Chapter 1
Eight Years Later
Home smelled like horses. It wasn’t that Maeve disliked horses or was opposed to the family business of horse training—but did it always have to smell like horses?
She’d missed some things while she was away. Her Auntie Sofie. Her mother’s blackberry. Her pretty coverlet and embroidered pillows. But the horses? Not so much. pie
Closing the window, Maeve latched it shut against the…
fragrant spring air with a grimace. It’d take time for her nose to go blind to the stench, she knew, as she’d only been back a few days.
She hadn’t decided yet if the familiar, inexorable rhythm of the Brádaigh estate was comforting or disheartening.
When she’d left home three years ago to attend university in the capital, Gleanná, she’d told herself she wouldn’t be back.
Not to stay, at least. Oh, she’d come for visits, of course—there was no way she would’ve missed Lady Aislinn’s wedding.
The girls in her dormitory were pink with envy for weeks when she returned with stories of it.
It was perhaps the only time she was pleased or proud to tell stories of home.
Most of the time, the other girls in her dormitory didn’t care one whit about her little life in the country, as they called it.
Maeve had discovered, upon moving into the dormitory of Queen Angharad University, that she was only a handful of students who didn’t hail from the capital.
Maeve’s country life was of little interest to those born in Gleanná—and, honestly, to her.
She’d moved to Gleanná to attend university and get away from it after all.
When their class had gathered round to proclaim where they were going after graduation—many to glittering careers in the civil palaces of the capital, some to choice positions in noble families, others to competitive jobs within various guilds—Maeve had done her utmost to make it seem as though she’d planned to go back to the Darrowlands and Granach.
It wasn’t a shameful defeat but a strategic retreat. She was bringing her expertise and the culture of the capital back to the idyllic countryside.
Some had believed her. But many knew the truth—that Maeve hadn’t been able to secure a position anywhere within the capital, nor the fashionable lakeside city of Kilgaran, nor even the industrial center of Adrigoll.
Not for lack of trying, of course. No, Maeve had been blacklisted by her archnemesis, a girl named Brianne Kewleigh.
Maeve and Brianne nursed an enmity all throughout their schooling, but Maeve had seriously underestimated both Brianne’s maliciousness and reach.
The daughter of a powerful ironworks guild master, Brianne had connections. In only a few short months leading up to their graduation from Queen Angharad, she’d managed to ensure that every door remained closed to Maeve.
And so, as Maeve spoke of returning home to the newly established school for a teaching position, she’d burned up inside watching Brianne’s smug face.
Maeve hadn’t been the top of her class, no, but she certainly hadn’t been at the bottom.
A comfortable career in one of the civil ministries or even a governess position should’ve easily been within reach.
Instead, here she was, in her childhood bedroom, without prospects.
Her new position, as the second of two schoolteachers, was for a laughably small village school with just ten pupils.
Not even the main school at Granach had room for her.
It was purely by chance that the newly founded school for both otherly and human children—founded and run by a half-dragoness—had been looking for another teacher.
Maeve had only heard about and gotten the position because her mother Aoife and older sister Sorcha were friends with the dragoness.
Sighing, Maeve pulled her stays over her shift and began to tie the strings.
One consolation of being home was getting to wear her pretty embroidered stays and skirts again.
Slimmer skirts in solid jewel tones were the fashion in the capital, whereas Maeve’s preferred embroidered stays and skirts were considered rural.
Peeking at herself in the mirror, Maeve groaned.
She might enjoy her old skirts and stays, but they’d been made for her younger body.
Now twenty-three, she’d put on weight in her bosom, hips, and belly.
There was less exercise to be had at university, and Maeve had the unfortunate habit of eating pastries when she was under stress.
Her final months of schooling had been nothing but stress—and pastries.
Turning this way and that, she considered her ample cleavage. Not the worst outcome, to be sure, but the unfamiliar contours of her arms and belly…
A small portion for dinner, she thought.
Stepping into her boots, Maeve finally opened her door to an empty hallway.
One thing that had changed about home was how much quieter the house was.
Used to the rampaging of her six siblings, the quiet was almost unnerving.
Her parents were still in the house, of course, as were her two younger sisters, Blaire and Keeley, but that was it.
Her elder sister Sorcha now lived in her own house nearby with her half-orc husband Orek, and their brothers were all dispersed—Niall off on his knightly duties, Calum off at university himself, and Connor…
well, he lived at home but never seemed to sleep in the house.
It wasn’t that she minded having no obstacles getting down the stairs to the ground floor for breakfast, just that it was strange.
Although, the sight of her mother and eldest sister already in the kitchen wasn’t strange at all.
The two of them stood side by side at the far counter, peering out the window and tittering about something outside.
Both tall and curvaceous, with thick brown curls piled atop their heads with fillets, it could be hard to tell them apart from behind.
Maeve had walked into just such a scene many a time growing up; and many a time the sight would annoy her. Their mother never said it, but she didn’t have to—Sorcha was her favorite. The two were so alike and spent so much time together, Maeve supposed the favoritism was to be expected.
Meanwhile, Maeve and Sorcha couldn’t be more different.
Maeve took after her father’s Byrne side of the family with a fair complexion and strawberry-blonde waves.
She was slimmer—at least when she avoided pastries.
Sorcha preferred practical trou and supportive stays.
Maeve adored colorful skirts and fabrics that flounced.
Sorcha was always keeping the peace and looking to please.
Maeve spoke her mind and told the truth, whether someone wanted to hear it or not.
Sorcha was dedicated and hardworking to a fault.
Maeve was clever enough to find ways to get others to do her work.
Because of Sorcha’s motherly nature—and their knightly father’s frequent absences—their mother often relied on her as a third parent.
So much was demanded of Aoife’s attention that when it wasn’t on cooking for her large family or managing the vast family stables, that attention usually went to her youngest children.
Maeve hadn’t been youngest for quite some time now.
No, lamentably, Maeve was now squarely in the middle of her large family.
There’d been a time when Maeve sought to be their father’s favorite, if she couldn’t be their mother’s, but Sir Ciaran had been gone so much of her childhood, there’d hardly been an opportunity for that.
When he was home, he was often busy overseeing the training of his two eldest sons to follow him into knighthood—and getting Aoife pregnant again.
So Maeve had been left to seek what she needed outside the family. That was all right, though, for she’d become quite good at winning the love of others. Before leaving for university, she’d had so many friends, a string of beaus and lovers, and so many more who wanted to be either.
I still need to introduce myself to the new grooms, she remembered as she tiptoed into the kitchen.
She’d never been tied down by a stables dalliance and never would, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be fun.
Forgoing the covered plate that’d been left for her, Maeve snatched an apple for her breakfast. She was about to turn and make her escape when the voice that haunted her dreams cracked across the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t. Sit and eat first,” ordered Sorcha.
Maeve bit back her pout as her body complied, muscles moving of their own accord. That sisterly power Sorcha continued to wield just wasn’t fair. As a third parent to Maeve and their other siblings, Sorcha was somehow the scariest of the three.
Dutifully tucking into her eggs, bacon, and biscuit, Maeve listened to their conversation with only half an ear.
Stables business had never interested her much—which was good, for although she prided herself on being the brilliant sister, it’d been clear since they were little that Sorcha would inherit the horse training business the Brádaigh clan was known for.
That suited Maeve just fine, and it made their mother happy.
If Aoife had had her way, none of her children would ever leave.
Their father, though, had always encouraged them to explore the wider world and make their mark outside of Granach or even the Darrowlands.
Maeve planned to do just that. She’d never forget the thrill of pleasure seeing her father so proud of her for attending Queen Angharad.
For a fleeting while, she’d felt like his favorite.
And now look at me, she brooded. Pushing her eggs around the plate rather than eating them, Maeve frowned. There must be something I can do.
“Be sure to write Lady Aislinn that the roans will be ready in a fortnight, I just need to…”
Maeve perked at her mother’s mention of Lady Aislinn Darrow. Snapping her fingers, she declared, “That’s it!”
Her mother and sister blinked at her over the kitchen table.
“What’s it?” asked Aoife.
Pointing at Sorcha, Maeve said, “In your letter, be sure to tell Lady Aislinn I’m back.
You could send her my qualification documents, yes?
” She nearly bounced from her seat, she was so elated.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before? “You could send my documents to Lady Aislinn and inquire about positions in Dundúran University.” It was a far smaller institution than Queen Angharad, and Maeve’s initial inquiries hadn’t met with success, but she wasn’t Lady Aislinn, heiress to the Darrowlands.
“But you have a position already at the new school,” Aoife reminded her.
“Yes,” said Maeve, “but Lady Aislinn might find something better.”
Sorcha’s lips thinned. “You’ve already made commitments to Briseis, you can’t abandon them already.”
Waving a hand, she assured her sister, “I won’t, I won’t.
I keep my word. But for next term, there might be something…
” She arched a brow at Sorcha significantly.
“Even a position in the castle or a civil post in Town Hall. My qualifications are more aligned with academia, but I’m sure I could succeed at whatever she may find me. ”
She could see the reservations writ on Sorcha’s face.
Fluttering around the table, Maeve took her sister’s hands and squeezed.
“Please, Sorcha. I’m grateful to Briseis, but I have to think of my future.
This is a delicate time in a graduate’s career—one misstep now and I could be passed up forever. ”
Rounding her eyes, she squeezed Sorcha’s hands again.
Please please please don’t argue. Just because Sorcha wasn’t ambitious, and would think that a position at a little school was a perfectly acceptable use of a university education, and was happy to take what their mother handed her, didn’t mean Maeve could be content, too.
Maeve wanted more. Always had.
The moment Sorcha inhaled to sigh, Maeve knew she’d won.
Biting back her triumphant grin, she accepted Sorcha’s agreement with solemnity and gratitude, making the appropriate noises and saying the correct things.
She received Sorcha’s lecture about not exploiting Lady Aislinn and her mother’s kisses to her cheeks with grace and patience before being hurried out the door on her way.
Patting down her skirts, Maeve chuckled to herself. They were a pair of mother hens, those two. It was all about knowing how to manage them.
With a bounce in her step, she started off for the otherly school.