Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir

008 | A Deal with Shadows (Nyx)

General Aziel and the family of the soon-to-be Marquess arrive just in time. But, as always, this kingdom isn’t ready for the ceremony. The king is still buried in war strategies—or rather, drowning in them—and the queen is too much of a perfectionist to allow anything less than flawless. At best, the ceremony will happen tomorrow.

While the knights haul in Zenthio’s belongings, along with those of his two siblings and the family presumed dead, I catch a flicker of unease on the girl’s face.

I lean against a pillar in the hallway, watching as she furrows her brows and grabs Zenthio’s elbow. Her lips move, whispering something too far away to hear. But that doesn’t matter—I can read lips.

"What did you do to them, Zen?"

Zenthio swats her hand away, annoyed. "Do you want to end up like them?"

She doesn’t move. Not even an inch. Just stands there, staring up at him like she’s challenging him to strike her down. I never really noticed her before, but now I do. The way her silver hair is neatly braided, the way the light catches it. Normally, silver reminds me of old women. But for some reason, I can’t look away. There’s something about her—maybe the way she holds herself, or how utterly wrong that dress looks on her—that makes her stand out.

"Marrying Bernard is the same as dying," she says flatly.

I dig through my memory, trying to recall her name. Demario mentioned it once…

Lavinia. Lavinia Hawthorn. A name that suits her well. Like a perfect disguise for a monster.

"I thought you liked his lessons," Zenthio mocks. "Come on. The wedding should happen today. At least for now, you’re still a Marquess’s daughter."

Lavinia doesn’t respond. She just follows him, but her face stays rigid, her eyes full of disgust. She’s not going to obey him. I can tell.

Then, out of nowhere, she pats my shoulder.

I stop but don’t turn. Instead, I watch our shadows on the wall—hers overlapping mine.

"Do you own a hound, sir?" she asks. "There’s hound fur on your coat."

I blink. No one in this palace should have been able to make the connection. My illusion was flawless—people either saw me as a hound or as a man, never both at once.

"What do you mean?" I ask smoothly, brushing her hand off my shoulder as politely as possible. "I don’t own any pets, my lady. I serve the prince."

She doesn’t buy it.

I quicken my pace, following Zenthio and Demario toward the courtyard where the wedding will take place. Behind us, the maids lead Lavinia to a guest chamber, where she’s supposed to change into that awful dress Bernard bought yesterday.

The garden was bathed in warm afternoon light, the air filled with the scent of baby’s breath. I conjured a few chairs for the three of us, letting the sunlight catch in Zenthio and Demario’s hair, making them glisten like polished gemstones.

"I don’t get it," I say, bored. "Why does your sister have to marry Bernard? He’s just your tutor, isn’t he?"

"If you ask me, I don’t care who she marries," Zenthio grumbles. "But Bernard and I have an agreement. This is part of it."

So, he’s sacrificing his sister to kill his father. Pathetic. Weak. If I still had a family—well, sometimes I forget how much power I have. I don’t need to sacrifice anything to get what I want.

My gaze drifted toward Lavinia’s window, where the maids had left the curtains open just enough for her to see herself in the dress. The white fabric was meant to make her look beautiful and delicate. But there was no joy in her expression, only pure, undiluted disgust.

I smile.

She’s perfect. What a waste, for that perfection to be buried in boredom and misery. But what can I do? In a few decades, she’ll be dead. It doesn’t matter who she marries.

Then, suddenly, Bernard enters the room.

For a few minutes, they talk. Then Lavinia moves, shifts—and softens. She lets him touch her, lets him pull her close.

I look away, disgusted by how quickly she gives in.

But then, one of them collapses.

When I glance back, Lavinia is looking straight at me. Her white dress is no longer white.

Zenthio and Demario remained deep in conversation, too preoccupied with their schemes to notice. Without a word, I crafted an illusion of myself—one that would sit here, listening attentively. My real body was already moving, already stepping into the chamber.

⚔️

I snap my fingers. The door locks just as a servant tries to open it.

Lavinia stands in the middle of the room, dagger still clenched in her trembling hand, blood staining her makeup.

I take a step forward. She takes one back.

I stop. Watch her.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asks. Her voice is steady, but her hands shake. She can feel it—what I am. What I could do. But I prefer to appear harmless.

With another flick of my fingers, the blood disappears. Her dress shifts, turning into something richer, something laced with real jewels. A tiara rests on her head, making her look more like a queen than a bride. Meanwhile, Bernard’s body vanishes. His death will look like an accident.

I step forward again. This time, she doesn’t move away.

So, I take her hand and brush my lips against her fingers.

"Do you want to rule this kingdom, my lady?" I ask softly.

She bit her lip, considering my words. Then, in the softest voice— "Who are you?"

"Nyx," I tell her. "Nyx Moonspire. I can be your prince. I can be your king. I can be your hound. Or I can be no one to you. The choice is yours."

She flinches. But then— "Then I will be your queen, Nyx."

"Good," I murmur. "Then we’ll make it happen."