Every fear clawing at me, every horrible possibility racing through my mind, is more likely to come true if I don’t play along.
The crowd parts as a man in a dark waistcoat strides forward, his polished shoes clicking against the stone. His presence commands attention, and the entire room shifts, quieting to a hush as he nears.
“Lord Lockhart,” he begins, his voice smooth and rich. His piercing gray eyes flick to me briefly before they fully settle on Alder. “I am Victor Rothmore. Welcome to my kingdom.” His dark, wavy hair brushes his tanned forehead as he inclines his head.
I stiffen and lean into Alder. “Should we kneel?”
“I kiss no man’s ring.” He winks down at me, and my stomach flips.
“Your Majesty,” Alder replies, nodding slightly. “You know how to make a guest feel…welcome.”
Victor’s black brow arches and the corner of his bearded mouth quirks upward in a faint smile, but before he can respond, another voice cuts in.
“Yes, I do.” The words slither over my skin, wrap tight, and squeeze.
I turn, my hackles instantly rising as a woman steps out from behind us.
I know her.
Petite and poised, her dress clings to her slight curves like liquid silver. Black curls frame high cheekbones, and three freckles form a triangle beneath her left eye.
Mackenzie?!
Wine red lips smooth into a grin, and there’s an edge to her gaze that lands like ice in my veins.
No. Not Mackenzie. NotmyMackenzie. It can’t be. Can it?
My heart stumbles, my brain locking up as it tries to reconcile the impossible resemblance. Same face. Same body. Identical down to the last freckle, yet utterly different. Where my Mackenzie is warm and open, this woman is cold, every inch of her a weapon.
I’m so distracted that I barely process the shift in Alder—the tightening of his grip, the way his breath slows just slightly.
He has to see it too. Has to recognize her. This is his best friend’s wife.
But if he does recognize her, he stops short of showing it.
“Queen Delphara Rothmore.” Her name slides off her tongue like venom, her smile all teeth.
She stops beside her husband and tilts her head as she studies Alder. “My scout watched you and your men enter the boundary of our kingdom this morning. And you, Lord Lockhart, made quite the entrance.”
Alder doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m usually the one doing the watching.”
A flash of amusement flickers in Delphara’s dark eyes. “I had to ensure the same fate did not befall you as befell our Lord and Lady Ashwood when they journeyed toPentacles.”
Alder’s smirk doesn’t falter, but I swear I feel the air around him shift.
They’re two predators circling, testing, sizing each other up. A game is being played, and I have no idea what the rules are.
“Although,” she adds, her gaze finding mine, “the scout neglected to inform us you were…accompanied.” Her lips curve just slightly, like I’m a bug she’ll delight in crushing under her heel.
I recoil, my shoulders drawing in, my grip tightening on Alder’s hand.
Nope. This is not my Mackenzie. This is Wrong-Mackenzie. Evil-Mackenzie. Possibly-Murderous-Mackenzie. But somehow, she’s here.
Oh fuck. Alder’smultiverse theorybullshit is true.
“Perhaps,” the king interjects as he raises a glass to his lips, “if you had used Wolrick as I suggested instead of one of Droskyn’s men—”
“I trusted Droskyn,” Ice-Queen-Mackenzie snaps, her composure cracking for the briefest moment.
