Playlist order for this chapter if you want to listen to the music how I did when I wrote the chapter:

Kokopelli by Mild High Club

When you get to "He crouches down before me," listen to The Point of No Return the French version (because this is set in France) from The Phantom of the Opera

When you get to "When I open my eyes again," listen to All I Ask of You the French version from The Phantom of the Opera

When you get to "And then another thousand," listen to Roan.mp3's cover on TikTok of Homage.

And then when you get to "My world comes to a halt," listen to The Point of No Return again.

I've included the French versions of the songs from The Phantom of the Opera. I highly recommend the Italian versions as well.

https://youtu.be/pgDCYXVZJ4w

https://youtu.be/tsJhLYsi18M

Iris~~

I follow Odette through the empty passages of the catacombs, guards keeping at a distance. The light from the flames ensconced in the walls casts a honey glow over her purple dress that tonight is in the style of a toga. Instead of draping over one of her shoulders, the fabric is connected at her neck where a gold appliqué is sewn. The fabric then drapes down the middle of her back. A gold belt to match the appliqué cinches only the front, leaving the tops of her hips exposed. Her black hair falls down her back, a gold laurel wreath crown resting on top of her head.

She could be a goddess straight out of Greek mythology.

The Goddess of Vanity sounds fitting. Or of the Kill.

I still wear the dress that marks me as hers, though its torn and dirty now, appropriate for a prisoner.

Odette said she wanted to play. That could mean a multitude of things.

"Where's the Digamma?"

She looks back at me and lifts her shoulder in a delicate shrug though a knowing smile slips across her lips.

As we walk—the stone cold against my bare feet—I begin to hear strands of music. Slow. Wicked. Haunting.

My breath catches. "I know this song."

"It is from Amoria."

As more of it hits me, I brace my hand against the wall. It's the song to which Colton and I first danced together. At my first Society ball. Before I knew anything about Amoria or Amoris.

As the music shifts into a new song, something dark and beautiful, the sounds of laughter come with it.

"Where are we going?"

"My court would like to see the Raggioet who was to be Preeminence Blackwood's queen," she says just as we round the corner. There's a clamor as if metal has crashed to the floor.

She wishes to humiliate me then, for them to see me broken, as their prisoner. A would-be queen now dressed in this torn fabric and marked with an ancient symbol of possession. I haven't seen my face in days, but I imagine its drained of color, my dark circles stark against my face. I must look like the ghost they believe I should be.

Ahead light spills into the hall from a doorway.

To humiliate me is not the worst fate Odette could have chosen when she arrived at my cell.

It's not as if I care what they think of me. Not when I want to watch them all die.

We step through the doorway into what could be called a throne room. Silver chandeliers hang from the ceiling, shimmering like stars. A great table is set in the middle of the room, covered in food, platters half empty, goblets and chalices both upright and overturned. The sight of the food, vibrant and glistening, makes my stomach growl. A few of the chairs are on their sides. A few that are upright are occupied by men and women sitting in each other's laps, kissing, teasing—expressions full of lust.

There's a haze in the air as if I'm peering through a dream.

Throughout the room, the Amoris dance to the music, waltzing and laughing and holding chalices. They're drunk.

In the corner of the room are the musicians. A few of their instruments are kinds I've never seen before.

At the end of the room is a stone dais with three black thrones that almost seem to shimmer as if stardust were embedded into them.

Stars. The Society is infatuated with them. I didn't understand it until I realized the celestial bodies are a reminder to look up and know that their real home is far away. It's not hard to believe stars represent the same meaning for these Amoris.

A home for those who will never be accepted by this world.

It's to the dais where Anastasie and Isabeau lounge in the two outer thrones, indolence weaved throughout their features, that Odette leads me.

She takes the middle throne.

"Sit," she orders. The only place to sit is the floor. Eyes narrowing, she tilts her head. "I'm giving you a choice, Iris. Either sit and remain or I'll chain you."

I sink down beside her throne, my dress fanning out around me.

Isabeau smiles at me. "That's a good pet."

Anastasie clicks her tongue. "It's a shame she's so ungrateful, Preeminence. She could be beautiful if she allowed you to care for her."

Odette places her hand on the back of my head, and her nails press into my scalp. I bristle, knowing I could easily get free of her hand, but that it would be unwise to end up in chains already.

It's not me she wishes to humiliate. It's the Society. Jonas.

I scan the room taking in the table where Amoris gorge themselves on food, the very essence of gluttony.

My eyes land on a man near the front of the table, his brunette hair tousled. His own eyes on me, he raises a chalice to his lips that are spread in a smirk.

Bently.

I start to stand, but Odette pushes down on my head, her nails digging into my skin sharp enough that I wonder if I'll find flakes of blood tomorrow.

He doesn't look harmed. His bruises are fading, and I don't see a droplet of blood on him either. Pushing his chair back, he makes his way toward the dais. When he at last stands before Odette, he drops into a bow though his green eyes are on me the whole time. "I see you've brought her out to play," he says in Amorian.

Releasing her nails from my scalp, she drags her fingers over my hair, petting me. "Raggioet, I'd like you to meet my future Delta."

The room spins. "Delta?" I don't recognize the sound of my own voice.

He crouches down before me and holds out his wine. "Drink, Iris. You know you're more fun when you do."

I hesitate to accept it. All I can see in my mind is Mid'haa collapsing to the ground if I had given her the wrong chalice. "Where's Mid'haa?"

"Drink, Raggioet," Odette says, her voice low, a warning of what will happen if I don't.

I take the chalice from him and sip, letting the sweet wine run down the back of my throat.

Bently smiles and straightens. "I've decided to accept Odette's offer. They've been very persuasive." He throws out his arm to the revelry.

"He's in a trial period," Anastasie says, "to make sure his acceptance is sincere."

"And if he is our Delta"—Isabeau sighs—"we will not kill you."

I want to believe that this is part of some unknown plan of Bently's, that he wasn't truly seduced by Odette's court.

But looking up at him, I don't see the friend that I love. I see the man who found me in the maze and helped Colton poison me. The man who snuck into my room to kill me.

"Don't frown, love." Bending down, he takes my chin in his hands, his gold laurel wreath glinting in the light of the chandeliers. "That is what Jonas calls you, is it not?" He leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear. "Maybe eventually we'll have our fun." As he pulls away, he trails his lips over my cheek.

"Bently?" I try tugging away, but his fingers dig into my chin.

"You never belonged with my cousin."

My thoughts and emotions are a swirl of revulsion. Confusion.

He releases me and returns to his seat. Immediately, a woman climbs into his lap.

Odette glares down at me with something like envy in her eyes.

I pretend to drink more of the wine so that for a moment I don't have to look at any of them.

You never belonged with my cousin. That could mean so many things. And at the same time, it could mean nothing, merely lines in a play he is writing to navigate Odette's court.

A woman approaches us and drops into a curtsy, a circlet in her auburn hair and the folds of her silver and garnet dress swishing out around her. She's one of the Konkursi who put me into this dress. "Preeminence."

"Fleur." Odette tilts her head, her arms resting on the sides of her throne. "Bring us all some wine."

"Yes, Preeminence." She curtsies again and leaves.

"Are there Konkursi on Amoria?" I ask.

Odette leans back in her throne, eyes on the room. "Yes. In Elleany, they use humans, but they don't have any of your kind on Amoria, so Amorians serve as Konkursi should they wish it."

"Have you ever been to Amoria?"

Her lips pull down into a frown. "No, I have not."

From his chair, Bently and the woman who climbed into his lap kiss, her attention solely on him. Bently's eyes, though, are on me. She drags her lips down his neck.

Fleur returns, offering chalices to Odette, Anastasie, Isabeau, and then me. They must notice my hesitance because Isabeau says, "Drink, Raggioet."

With Bently's eyes on me, I tilt back the chalice against my mouth and drink. The wine is sweeter than his was.

"Raggioet." Anastasie stands from her throne to bend down beside me. She cups my chin in her hand with care. "We discovered Preeminence Blackwood was on his way to rescue you." My breath catches. "He was so close and then he turned around and left. I suppose he simply wasn't as brave as he thought he was."

Placing her hand on my chalice, she brings it to my lips. "Drink."

My mouth opens, my thoughts numb after her words. Jonas was coming for me? He can't do that. He's Expired. My lips tremble around the rim of the chalice, and Anastasie pulls it away.

"Perhaps you were engaged to the wrong person." Her gaze goes to Bently. "He's becoming our Delta for you. Even knowing the entrance to our empire, your Preeminence wouldn't come down here."

"Beta," Odette snaps, her hands clenching her throne. "Move on." Anger laces her voice.

Jonas wouldn't have turned back. Something must have happened to him. And I'm trapped down here, powerless to do anything. If I tried to run, how far would I get before Odette's guards were on me like dogs on the hunt?

Anastasie stands, her head tilted in deference, but a coy smile graces her lips. "Yes, Preeminence." She moves into the revel, collecting a few grapes from the table as she ventures deeper into the room.

"Why do you really want Bently as your Delta? Without a country, you don't need a full Order." I sip on the wine, not looking at Odette, though I hear her dress ruffle as she shifts in her throne.

"I will have a country."

"Will you though?" I drawl, eyes lifting to hers.

"Soon the French will attack, and we'll defeat them. Then I will have my throne."

"Don't you think that's too simple? Too fast?"

"This has been planned since my grandfather was Preeminence. And my plans for Bently are none of your concern."

"How did you tempt him though? With power? Your music? Drink?"

"Lust." Her eyes pin me to my place on the floor. "Once I rule France, I'll have the power to give him the one thing he wants."

"And what's that?"

"Are you too vain to ask him yourself? Are worried that the answer will not be you?"

I grip the chalice. "If anyone is vain, it is you, Preeminence." Raising the chalice, I salute her with it. "Why on earth would I want to be Bently's when I'm already yours?" I gesture to the dress.

Odette's mouth curls, and she stands. "I'm retiring for the night. Isabeau, return her to her cell when the party is over." With that, she leaves.

Isabeau walks over to me and looks down at me with something like avarice in her eyes. "Drink."

"I'd rather not."

"You are on the floor. You're not in a position to disagree."

Bently has pushed the woman away and watches me, but I can't make out his expression. He's blurry.

Seconds after I finish off this chalice, Anastasie returns holding a goblet for me. This wine is just as sweet but thicker. After a few pulls from it, I try setting it aside only for Isabeau to grip my shoulders while Anastasie holds it to my lips.

"It's rude to refuse the drink of your host." Isabeau digs her nails into my skin until I relent and open my mouth so Anastasie can pour the wine down my throat.

"Just think," Isabeau says, "if your fiancé hadn't been such a coward, he could have been with you right now."

When the chalice is empty, exhaustion hits me, and Anastasie and Isabeau must have gotten their fill of fun because Anastasie escorts me back to my cell. I curl up on the stone floor, resting my head on my arm and close my eyes, the wine rushing to my head.

When I open my eyes again, I know I'm dreaming.

I stand in a dark gray cavern. There's a haze throughout the room, almost like a fog that obscures the stalagmites and stalactites. There are twelve thrones encircling the room, the thrones from the senate chambers at the Estate, all empty save for the one in front of me.

Jonas lounges in his throne, his silver laurel wreath askew in his hair. Even though this is only a dream, I feel myself relaxing. He smiles at me, a lazy grin. One he'd only give me if he were perfectly at peace, when he doesn't have to hide behind a façade. "Hello, love."

As I walk closer, he sits up straight in his throne.

"Preeminence."

He stands, holding out his hand. I place mine in his, and he tugs me against him, his hands pressing into my back.

"They told me you tried to come for me," I say.

His eyes shutter. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I worried that you would. Jonas, you know what could happen to you."

His arms tighten around me. "I'd sacrifice my life a thousand times over if it meant saving yours. And then another thousand." He presses his lips against the crook of my neck. "My queen." He kisses underneath my jaw, and my head falls back. "My love." His lips brush along my skin until he presses them against my cheek. I grip the back of his shirt, pulling him closer.

His lips brush over mine as he murmurs against them, "My wife."

My heart aches.

Within its next beat, he's pressing his lips against mine, hesitantly as if he were the dreamer and I'm the dream that might vanish if he moves too fast. He pulls back, dragging my bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes glazed in desire.

"Jonas." I tug him closer, and he runs his hands along my sides, over my hips before lifting me in the air. I tighten my legs around him and bring my lips to his as he backs up toward his throne.

I don't know how we go from standing to sitting. One moment he's holding me and the next I'm in his lap, his hands gripping my waist as mine run over his chest, pressing my lips against him.

"I love you," he says sucking in a breath.

I bend down, kissing his neck, dragging my nose over his skin. He shudders underneath me.

I'd rather spend the rest of my life in Odette's cell than watch him die at her hand. She would kill him in front of me if given the chance.

His fingers dig into my waist, and I twine my hands through his hair. My fingers wrapping around his crown, I toss the wreath to the ground and tug at the ends of his hair.

Gliding his fingers over my cheek, he tucks my hair behind my ear and chuckles. "Don't like the crown, love?"

"It got in the way."

He lets his lips hover over mine. "I'm thinking of all the ways you'd look divine wearing my crown."

My heart races, and heat floods my cheeks, and he kisses me in a way that shows me exactly what he meant by divine.

This is a dream I could lose myself in.

He lets out a groan. "Abella."

My mind shatters, and I pull away, breathing hard as I stare at the man beneath me.

"Bently."

I'm no longer in the cavern. I'm back in the throne room, surrounded by the revelry and its music, seated in Bently's lap, my dress bunched up past my waist.

I try to scramble back, but my head swims as the room tilts, and Bently pulls me back against him. I press my hands against his chest, trying to push away. "Bently."

His lust-filled eyes clear, and he blinks. "Iris?" His face morphs into one of horror, and he pushes me off him, my back slamming into the table. I groan as the wood digs into my spine. Biting his swollen lip, he slips his hands between my back and the table, still keeping me at a distance.

Not far enough.

I try dragging one of my legs off him and to the ground, but my head feels light, and I sway. His hands cup my sides, steadying me, my knees still on his seat.

"Please tell me I'm still dreaming."

He glances around, searching for something, someone. When he looks back my way, his eyes don't meet mine. "We're not."

I shake my head. "I remember returning to my cell, falling asleep."

"You never left this room, Iris."

I'm going to be sick. "Please . . . help me up."

Gripping me, he keeps my balance for me as I draw myself off him and stand on shaky legs.

"It's the smoke. It's laced."

I kissed him. The room and I sway, and he grips me tighter.

"You thought I was Jonas." His eyes soften, and I feel my cheeks burning in both shame and anger.

"The wine?"

"The wine I gave you wasn't, but the wine they gave you must have been." His eyes drift to Anastasie and Isabeau who recline in their thrones, their eyes on us. "They gave some to me."

When they notice our gazes, they smile as one.

"I take it they don't approve of Odette's infatuation with you," he says.

My eyes slide back to his. His gold laurel wreath is no longer in his hair. I find it on the floor beside his chair. How much was real and what was only in my head?

"Why did you accept her offer?"

He wets his lips. "I—Odette offered me anything. She'd even give me Abella."

I narrow my eyes. "Give?"

"If Odette wins France, she'll kill the twins. I had to do something to save her. I didn't know I was kissing you. I swear. I thought you were one of the Amorian women." Who he then let himself imagine was Abella.

"That was quite a show," Isabeau drawls as she approaches. I have the sudden urge to find a knife on the table and throw it at her. "Now I know how you got Preeminence Blackwood to agree to marry you."

Anastasie drags her hands through Bently's hair while looking at me. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in our future Delta's chambers."

"The cell is fine." Immediately, I regret the words. I'd be safer in his room. Behind closed doors with him.

She trails the back of her fingers down his cheek. "Are you sure a bed doesn't sound better than the cold stone floor? Such horrors you've seen in that cell."

Isabeau runs her hand down Bently's arm, and his jaw tightens. "I'm sure his sheets are warm," she says. "Soft."

He lets go of me to push their hands away. "Her place is on the floor."

Isabeau tilts her head. "The floor of your room or of her cell?"

"The Raggioet looks better behind bars." He smirks up at her. "Don't you think?"

She sighs. "I suppose."

"I don't think Odette would approve of your little game, Isabeau."

"You looked like you approved."

"Until I realized you had drugged me."

Anastasie wraps her hand around my arm and pulls me toward her. The room sways again. "I'll take her to her cell. If you're sure."

His eyes narrow. "Yes."

She guides me out of the throne room and down the hallways of the catacombs. Guards follow behind us, but they're not needed. Anastasie and Isabeau have made sure I'm in no state to fight.

She deposits me in my cell. "You could have had a warm bed tonight, but he is right. You belong in a cell or in a grave. The latter would be my choice." She twists the key in the lock. "Maybe your fiancé agrees. For he would have come for you if he had thought you deserved a different fate."