force my lips into a pleasant smile, keeping up appearances for our audience. I catch sight of my brother standing near one of the alcoves, glaring at my dance partner. Bel raises a brow as his attention shifts to me, but I subtly shake my head, hoping that’s enough to dissuade him from doing anything foolish. “Do you have such limited entertainment in the Fifth Isle that you must come here and play pretend, Killian? ”

Lines appear around his mouth, the only sign of his discomfort. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name,” I remind him. “Or are you saying you’d prefer me to call you ‘Your Majesty?’”

He rolls his eyes. “That won’t be necessary. Although, I’m honored to know you find me majestic.”

I give him a bland look. We’re both silent for a few moments as he spins me with one arm before drawing me close again. While Baylor’s hand on my waist was a chain, Thorne’s is a brand. Hot and scalding. Leaving an indelible mark I’ll never be able to wash away.

“I needed information,” he admits.

I nod, keeping my eyes down. For some reason, his confession stings. I knew he was working an angle, but hearing it confirmed hurts more than it should.

“What possessed you to come here yourself?” I ask, praying my voice sounds even. “You could have just sent an emissary.”

“I prefer a hands-on approach.” His tone implies something else as he pulls me even closer.

The soft leather of his glove brushes against my back again, sparking a connection in my mind. I recall that night in the caves when I tried to wipe a piece of algae from his hair, and he reared back as if he’d been disgusted by me.

Don’t. Touch. Me… Ever.

He apologized later, claiming he simply doesn’t like to be touched, but it’s deeper than that. Now I know it wasn’t just Thorne I would have been touching, it was Death.

Beware the touch of Death…

An old memory stirs, words uttered by my former history tutor years ago. He claimed that to be close to the God of Death is to die yourself.

My body goes rigid as I play back every interaction, allowing them to take on new meaning. His gloves. The ones he’s always wearing. How he never lets me close enough to actually touch his skin. His reaction that day when I reached for him. Everything shifts as the truth sets in. A deranged laugh bubbles up in my throat as I consider his last words.

“Really? A hands-on approach?” I ask slowly, glancing meaningfully at the half inch that separates our bodies. “I was under the impression you have to keep your hands off.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps as his eyes darken with shadows.

“Or perhaps the rumors have it wrong? Is Death’s touch not as lethal as they say?” I lift my hand from his shoulder and reach for his face.

His own hand snaps out, gripping mine tightly before spinning me around and pulling my back against his chest. Other dancers glance over at us, but I can’t bring myself to care as he pulls me close, his hand splayed across my stomach. My breath hitches as something tightens in my core.

“Don’t,” he whispers against my hair.

“That’s why you never take off your gloves?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Why you panicked when I?—”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he cuts me off. “I’ll never touch you.”

My shoulders curve inward as his words hit me like a gut punch. It’s foolish to be hurt. He should mean nothing to me. Knowing what I do, I’d have to be out of my mind to wish for his touch.

“Good,” I tell him, pretending the brightness in my tone isn’t ringing false.

Several moments pass in silence. I twist my neck to find him glaring at something across from us. I try to search for whatever has angered him, but he spins me to face him once more.

I narrow my eyes. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, glancing away.

Anger swells inside me. “I wouldn’t believe the word of a liar anyway.”

His sculpted lips curve upward as his voice fills with smoke. “Takes one to know one, Angel.”

Heat sparks in my belly at the endearment. I hate the fact that him calling me that still affects me. It shouldn’t, but I can’t deny that it does.

“I saw a familiar face,” he admits, surprising me. “One I’m not fond of.”

I open my mouth to ask who, but he spins us again. Before I can speak, I spot the Heir of Life standing next to the dance floor, scowling at us as he snatches a goblet of wine from a passing tray.

I arch a brow. “You don’t get along with Foley?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he says.

The man in question guzzles down his wine, sparing one more sneer in our direction before delving back into the crowd, probably in search of another drink. “Well, it appears the feeling is mutual.” My nose scrunches as I lift my shoulders sheepishly. “Although, it’s possible his withering glare was directed at me.”

Amusement flickers in Thorne’s eyes. “And why would that be?”

I shrug. “I may have implied he was a sniveling brat.”

He barks out a loud laugh, catching the attention of several people around us. He ignores them all, keeping his warm gaze on me. “How?”

My cheeks heat. Probably from the wine I had earlier. “By calling him a sniveling brat straight to his face.”

A true smile stretches wide across his face, leaving me strangely breathless. “I would have paid good money to see that.”

We continue dancing, our eyes never straying from each other’s faces. I don’t even realize the dance has ended until I hear the crowd clapping. Startled, I step back and put a few feet between us. Thornes grip on me falls away as something flashes in his eyes, there one second and gone the next. The desire to understand it is strong, but we’ve already drawn too much attention tonight. Lingering any longer would be unwise.

“Excuse me,” I say, turning to flee.

I only make it a few steps before someone blocks my path.

“I would have been a better partner,” Foley slurs. It’s clear he’s been enjoying the libations a bit too much. “At least I can touch you without killing you.”

His hand moves toward my face, but before it can connect with my skin, Thorne is standing between us.

“I don’t believe the lady invited your touch.” His voice is low and gravelly.

Foley’s expression sours. “I’m sure I could persuade her.”

“You can’t,” Thorne growls.

Watching the two of them, I get the sense I’m only catching a small glimpse of their history. There’s animosity here that stems from more than just me.

“And let you have all the fun?” Foley says. “I’ve never known you to take an interest in anyone before, Killian. I must say, I’m curious how you became so close with Baylor’s pet.” His eyes drift back to me, lazily trailing over my exposed skin. “I never considered an alliance with him before, but if this is the kind of benefit that comes along with it, I might change my mind.”

Thorne closes the distance between him and Foley, staring down at him with barely restrained rage. For a moment, I’m truly concerned for the young Heir.

“You don’t have the authority to make an alliance,” Cassandra’s voice cuts in as she joins our group.

I glance around, noticing that we’re drawing a small crowd of spectators. Bridgid’s pretty features are pinched furiously as she watches us. She’s likely pissed that our little scene has stolen attention away from her big night. My gaze flicks to the dais where Baylor stands. He appears calm as he smiles at something Selim has said, but when his eyes briefly shifts to me, I can sense the anger simmering there.

“You are neither God nor king,” Cassandra continues, her purple gown trailing behind her as she moves to stand directly between the two men. “An Heir should remember their place.”

“I will be a God someday,” Foley grumbles petulantly.

“Are you sure about that, Son of Eyrkan?” Her golden eyes simmer and swirl, as if she’s seeing beyond this room. When she speaks again, her voice is eerily soft. “The future is rarely set in stone.”

“At least my father’s realm is peaceful,” the Heir snaps. “From what I hear, the Fifth Isle is a sea of unrest.” He steps around the Goddess to address Thorne. “Losing support in your own kingdom, Killian? That why you’re cozying up to Baylor’s little pet?”

Thorne’s fists clench at his sides as he takes a step toward the Heir, who visibly blanches at their new proximity. His gaze drops to Thornes gloved hands, as if he’s suddenly remembering what those hands can do.

“Call her ‘ pet ’ one more time, and it will be the last word you ever speak,” Thorne warns, his voice barely above a whisper.

A muscle twitches along Foley’s jaw. With one more seething glare in my direction, he storms away, stomping like a child. An unlucky waiter has the misfortune of crossing his path and ends up pushed aside. His tray crashes against the marble floor in a heap of broken glass and spilled wine. I can’t help but think it resembles blood. Unease skates over my skin. Someone as irresponsible as Foley shouldn’t be inheriting any throne. He already abuses what little authority he has. I can’t imagine what kind of atrocities he’d commit with actual power.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Thorne says to the Goddess of Divination.

“You’re welcome.” She turns her golden gaze on him, her voice low. “But I have warned you before, Killian, while some futures are not set in stone, others are inevitable. You seek to alter a fate which cannot be changed.”

He bows his head, his face hard with determination. “I thank you for your council.”

“But you will not heed it.” Her resigned tone suggests this is a topic they’ve discussed before.

I think she’s going to leave, but instead she turns that unsettling stare on me. Similar to what happened earlier, I’m filled with the uncomfortable sense that she’s seeing all the dark secrets I hide within me.

“You are so much more than this,” she says softly.

I take a step back, blood draining from my face. Those words that Leona said to me all those years ago. The ones I say to myself on the nights Baylor summons me. The ones I keep repeating, even though I know they aren’t true.

“When you’re ready,” she continues, “you already know where to search for the answers you seek. I only hope that you’ll be willing to embrace them. The truth cannot be fought, child. Only accepted.”

She takes a step back, her silk dress swaying from the movement. Her painted lips curve into a smile, but there’s something melancholy about it. “Enjoy your evening. I’m sure it will be a memorable one.”

I quickly lose sight of her as she disappears into the crowd. The desire to flee from the ballroom is strong, but unfortunately, my legs are frozen to the spot.

“Iverson,” Thorne begins. “I?—”

His words are drowned out by the sound of a trumpet blaring through the room, demanding our attention.

Kaldar steps onto the now empty dais, soaking in the applause of the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I spot Bridgid and her father shoving people out of their way as they move closer to the platform. So, the moment has finally arrived? A spark of nervous energy ignites inside me as I wait for the announcement that will change my life.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kaldar speaks over the crowd. “Honored guests, it is my great privilege to introduce our illustrious ruler. I give you King Baylor, the Beast of the Battle!”

The man of the hour steps onto the stage amid a sea of applause. After a few minutes, the room quiets down enough for him to speak.

“I want to thank you all for joining me this evening to celebrate my twenty-fifth anniversary as king of the Seventh Isle,” he says, scanning the faces before him. “I am honored that you have trusted me with this position for so many years. I hope I have made you proud.”

Everyone claps. I want to roll my eyes at his humble tone, noting how it sounds slightly too rehearsed. He doesn’t care at all about making anyone proud. He’d kill anyone in this room if it meant he could hang on to power a little longer. Glancing to my right, I realize I’ve lost Thorne as the crowd has pushed in.

“Tonight, I can’t help but think about someone who is not with us.” Baylor’s tone turns somber as his gaze falls. “My late wife, Leona.”

My spine goes rigid at the sound of her name. I don’t think he’s spoken it since she died.

“This kingdom misses her greatly,” Baylor continues. “Over the past year, I’ve realized how much my queen did for us. How special she was to our kingdom.”

Many people in the crowd nod with sympathy, despite the fact that not a single one of them mourned her. Naomi dabs a nonexistent tear from her cheek as Darcus comforts her.

“This is why I believe the time is right for me to take a new wife,” Baylor’s voice grows louder with excitement. “You shall have a new queen!”

Everyone cheers. The ladies of court size each other up with daggers in their eyes, all prepared to fight to the death for the position. Bridgid ignores them all as she smooths out her dress and fusses with her curls. A bright smile lights up her face in anticipation of her name being called. I guess she was right, after all.

“I’d like to announce my engagement to a beautiful and talented young woman in our midst tonight,” he says. “A woman I believe you will all grow to love as much as I do.”

Everyone leans forward, desperate for his next words.

“Please congratulate my fiancée, Lady Iverson Pomeroy.”

Shock radiates through me, and I’m sure I must have heard him wrong.

A few people clap, but the room is mostly silent. Kaldar stands at the edge of the dais, his mouth hanging open. Bridgid’s head snaps in my direction as her cheeks turn red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. A few people send nasty glances my way, but most are too shocked to do anything other than gape.

I shake my head. Surely Baylor made a mistake and said the wrong name. This can’t be right.

My father appears by my side, gripping my arm painfully.

“Pull yourself together,” he whispers as the king steps down from the stage.

The crowd parts, creating an open path leading directly to me. Baylor sweeps me into his arms and presses his lips against mine, but I’m too shocked to respond.

“I told you I would make a future for us,” he whispers in my ear.

No.

It wasn’t supposed to be me. I was supposed to be free. As his wife I will be even more trapped. There will be no escape. No freedom. My throat constricts as I struggle to pull air into my lungs. The weight of the collar around my neck increases, pushing my shoulders down. It’s too heavy, too tight.

“Cheer for your future queen!” he shouts.

The crowd erupts with applause. People come from all sides to congratulate us. Some distant part of my brain tells me I should thank them, but I can’t form words. I can’t even breathe. Baylor’s hand around my waist is an anchor pulling me underwater.

Air. I need air. It’s too much. The room shrinks as the walls move closer. Sweat drips down my forehead as the crowd pushes in on us further. Too many people. Not enough air. I’m suffocating, but they keep smiling at me and speaking as if I’m not dying right in front of them.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

I scan the room, desperate for an escape. I lock eyes with my brother. His face is pale as he shakes his head, mouthing a single word. ‘No.’

“This offense cannot be accepted!” one voice rings out above the rest, pulling everyone’s attention.

His words mean nothing to me as I take a ragged breath. Finally, the endless swell of well-wishers fall back as they search for the source of the complaint. My head falls against my shoulder as the room spins. Baylor’s hand around my waist is the only thing keeping me upright as my legs threaten to give out. My chest heaves as I pull air into my lungs in labored gasps.

The owner of the voice steps forward, his face red and twisted with rage.

Lord Burgess.

The crowd parts into a circle around us. Their eyes are fevered as they shift back and forth between their king and his challenger, nothing but ravenous vultures, delighting in their entertainment.

“It was supposed to be my daughter!” he insists. Based on the way he stumbles and slurs his words, I’d guess he started celebrating early. “But instead, he chooses her? After everything my family has given him! The support! The money!”

Kaldar steps forward, his eye wide as he lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “Brother, now is not the time.”

“Now is the time!” the lord insists.

“Listen to your brother, Simon,” Baylor commands, his eyes shifting blood red as his control over the vertere part of himself wanes.

“How about you listen to me?” Burgess shouts as he pushes strands of blond hair out of his face. “I helped you take that throne when Maebyn disappeared. I loaned you my armies to defeat Triston. And this is how you thank me?”

Baylor’s lip curls, but he makes no move to approach the drunk lord. “Guards.”

On cue, Remy appears behind Lord Burgess and seizes the man in a tight hold. The lord struggles, continuing his tirade.

“No! You’re insane if you think anyone would bow to her!” he seethes as his gaze lands on me. “No one in their right mind would put a crown on a bastard-born whore.”

Gasps erupt around us. I push myself away from Baylor as he shakes with fury, and his claws extend once again. He’s about to shift into his other form, when suddenly, Thorne steps out of the crowd.

“Release him,” he orders Remy as he removes one of his gloves.

His voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it that sends warning bells ringing through my mind.

The captain’s gaze moves to Baylor, waiting for instructions. The king nods and Remy steps back, allowing Burgess to fall to the floor before the God of Death.

Thorne tsks as he shakes his head, staring down at the drunk lord. “Pity you never learned to hold your tongue.”

He reaches out, splaying his bare hand across the man’s face.

The screams are instant. Burgess jerks back as he tries to escape the pain, but Thorne is faster. Grabbing a fistful of his long hair, he twists it mercilessly to hold the man in place. The crowd is utterly silent as the lord waves his arms, searching for help.

“Stop him!” Bridgid rushes forward. “He’s killing my father!”

No one moves, not even Naomi or Darcus.

“Please!” She turns her pleading eyes on Baylor. “Stop this!”

He doesn’t spare her a glance, instead signaling one of the guards to pull her away. Less than a minute passes before Thorne releases the lord, allowing his limp body to fall forward.

Silence hangs in the air for several seconds before he turns and faces the crowd.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening, King Baylor.”

With those parting words, he makes his way to the stairs without even sparing me a glance. His companions follow after him. Griffen is the only one who looks back at me, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he trails after his God, and they disappear the way they came.

It takes several seconds before time restarts. Baylor is pulled away to handle the aftermath. With no one to stop me, I head toward the stairs, desperate to flee, but a hand snags my arm and pulls me to a stop. Glancing up, I find my father’s furious face staring down at me.

“Do not screw this up, daughter,” he orders. “You have a duty to your family.”

I bare my teeth. “What do you know of family ? ”

His grip tightens as his face contorts in rage. For a moment, I think he’s going to hit me. Gods, I wish he’d try.

“Let her go.” My brother appears by my side, glaring at the man who sired him. “I’ve warned you what would happen if you laid hands on her again. Do not test me, old man.”

Lord Pomeroy blanches, releasing my arm. I know I should thank Bellamy, but my brain isn’t working properly right now. My only thought is escaping this nightmare. Without wasting another second, I summon an illusion and disappear from sight. Not a single person notices as I sprint from the ballroom.