Page 3

Chapter

Three

A series of dull thuds has me shooting out of my chair, a blade in my hand as I land in a crouch on the floor. I groan as fiery pain shoots up my calf, a reminder of my self-inflicted stab wound. Slowly standing up, I stretch out the tightness in my leg, wincing as I flex and point my toes.

After spotting the winged reaper watching me from the rooftop last night, I took off running until I reached my room. Tending to the injury had been the last thing on my mind as I locked the doors and curled up on my settee. I planned to stay awake all night to ensure the soul collector didn’t slip in through my balcony, but as the adrenaline faded, I passed out with a knife still in my hand.

Sheer ivory curtains do nothing to block the sun from forcing its way into my room and blanketing the soft colors of my decor in early morning light. As the incessant pounding continues, I realize the noise that woke me is coming from the other side of my door.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I slip on a silk dressing gown in an effort to hide last night’s conspicuous outfit. Keeping my blade behind my back, I make my way to the door and crack it open, scowling when I see who’s woken me up so urgently.

Kaldar Burgess.

“Woof,” he says, a smug smile gracing his face, clearly proud of the tired jab he’s made hundreds of times before. Pet jokes are a favorite among the courtiers.

I shut the door, not giving him a chance to wedge his foot into the opening. I’ve only taken two steps toward my bed when the knocking resumes, and I’m forced to open it again.

“What do you want?” I demand.

He rolls his eyes. “If you hadn’t slammed the door in my face, I might have been able to tell you.”

I stare at him blankly as I wait for an answer to my question. He hates when I don’t play along. Afterall, a good little pet lives to please.

“The king has requested your presence at his table this morning,” he grinds out, frustration leaking through his pores.

As a second son from a wealthy family, he obviously thinks relaying this message is beneath him. Since his older brother inherited the title, lands, and their family’s seat on the council, Kaldar went into politics. Despite not being blessed with any magic, he’s made himself indispensable to the king, becoming his chief adviser. But unfortunately for Kaldar, Baylor often treats him like an errand boy instead.

A high fae forced into servitude—the horror.

Noticing movement behind him, I realize he’s brought along my two lady’s maids, Alva and Morwen. I open the door wider to let them in as Kaldar makes one of his typical quips.

“Be a good pet and don’t take too long. You wouldn’t want to keep your master waiting.” He smirks, but I don’t bother giving him a reaction before slamming the door in his face.

Alva and Morwen hurry to draw me a warm bath, adding scented oils to the water. I breathe deep, trying to allow the calming blend of rose and neroli to relax me. Neither of my lady’s maids bat an eye at my suspicious bed clothes as they help me undress. After several years of being assigned to me, they’ve both come to expect a few oddities.

Morwen bends down, helping me remove my pants. Her straight dark hair is pulled into a braid, exposing the slightly pointed edges of her ears that mark her as a half fae. As she pulls the leather material down my legs, she catches sight of the still-healing wound on my calf, along with blue and purple bruises from where the shadow had wrapped around me. I wince as her hand brushes over the injury.

She looks up, arching a brow. “What’s this?”

Dried blood is caked to my skin, making it appear worse than it is. At least it’s scabbed over and should be fully healed within a few days. If the blade hadn’t gone so deep, the only trace of the wound would be a faint pale line that would eventually fade back to its original color. One blessing of being high fae is that we heal quickly.

An image of the reaper flashes through my mind, sending a flare of heat up my neck as I’m suddenly filled with a strange sort of embarrassment.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Just an accident.”

Alva moves in closer, peering over Morwen’s shoulder as her sweet face clouds with fear. “Are you doing it again? Did you want this to hap?—”

“No,” I cut her off, not letting my thoughts wander in that direction.

Both of them stare at me, waiting for an answer. I sigh, knowing they won’t let this go.

“It was…” I search for a way to tell them what happened without mentioning Darrow or the reaper. “Complicated.”

Alva’s brows pinch together, but Morwen narrows her eyes, waiting for me to elaborate.

“It wasn’t what you think.” I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Or at least, I haven’t in the last few months. But sometimes I still crave the relief that would come after the pain. Without it, there’s no end to the guilt that builds inside of me with each life Baylor forces me to take. Maybe it’s wrong, but some misaligned sense of justice makes me associate suffering with atonement. It tells me the only way to pay for what I’ve done is to be punished. Only then can I finally be clean.

Which is why sometimes I used to stand still instead of dodging a hit. I’d even deliberately let an opponent reach for their weapon, knowing there was no way they’d be able to permanently wound me. Whatever minor injury they caused was nothing compared to what Baylor forced me to do to them. Still, it helped ease the worst of my shame.

“I promise,” I instill as much sincerity into my voice as possible.

They drop the subject, but I can tell they don’t believe me. And they shouldn’t. I’m nothing if not a liar.

After I’m bathed, they dress me in a silk gown the color of sage. It hugs my chest, accentuating my curves in a way Baylor will appreciate. Gold metal adorns the shoulders of the sleeveless design, while the plunging neckline draws attention to my ruby collar. There are high slits on both sides of my legs, making it easier to access the blades I have strapped to my thighs.

I stare at my reflection as Alva brushes out my rich copper waves, taming them to soft perfection. Movement in the corner of my eye pulls my attention to Morwen. She meets my gaze in the mirror as she picks up the broken clock on my bookshelf and adjusts the time, pushing it ahead by over an hour.

I quickly glance back at Alva, but it’s clear she didn’t notice, her attention focused on the gold barrettes she’s using to pin my hair out of my face. I make note of the time, knowing I’ll be cutting it close. But if Morwen risked setting the meeting in front of Alva, it must be important.

Morwen returns to my vanity without a word and begins lining my eyes with brown coal, highlighting their slightly upturned shape. My brother used to say I had fox eyes. He’d claim it was because of their amber shade, but secretly, I think it had more to do with how mischievous I was.

To finish me off, they dust my face and body with a shimmery powder that makes my skin appear smooth and poreless. The king expects his pet to appear a certain way: deadly but beautiful.

He wants everyone to covet what only he has tasted.

The entire process takes less than half an hour, but by the time I thank my lady’s maids and open my door, Kaldar is fuming. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, hiding the smirk forming there. The girls return to their other duties as Kaldar trails behind me through the halls.

“I don’t need an escort,” I remind him. “It’s not as if I don’t know the way.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” he mumbles at my back.

The king always changes the rules, ensuring they can never be predicted. Some mornings, he wants to be by himself, and my presence is unwelcome. Other mornings, he demands I join him. Apparently, my ability to walk around unchaperoned is also subject to change without warning.

I glance over my shoulder, hating the sight of the advisors smug face. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I could gut him before he even has a chance to unsheathe the little dagger at his waist. Perhaps someday wishful thinking will lead to reality. Hope blossoms at the thought.

Kaldar’s expression morphs into a scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”

I raise my eyebrows, my face becoming a mask of confused innocence. “Like what?”

He grunts, shifting his attention. I turn away from him once more, smiling to myself as I imagine the sounds he will make when he dies by my hand.

Men such as Kaldar are all the same. At first, they’re overly confident in their inherit superiority, but once you have them unarmed and at your mercy, they beg. They cry and plead, so unused to being on their knees for anyone, so shocked to be facing real consequences for their actions.

After all, exceptions must be made for people of superior birth.

When we arrive at the king’s breakfast chamber, I wait for his private guards, Doral and Huxley, to let me in. Even as his favored, who has been summoned to him, I am not permitted to walk inside unannounced. When the doors open and I’m ushered inside, I don’t bother glancing back at Kaldar.

The king’s breakfast room is lavish and bright. It’s connected to his bedchamber, offering it an air of intimacy. Morning light gleams through the open balcony doors, giving us a view of the ocean below. Paintings of quaint country landscapes hang on the walls, and bouquets of fresh flowers sit on every surface. The cheerful yellow wallpaper mixed with the warmth of the wooden furniture paints an inviting picture. It’s meant to draw you in, to make you feel safe and welcome. Make you feel at home.

But it’s all a lie.

“Iverson.”

Baylor rises from his seat at the head of the table, coming to greet me with a fond smile. I offer him a deep curtsy, silently hating how familiar my name sounds on his tongue, as if he’s far too used to saying it.

His straight, pale blond hair hits right above his shoulders, barely brushing his gold dolman. Proud, pointed ears poke out between the strands, on display for everyone. And a gilded crown adorns his forehead, marking him as the king, in case anyone was unaware.

While he’s never shared exactly how old he is, I know he’s seen centuries come and go, yet his face shows no evidence of it. Based on his complexion, I’d guess he stopped aging somewhere around his late twenties. Like all fae, he has been blessed with the eternal beauty of youth. As a child, that beauty used to dazzle me. Now I struggle to find even a single thing to admire about him.

Baylor—the Beast of Battle, the King of the Seventh Isle, and my biggest regret.

He kisses me thoroughly, his tongue invading my mouth to taste what belongs to him. His possessive hand grips my arm, while the other paws my backside. I lean into him, forcing myself not to recoil from his touch. A soft hum rises in my throat, a noise that says I have craved this as much as him.

When he pulls back, there’s a covetous gleam in his dark blue eyes as they settle on the low neckline of my gown. “I’ve missed you, pet.”

“Me too,” I lie, falling into my role effortlessly. It’s an easy part to play, especially since it wasn’t always an act.

“Damn these preparations for keeping us apart.” He pulls me closer, his nose nuzzling my cheek. “I’m going mad without you.”

I give him a patient smile, pretending I don’t find his proximity nauseating. “I cannot always be your main concern.”

I’ve relished his distraction these last few months as he’s been working tirelessly to prepare for his twenty-fifth anniversary as king of the Seventh Isle. The rulers of the other Verran Isles have been invited to attend a ball in Baylor’s honor, though it’s doubtful that all of them will join us.

“Have you heard back from any of the other monarchs?” I ask, careful not to call them what they actually are.

Unlike Baylor, the other seven rulers are Gods. They didn’t have to fight a bloody battle to conquer their thrones. They were chosen by the Fates, and their realms belong to them by birthright. A fact he is incredibly sensitive about.

Selim, the God of Accords, and Cassandra, the Goddess of Divination, have already confirmed their attendance. Selim rarely misses an opportunity to strengthen his bonds with the other realms. But Cassandra hasn’t attended an event since Maebyn, the Goddess of Illusion and the former ruler of the Seventh Isle, disappeared a quarter of a century ago. Since the two were extremely close, her decision to attend Baylor’s anniversary ball surprised everyone. Secretly, I wonder if perhaps one of her famous visions was responsible for her change of heart.

“Kerys, Alastair, and Atreus have declined,” he complains. The Goddess of Love and Hate, the God of Chaos, and the God of War. Not surprising since they would have to travel the furthest. “I’m still waiting to hear from Eyrkan and Killian.”

“I’m sure they will reply to you soon,” I lie.

Eyrkan, the God of Life, is the self-appointed leader of the Gods and likely thinks attending Baylor’s party is beneath him. His refusal to respond is petty, but expected.

Killian is different, though. The God of Death is famous for turning down every invitation he receives. All the Gods are known for being secretive, but none so much as Death. Since ascending into Godhood ten years ago, he has remained incredibly private and little is known about him.

Baylor smiles, leaning in to give me another quick kiss before helping me into the cushioned chair to the right of his—a place of honor. These kinds of small gestures are well rehearsed, designed to make me feel special. Important. Favored .

Fresh berries, pastries, scrambled eggs, ham, and roasted potatoes make up our meal. The smell of garlic and rosemary brings my appetite to life, but it sours immediately when my gaze snags on the porcelain plate before me. A rim of cornflower blue hugs the inner edge with a sweet dusting of lilac flowers adorning it.

I’d recognize it anywhere.

The late queen was fond of her wedding porcelain, only bringing it out for special occasions. When I was a child, before our relationship soured, she’d use it during private lunches for the two of us. I once asked her what made it special, and she told me it was a gift, hand-painted by the person she loved most in the world.

For the past year, the king has been determined to erase every memory of her from these halls. Only small pieces of Leona have slipped past his notice—the last vestiges of his late wife.

Heat prickles behind my eyes as a lump forms in my throat. Guilt and shame war for dominance in my gut. I take a sip of water, forcing myself to choke down the unexpected emotion. Glancing at Baylor seated on my left, I find him staring at me, and I struggle not to flinch at the obvious lust in his gaze.

“It’s decided.” He shakes his head with determination. “My advisers can handle the preparations on their own. I want to spend the next few days holed up in my chambers with you.”

“No,” I say too quickly, still distracted by the stupid plate. His eyes sharpen, and I hurry to amend myself. “I wouldn’t want to be the reason your celebration doesn’t go as planned. It’s such an important night for the whole realm.”

Placing my hand on his, I let the emotion from before simmer in my eyes as I offer him a brave smile. I force all my best lies into the gesture. I am being vulnerable with you. I put your needs first. You can trust me.

I glance down as if this is difficult for me. As if these words are self-sacrificing and I am searching for the courage to speak them. “You deserve to enjoy it without having to worry about me.”

I give him a brave smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. He scrutinizes me for several moments before reaching out to cup my cheek, wiping a wayward tear with his thumb. As I gaze up at him with eyes full of love, something in my stomach burns, but I ignore it.

I feel nothing.

“Ah, my pet. You’re always so sweet.”

I send silent prayers to the Fates that his words are sincere as he returns his focus to the meal.

“Tell me, how was last night’s outing?” he asks, nibbling at a strawberry. My eyes track a drop of juice that drips down his chin. “Were you successful?”

For a brief moment, I panic, thinking he’s asking me about my time at Darrow’s shop before I recall the unpleasant task he assigned me prior to that.

“It’s done,” I assure him. “Lord Ando Varish admitted to speaking treasonous lies against the crown.” A falsehood he confessed to under extreme duress, and only to make the pain stop.

Last month, Lady Varish gave birth to the couple’s first child, a baby girl with round ears. A mortal. This was extremely concerning, given the fact that both Lord and Lady Varish are high fae. Ando loudly proclaimed this was the result of Baylor’s reign. Yet another punishment from the Fates for the Goddess’s absence. He’s not the first to make such a claim.

It started slowly. A few bad harvests, intense storms, lower birth rates. But in recent years, the crops have barely sustained us. Baylor has been attempting to make trade agreements with the other Isles, hoping to buy time. Building these alliances is part of why his anniversary ball is so important. Time is running out for him to find a solution.

The storms have become more violent too. Six months ago, a thirty-foot wave crashed into a village in the north, decimating their community. All over the Isle, sunny days now turn into hurricanes at only a moment’s notice.

“Lord Varish admitted to cutting the child’s ears himself to make them appear round,” I tell him, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “He wanted to destabilize your reign and gain power amongst your critics, but I executed Lord Varish, as you requested.”

Requested is such a polite world. It implies choice, a kindness the king didn’t give me. When Baylor places his hand on the collar, the enchantment upon it is activated. Any direct order he gives me must be obeyed, or the collar will be triggered.

But Baylor has grown complacent with me. He isn’t careful with his word choice, leaving room for small acts of defiance. Like when I told Ando his pain would end if he admitted his claims were untrue, even if they weren’t. Offering him the only gift I had the power to grant, I promised him I would protect his wife and child, making sure they weren’t implicated in his treason.

“Lady Varish had no knowledge of the scheme,” I assure the king sincerely. “She and her child were victims of his insanity.”

Baylor nods thoughtfully. “Did he put up a fight?”

I shake my head.

“Then how do you explain this?” He gestures to my hand resting on the table, staring at my ruined nails, broken and jagged from digging into Darrow’s hardwood floors.

My heart stutters, but I force myself not to react to the slip up. I’ve talked my way out of worse.

“He struggled a bit,” I clarify, letting my gaze fall to my lap as if I’m embarrassed. “But it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He watches me silently for several moments as he weighs my words.

“You’ll spend extra time training with Remard this week,” he commands. “I won’t see your skills grow rusty.”

I nod, not wanting to fight him on this. Training is one of the few joys I have. “I’ll let Remy know.”

“Remy, is it now?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “And should I be jealous of how familiar you are with the captain of my guard?”

“You have no reason to worry about Remard .” I use his full name, playfully rolling my eyes at the tired joke. Remy is an objectively handsome man. Tall and muscular with tan skin and close-cut chestnut hair. His warm honey-brown eyes are full of life, unlike Baylor’s. But the king knows that Remy practically raised me, thereby making the idea of seeing him in a sexual light disgusting and absurd.

“I want no one but you.” The lie sends a wave of nausea through my stomach.

Pale blue eyes and dark hair flash through my mind, reminding me of my strange reaction to the reaper. Physically, he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. But perhaps all reapers are beautiful. Maybe that was how they tempted the souls of the recently deceased to follow them to the afterlife?

Footsteps approach and I glance up to find Kaldar entering the room holding a stack of papers. His stringy black hair is tucked behind his ears as he dips his chin toward the king.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he says. “But I have your morning report.”

“Ah, business. The great bore of my life.” Baylor sighs, waving Kaldar forward. “What matters need tending to in my kingdom today?”

Kaldar hands him the stack, making sure to stand in-between us, cutting me out. I take a sip of my tea, rolling my eyes at his obvious tactics. As Baylor flips through the pages, I turn my attention to my breakfast, forcing myself to eat despite my uneasy stomach. Kaldar drones on about training schedules for new guards, a property dispute between two lords, and some issue with a vendor for Baylor’s anniversary ball.

“And, Your Majesty” —Kaldar pauses, his gaze flitting my way to ensure I’m paying attention— “Lady Bridgid requested to meet with you today for a tasting to finalize the desserts.”

Based on his tone, it’s clear dessert isn’t the only thing on the menu. Kaldar has been pushing his niece toward the king for some time. Enlisting Bridgid to help with the ball is merely another desperate attempt to capture Baylor’s attention. Though judging by the self-satisfied smirk on the adviser’s face, it might finally be working.

Baylor’s eyes flash crimson as his gaze narrows on Kaldar, a small glimpse of the terrifying beast he hides within. Baylor isn’t like me or Darrow. His type of illusion magic is called vertere . There are some vertere who can change their features, making themselves more beautiful or even stealing the face of someone they know. Others can take on the form of an animal, such as a bird or fox. But Baylor is different. He shifts into a monster… a beast.

Shivers trail down my spine, and a dull ache builds at my temples. I’ve only seen him fully transition into that form once, but it was enough to ensure I never want to see it again. Whenever he’s truly angry, he’ll give us a small peek behind the curtain at what hides inside of him. A terrifying reminder of what could rise to the surface at any moment.

“Anything else?” Baylor demands, his tone icy.

Kaldar shakes his head and the king’s focus shifts to me. His blood-colored eyes scrutinize my face, searching for any sign that I understood the implication behind Kaldar’s words. Ignoring them both, I pretend to be oblivious while I focus on my breakfast. If Baylor is having an affair, I need to be cautious in how I handle it.

There was a time when I would have been seething with jealousy at the mere thought of Baylor with another woman, but those feelings have long passed. When he first began pursuing me, he made a big show of getting rid of his other mistresses. Even before we became intimate, he made it clear to me I was the only one he wanted. It made me feel treasured and important, reinforcing that what we had was different.

Special .

“Yes, sire.” Kaldar’s voice takes on a nervous quality. “There is also the matter of the Angel of Mercy.”

Baylor goes still. “You’d better be here to tell me we have him in custody.”

For the past several months, a killer known as the Angel of Mercy has been carrying out their own vigilante justice all over the city. The victims have virtually nothing in common except for rumors of their abusive nature. Each one of them was suspected of harming their loved ones, but no proof was ever found.

“Unfortunately, not.” Kaldar lowers his eyes. “There have been no updates on the murderer’s whereabouts.”

Pretending not to notice Baylor’s rising temper, I reach for my table knife and scoop some strawberry jam from the dish in front of me, smearing it on my toast.

“You still don’t have any leads on that?” I ask innocently before taking a bite.

“No.” Kaldar’s gaze flashes toward me, simmering with hatred. The way he clenches his fists makes it clear he’d rather be using them on me.

“Six murders and not a single witness or lead,” the king seethes, pushing his plate aside. “It’s ridiculous. I’m meant to be hosting a ball in two weeks, yet I’m having to take time out of my schedule to deal with these incompetent fools who can’t even catch one random criminal.”

“If it would make you feel better, I can look into it for you?” I offer. “That way you can focus on preparing for the celebration.”

His eyes soften, shifting back to their usual deep blue as his temper wanes, and an indulgent smile curls his lips.

“That won’t be necessary,” Kaldar interjects, shaking his head forcefully. “I have this investigation perfectly under control, sire.”

“I’ll decide what’s necessary.” Baylor sends a warning glance to his adviser before returning his attention to me. “Thank you, pet. But this matter is far beneath you. A waste of your talents.”

I beam up at him, preening from the compliment like a good little pet. As he leans in to kiss my hand, I catch Kaldar’s fuming face turning red with a mix of humiliation and fury.

Without glancing at him, Baylor waves his hand dismissively. “Go do something useful with your time.”

Kaldar’s body is rigid as he storms out the door, sending me a dark glare before exiting. I pop a blueberry in my mouth to stop the amusement threating to show on my face.

“You know he resents when you reprimand him in front of me?” I remind the king, always trying to drive a wedge between the two of them. The Fates know Kaldar is trying to do the same to me.

“He has a propensity for arrogance,” Baylor says, spearing a potato wedge on his fork and lifting it to his mouth. “He needs to be reminded of his place every now and then.”

I raise a brow. “Not letting him get ideas above his station?”

“Exactly.” Baylor throws me a conspiratorial glance.

“Vicious, my king.”

“And you’re not?” He leans across the table, getting closer to me. “Tell me, what would you do with this so-called angel if you found him? Would my wraith show mercy?”

“Never.” I promise him, telling the truth for once. “For the guilty, I will deliver only death.”