Chapter 12
His steps reverberated through the floor, snaking towards her. Each smooth stride drenched her in more Magic than the last. Applause and exclamations of joy carried out from the hall.
She rounded the corner, and Mal stood at the center of the hall.
With his eyes already on her.
Her knees bobbled as she took in the Dread Crown atop his head.
He was heavenly.
His high set cheekbones sucked in shadows, making him appear all the more deadly. His suit rivaled any attire of the evening. He dripped with an elegant darkness that fit his lean body.
King Kier from Hiems stood close by him, chattering endlessly, desperate for even a glance from the beautiful prince.
The Magic coursing through her veins begged for her to run to him. To feel herself melt into his hold and be held captive by his dark eyes, silently admiring her. To remember what it felt like for his Magic to be one with hers.
Pride seemed too trivial a reason why she did not move towards him, despite her sleepless nights of wishing he’d return to Castle Morana. Perhaps it was her climbing heart rate, spiraling out of control with the feeling of so many eyes on her and their unwanted and unspoken condolences.
All the same, she did not go to him.
His eyes slid away from hers as he disappeared down a corridor with Kier in his ear.
She gathered her gown in her fists and made for the other side of the Entrance Hall, nearly barreling through arriving guests in an attempt to escape the pounding of thoughts slipping through her mind. Her breathing quickened as they grew loud.
Cool evening air washed over her face as she stepped across the marble entrance and made for the stairs.
“Maeve!”
She turned as Arianna was hurrying out of the castle. “Where are you going? I need your help with the flowers still.”
“Can’t Grandmother help you?” She asked, panting slightly. “Or Juliet’s mother?”
Arianna looked her over. “What’s wrong?”
“I just need some air,” she replied. “Just. . . I’ll be there in a moment.”
Arianna nodded. “It’s alright. Agatha can help me. Can I help you?”
Maeve shook her head quickly, stepping back from her sister.
Arianna hesitated and then retreated back into the castle.
“Hello, kitten,” purred a voice behind her.
Her mind fell silent.
Maeve turned, and there, standing in full Senshi armor with the moonlight at his back, was Reeve. She didn’t even have time to stop herself before her mouth fell open. He looked divine, like something truly of the Gods who granted him power.
His hair was different. It was longer, half of it tied in a knot at the top of his head with silver embellishments wrapped around it.
Maeve faced him fully and cocked her head to one side. “You’re overdressed.”
Reeve’s eyes moved down her body, then flicked up to her own. “As are you.”
Her brows pulled together as she smiled placatingly. She stepped closer to him until she could see her own reflection in his black and amethyst plated armor. His giant sword hung nicely at his side.
She forgot how tall he was. She whispered up at the High Lord, “why are you wearing that?”
Reeve looked around the party behind her, and much to Maeve’s surprise, dropped his facade as he bent down and looked her dead in the eyes.
“Because sometimes I have to remind all these fuckers, including little Dread Vipers like you, who I am.”
“Why not show them that beast form to remind them?” She retorted.
She’d only seen a glimpse of his dragon form the day Kietel kidnapped her from Vaukore. To most Magicals, that divine form of destruction was merely speculation. After all, they’d never seen him snarling with his long, gangly, barbed neck whipping out fire.
Reeve alone was graced with such a power. No Immortal with powers of Aterna had ever been able to fully transform into something of such unholy magic.
“Picturing it?” His voice brought her out of her daze.
She looked up at him and ignored his satisfied smirk. “So? Why not show them?”
“Because that beast takes rage,” he replied. “Do I look enraged tonight, kitten?”
“Stop calling me that,” said Maeve sweetly.
Reeve merely shook his head.
Before she could respond again, two men rounded him on either side. They were fully suited up as well.
Eryx, Reeve’s General, donned two broadswords.
Eryx’s glistening, part Elven eyes were on the party behind her. The misty twilight illuminated his glowing pale skin and long, silky-white hair. He wore the finest gold and silver jewelry she’d ever seen. All of it Elven.
His glare was as sharp as the daggers tucked into his boots.
She recognized the other. She’d seen him before at the Hexadic meeting and at Mal’s coronation. A white bow and sling of arrows rested on his back.
The archer was a small framed boy, who didn’t look a day over fifteen. He had long, bony arms and pointed features. Drystan was his name.
“Weapons? At a wedding?” Maeve clicked her tongue.
Drystan smirked.
“We haven’t met,” said Maeve. She stepped towards Drystan. “Not officially, anyway.”
Drystan bowed his head slightly. He looked over at Reeve and then back at Maeve.
Alphard Mavros emerged from behind the three men of Aterna. He stepped around Reeve and smiled at Maeve.
“Welcome back,” said Alphard.
“You too,” she said.
But Alphard’s eyes were already on the party behind her, and Maeve was certain he was scouring the crowd for one red-head in particular. Victoria was finally his fiance.
Alphard’s head turned towards Reeve as a smile blossomed across his face.
“Enjoy yourselves, boys,” he said.
Reeve’s mischievous grin did not return as he walked past her into the party. Eryx and Drystan followed him.
“Thank you for the invite,” he called back to her.
“He came,” said Abraxas, watching Reeve across the hall as he prepared to take his place for the ceremony. “I’ll be damned.”
“It’s your wedding,” said Maeve. “He’s always liked you.”
Abraxas shook his head. “No. That’s not it.”
Maeve looked at her cousin with raised brows.
“Just as I suspected. He is rather. . .taken with you.”
Maeve shot her cousin an incredulous look and fired back quickly. “He is taken with his ego, with making sure I stay beneath him.”
Abraxas swirled his drink with the slow rotation of his fingers and didn’t reply.
“What?” She pressed.
He didn’t look at her. He smiled and politely toasted a guest across the hall. “Be careful with that one, Maeve.”
She shook her head. “He’s not stupid. You’re misreading him.”
“No,” said Abraxas hollowly. “One doesn’t inherit the power of thousands of Immortals and retain control for hundreds of years by being stupid. No.” He downed his drink and set it on a floating tray, quickly swapping it for another. “A ruler with no heirs. A ruler with no idea who will inherit his God given power, or, for that matter, when. A powerful being with the inability to stay away from you, it seems.”
“He’s here for Mal,” she fired back.
“He has denied our invitation for months, declining to come here every single time. Except now you are here. Now you are the one extending the invitation and he is here.”
“He’s not–”
“He came for you. At Vaukore.”
“None of that–”
“I am merely suggesting you be careful.”
“Stop interrupting me,” she huffed.
Abraxas raised his brows and waited for her to continue.
When Maeve had nothing to say Abraxas laughed. “Watch yourself. Around them all. That includes King Kier and Lithandrian if she ever deems us worthy of her presence. I fear they all want a taste of you.”