Page 37

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

I find myself standing outside the doors of the royal temple with no idea how I got here. My brows pinch as I glance down at myself, realizing I’m wearing an extremely large white gown with a full skirt made of tulle. The style reminds me of the gowns the other ladies wear at court.

“There you are.” Bellamy’s voice steals my attention. He’s gliding toward me, his face pinched with worry. “I was afraid you were going to be late.”

Confusion ripples through me. “Late for what?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“Very funny, Ivy.” He grabs my arm and pulls it through his, leading us toward the double doors. “Come. We don’t want to keep them all waiting.”

I start to ask who he’s referring to, but suddenly the doors swing open. Hundreds of people rise from the pews and turn to face us. I recognize most of them as prominent high fae, many of them nobles. Every single eye is focused completely on me as my brother pulls me down the long aisle.

“What’s going on, Bel?” I ask, my voice too high. “What are we doing here?”

“See for yourself.” He points toward the end of the altar where a man waits alone.

Baylor.

His eyes shine with victory as he tracks my movements, marking each step that brings me closer to him.

Oh Gods… This is a wedding. Our wedding.

No. My heart races in my chest as my vision goes blurry. I was supposed to have more time. I was supposed to find a way out. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.

I try to shake my head, but for some reason, I can’t turn away from Baylor. Words travel up my throat, halting on my tongue as I’m unable to speak them.

This isn’t right. I don’t want to be here.

Panic curls around me as I try to scream, but my mouth won’t open. I can’t move my face at all. It’s locked in a serene expression. My lips are curved into a pleasant smile, my eyes radiating false joy. Inside, I scream for my body to respond to my commands, but all I’m able to do is watch as the distance between myself and the king gets smaller.

I’m nothing but a puppet, unable to pull my own strings.

When we’re within a few feet of the altar, Baylor reaches out and takes my hand from my brother. Bellamy disappears into the crowd as the king leads me up the steps and places us directly before the temple priest.

“You look lovely,” he whispers.

My cheeks stain with a blush. “As do you.”

Stop! I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this! Doesn’t anyone care?

“Iverson Pomeroy, do you take this man to be your husband for the rest of your days. Do you promise under the Fates to be loyal and obedient to him in all things?”

I’m screaming at myself to say no, but instead I open my mouth and say, “I do.”

Please, I beg the Fates. Please intervene. Don’t abandon me to this fate.

Baylor’s voice is distant as he speaks his own vows. My brain is unable to latch onto any of his words except the final two.

“I do.”

My stomach drops.

“Then, with the power vested in me by the holy sisters, I now pronounce you husband and wife, bound together for all eternity. My King, you may now kiss your bride.”

The crowd erupts into cheers as Baylor’s mouth lowers to mine. Acid burns in my stomach at the taste of him on my tongue. The collar tightens, squeezing my throat in its iron grasp.

“Now you’re mine,” Baylor whispers, his eyes feverish. “Forever.”

I sit up, gasping as I clutch my throat.

The sheets are in disarray, completely tangled with my legs. I kick them away, needing to escape the sensation of being trapped. Usually, my nightmares are memories. This was the first time since I was a child that I’ve dreamed of something that hasn’t actually happened to me.

But hasn’t it ? Haven’t I lived that way every day for the past year?

As my pulse slows, I realize even though the dream may not have been real, the emotions were. Everything in that dream was a mirror of my situation here. My gaze moves to the other side of the bed, confirming what I already know.

I’m alone.

Thorne must have left at some point in the night. Not wanting to confront the loneliness blooming in my belly, I force myself out of the bed. My feet pad across the floor, and I pull back the curtains to find that the sun has barely woken up. I quickly hurry through the process of dressing myself, not wanting to wait for Alva or Morwen to arrive in a few hours. I’ll be gone by then.

I have no desire to be alone today. Unfortunately, Della likely hasn’t forgiven me for what I said the last time we spoke. And Remy is off searching for the almanova , which is what I should be doing. The thought of ripping through people’s homes today sounds even worse than sitting alone in my room.

There’s always Darrow?

I shudder. Willingly spending time with Darrow would truly be hitting a new low.

With nowhere to go and no friends to visit, I find myself roaming the halls, something I haven’t done since childhood. Servants and courtiers give me respectful glances and stilted bows as we cross paths. All of them are likely trying to make up for their previous behavior now that I’m going to be the new queen.

Nausea twists my insides as thoughts of the dream return. Perhaps that’s why I find myself standing in front of Baylor’s office. With no destination in mind, my feet must have carried me to the source of my frustration.

Huxley and Doral both bend at the waist as they exchange nervous glances.

“The king is in a meeting right now, Lady Iverson.” Huxley announces. “Though, I’m sure you’d be most welcome to return later.”

I start to tell him it’s alright, but I’m cut off as the door opens, and Bridgid rushes into the hall. Huxley’s cheeks turn pink, and I suddenly understand the guard’s reactions to my arrival. I imagine covering up your boss’s affair is incredibly stressful. Not that they need to bother.

Bridgid halts in her tracks when she notices me, her damp eyes brimming with accusation.

“You must be pleased with yourself,” she spits. “You got everything you wanted.”

A feeling I never thought I’d associate with Bridgid settles in the pit of my stomach. Pity. Overnight, she went from having everything she’d ever wanted, to suddenly being shunned by her entire community. It doesn’t matter that much of her pain was brought on by herself. In some ways, she’s also a victim of Baylor’s cruelty.

“I didn’t want any of this,” I tell her honestly.

She sneers, pushing past me to storm down the hall. Some of the weight that’s been sitting on my shoulders all morning lessens. It’s strangely invigorating to tell the truth instead of reciting whatever lie will produce the best outcome.

“My lady?” Huxley draws my attention. “Did you still want to see the king?”

Do I?

Usually, stepping into this room sends a wave of nervous energy barreling through me, but it’s strangely absent today. Being here almost feels like a continuation of my dream, as if I’m not truly here, so what I say or do doesn’t matter.

I nod and Doral opens the door, announcing my arrival. “Lady Iverson, Your Majesty.”

As I walk into the room, I find Baylor standing beside his desk, flipping through an obnoxiously large pile of folders.

“Have you seen Kaldar?” he demands, not bothering to glance up from his task.

His demeanor is frantic, and based on the unbrushed state of his hair, I’d guess he’s had quite the morning, thanks to the absence of his adviser.

“Not today,” I tell him honestly.

He doesn’t question my vague answer as he flips open one of the folders and scans its contents before chucking it aside with more force than was necessary.

“He picked a pretty fucking selfish time to disappear,” he complains. “That whole family has been causing me too many problems of late.”

Instead of pushing down my annoyance as I normally would, I roll my eyes, not caring if he notices my disrespect.

He points to the pile that reaches his chin. “It’s his responsibility to organize this mess and summarize the important details. But now he’s up and disappeared, leaving me to sort through all of this.”

I help myself to one of his plush chairs as he continues ranting. Usually, I would wait for him to invite me to sit, but I don’t give a fuck about ceremony or decorum today.

“As if I don’t have enough on my plate with all the Angel of Mercy fanfare,” he continues. “Not to mention that business with the almanova . Which, by the way, I’m very disappointed in your friend Remard. This should have been handled already. I need this fucking alliance settled.”

“Then maybe you should deal with it yourself,” I point out.

He chuckles, grabbing another folder. “Very funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

He goes quiet as my words register. Glancing up from his papers, he watches me carefully. “Everything alright, pet?”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Do you know what yesterday was?”

“No.” He shrugs. “But you can send my apologies if we missed some event.”

“It was the one-year anniversary of your wife’s death.”

His body goes completely still. “Why are you bringing that up?”

The flippancy in his tone grates against my skin, opening all my barely healed wounds.

“Because I cared about her,” I tell him, my voice thick with emotion as I stand up. “You knew I cared about her.”

He puts his folder down, stepping around the desk to move closer to me. “Iverson, whatever has you so ups?—”

“What will you tell the God of Death?” I cut him off as I take a step back, not wanting him anywhere near me.

His eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t mention that man to me.”

His tone warns of danger ahead, but for once, I continue down my path with no care for the consequences.

“Will you agree to his terms?” I ask. “Will you remove the collar?”

“I’ll do whatever I think is best,” he says evenly.

A humorless laugh bubbles out of me. That response is so Baylor . “Were you ever planning to remove it?”

He cocks his head, observing me. “What has gotten into you, Iverson?”

My eyes roll again, this time catching his notice. “Answer the question, Baylor.”

He bristles at the disrespect in my tone, his fists balling at his sides. “If I did that, how would I keep you safe?”

“Don’t you mean caged?”

“That’s not?—”

I raise my voice as I speak over him, not wanting to listen to his grating tone. “Did you honestly believe nothing would change between us after what you did?”

“What happened with Bridgid was a mista?—”

“I’m not talking about poor Bridgid! I couldn’t give a single fuck who you take to your bed.” His eyes flare with anger, but I don’t care. I take a step closer, raising an accusatory finger at him. “I’m talking about what you did to Leona.”

He goes still. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. Try it, Baylor. It might even feel good.”

A dark chuckle flits through my mind. I only just started embracing honesty, and I’m already holding it over people’s heads.

“You want the truth?” he asks. “Leona was standing in my way, so I had her removed. There. Are you happy?”

A burning rage tears through me, sending sweat beading down my skin. “And what will you do to me? Will you kill me too if I get in your way?”

“Never.” He shakes his head, lifting his hands in a placating gesture as he tries to come closer. “You’re different, pet.”

“Don’t call me that!” I scream.

He stops mid-step, his face going white.

“The only difference between me and Leona is that I haven’t outlived my usefulness yet,” I seethe. “Once I do, you’ll order someone to kill me the same way you ordered Kaldar to kill her.”

Questions enter his gaze. He’s probably assigning new meaning to his advisers sudden absence.

“You don’t believe any of this,” he says gently, attempting to pacify me. “You’ve been through a lot in the past few days.”

I shake my head. “I mean every word. I don’t love you, Baylor,” I announce, giving life to a truth that’s been trapped on my tongue for a year. “I never truly did.”

Navy eyes flash crimson. His temper lashes out swiftly as he strikes my face with the back of his hand. My skin stings as the taste of blood fills my mouth.

Baylor’s eyes instantly fill with regret, shifting back to their natural blue shade. “Iverson, I didn’t?—”

I spit at him, leaving a red stain on his pristine white shirt. A deranged smile pulls at my lips as he begins to shake with rage. Before he can react, the door opens again.

My gaze flits to the new arrival, thinking it’s Doral or Huxley, but my brows pinch together as I see the last person I was expecting.

Worry seeps through my anger, gnawing at me as I get a good look at Remy. He’s far thinner than the last time I saw him, his armor now swallowing his sickly frame. The dark circles under his eyes are stark against his pale face.

“Remy—” I start to ask if he’s alright, but he cuts me off.

“I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty,” he says, his tone urgent. “But this couldn’t wait.”

Baylor waves his hand, his body still tense with unspent anger as he keeps his eyes on me. “Get on with it.”

“I have learned the identity of the Angel of Mercy,” Remy announces.

Baylor’s head snaps toward the captain. Every ounce of heat abandons my body at once, leaving me with nothing but ice in my veins.

“Give me their name,” Baylor sputters. His claws are already extending as his fury finds a new target. “Tell me who it is!”

Remy’s gaze flits to mine, and I spot a familiar hostility there. The same one I saw in Grell Darby. His attention drops to my collar as a cruel smile overtakes his face.

“Iverson Pomeroy.”