Chapter 32
The Dread Mark was woven intricately into the banners along the throne room. Deep emerald fabric reflected the firelights. The banners matched the cape now pinned at her shoulders.
Today, she was not merely a daughter seeking vengeance.
She was the Dread Viper.
The Throne Room was full of Bellator, Magical Citizens, Sacred Seventeens, and those on the Committee who were, for the time being, still alive. Mal sat on the throne he rarely occupied, with sensual ease.
Abraxas stood to his left. And Maeve to his right.
The doors to the long hall opened with a stout elegance. Led by a handful of Bellator with capes just like Maeve’s, Marguerite and Ophelia nearly skipped towards the throne. They were both dressed in what Maeve could only assume was their absolute most expensive attire. Marguerite had more gaudy rings shoved on her fingers than her Aunt Vetus did.
Ophelia’s excited eyes were locked on Mal.
Abraxas welcomed them with a sly smile.
They bowed dramatically at once. Mal did not speak.
Lifting up, Ophelia stiffened upon seeing Maeve. Her eyes grew large behind her stylish glasses. Along her cheek was a small scar, one Maeve had given her.
Maeve’s blood boiled. Her two fingers drifted together.
Don’t look so pleased , Maeve said into her mind. The fun part hasn’t even started.
Ophelia’s mouth dropped wide open.
“You remember, Maeve, of course,” said Abraxas cordially.
Ophelia looked to Mal, her excitement quickly dwindling.
He offered her no sign of intervention from his throne. He sat, with the Dread Crown glowing atop his head, and one leg crossed over the other.
“You have been called to Castle Morana today in exchange for permanent residence in the Dread Lands,” said Abraxas.
“And we are beyond humbled at your generosity,” said Marguerite, Ophelia’s mother, turning towards Mal.
She bowed dramatically again.
Ophelia’s eyes were back on Maeve’s fingers as her Magic pulsed with animosity.
“According to Leslie Loxerman, you knew it was poisoned,” said Maeve.
Marguerite paled. A fearful laugh slipped between her teeth. “I don’t understand,” she said in her fake French accent.
Marguerite looked to Maeve. Maeve looked to where Leslie Loxerman sat crumpled at Arman’s feet. “Isn’t that right?”
Marguerite followed Maeve’s gaze as her expression shifted to one of horror.
“She made me,” said Marguerite shakily, her accent slipping.
“No,” said Maeve plainly. “She did not.”
Marguerite looked back at Maeve as her throat bobbled. “She was blackmailing me.”
“And you chose to do her bidding instead of facing the consequences of your actions for the affair you were having with Doggbind.”
“He threatened my daughter,” she snapped.
Maeve shook her head. “I will do more than merely threaten.”
Ophelia was growing redder by the second.
Marguerite looked to Mal. “He was a bad man. He took me against my will–”
“Is that why when he was head of Magical Law you were directly involved with passing new enslavement curse legislation? Because the curse you held on four Elves, two Humans and one Magical weren’t enough? You wanted guarantees that all their offspring were Magically enslaved to you as well? And those laws you were campaigning for just happened to be signed by Doggbind?”
Marguerite’s knees wobbled.
“Oh, see,” continued Maeve, smiling in an unsettling way, “you screwed up. Because you held these conversations in front of Jema. And it gnawed on me for months that I had to frame her for Vetus’ murder in the moment. So when I freed Jema and brought her here, she was more than happy to expose you and her previous master’s secrets. You’d been sleeping with Doggbind for years.” Maeve laughed. “So I’m sorry that I’m a little enraged by the idea that you were willing to kill my Prince so that your affair wasn’t publicized.”
Marguerite was a pale shade of green, too stunned to speak.
“I’ve replayed the memory over and over. Vetus made a point to instruct Mal to drink from it the night of his coronation, you nagged her endlessly to use those words.”
Ophelia whipped towards Mal. She stepped towards him, her arms stretched wide in a pleading motion.
“Please, Mal,” she began.
Abraxas interrupted her. “You will address your Prince as such.”
Ophelia nodded quickly and closed her eyes. She opened them and thick tears dripped down her cheeks. “My Prince, I beg of you. I did not want this.”
Abraxas looked to Mal. He still did not speak.
“And my mother, please, she waz only trying to protect me from the Committee.”
“They poisoned the Dread Goblet?” Asked Abraxas.
Ophelia frantically shook her head, still looking at Mal through wet lashes. “They knew zat it was laced with ancient and deadly Magic.”
Her words confirmed Moon’s confession.
Ophelia squealed. “I tried everzing I could to keep you away from Aunt Vetus. I never wanted to hurt you, or the Premier,” she cried. “I-I love you.”
Mal didn’t react to her words. He spoke at last, his voice low. “And Maeve?”
Ophelia sniffled, and her shoulders shook.
“What if my Second had drunk from it?” He asked. “Or was that not of your concern? See, I remember vividly an evening where you commented that she and I frequently shared a glass.” Mal’s voice dropped. “Her lipstick would leave a mark on the rim, and you took every opportunity to insult the shade. Why was that?”
Ophelia trembled. “I-I just wanted. . .”
“I know what you wanted,” said Mal. “I have seen your mind. You hate her for everything she is, that you are not. And you will not convince me that you hadn’t hoped she would drink from it and not I.”
Thick droplet tears streaked Ophelia’s face now. She gripped her skirt tightly at her sides.
“I could find out so easily,” he continued. “But I fear the answer will make me snap your neck right then. And I promised my Dread Viper she could claim you.”
Ophelia’s cry cracked across the throne room. “Mercy, please,” she begged Mal.
“It is not I you need seek mercy from.”
Ophelia looked at Maeve, attempting to hide her fear.
“Bow before her,” said Mal. “Get on your knees and beg her for forgiveness.”
Ophelia stared at Maeve defiantly. She didn’t move. Maeve held her stare as Magic cracked at her fingertips.
“Ophelia!” Marguerite hissed, her voice losing nearly all of its affected, fake French accent. “Bow.”
Ophelia reluctantly and hesitantly dropped to the floor, wincing as the stone tile pierced her bony knees.
“You are only angry wiz me because of our Dread Prince,” said Ophelia quietly. “Because he will not let you hurt me the way you want to. I know it.”
Maeve spoke at last. “Hurt you?” Maeve cocked her head to the side. “Ophelia, you have signed your death sentence tonight. Je suis ton bourreau.”
I am your executioner.
“No, no,” she stammered. “You promised,” she looked back over at Mal. “You promised if we came to live here she wouldn’t be able to hurt me.”
Mal’s expression didn’t change as he spoke with a cool drawl.
“I made another promise, Ophelia. One that supersedes any hope I had in you and your mother’s innocence. I promised my Dread Viper she could have revenge, to name the name and I would see it done. Your mother’s name is already on the list.” The Dread Prince started at Ophelia with unwavering resolve. “Would you like to add another name to the list?” Mal asked Maeve.
“If my Prince allows,” she replied, looking over at him.
“Name them,” said Mal.
Maeve looked back down at the beauty before her.
“Ophelia St. Beveraux.”
She is yours , he said into her mind, do not hold back.
Maeve Obscured behind her and grabbed the back of her head, balling Ophelia’s hair inside her first.
“But first,” said Maeve. “I’d like to show you something.”
Maeve slammed through her without hesitation. Ophelia’s cry was drowned out as Maeve pressed into her mind. A white void surrounded them. Ophelia remained on her knees.
Maeve conjured up a very special memory of her own for Ophelia to view.
The white void around them twisted and swirled until it formed Mal’s chambers. The powerless girl’s eyes darted around the room and then slammed closed when the image of Mal and Maeve appeared in the four poster bed.
Maeve’s grip on her hair tightened.
“Open your eyes,” said Maeve. “You’ll miss the best part.”
Ophelia’s cheeks turned bright red as Maeve forced her gaze to the bed.
Ophelia watched, stunned, as Mal was on top of Maeve, his head tilting back in pleasure as he pinned Maeve to the bed.
Ophelia tried to push Maeve out of her mind, but she was no match for Maeve’s strength. Not even close. She was an insect fighting a bird.
“Watch,” whispered Maeve sweetly in Ophelia’s ear. “My favorite part is coming.”
Ophelia’s face scrunched up as she shook her head with a frown.
Mal pulled Maeve up and turned her around. His hands joined together around her throat and his movements became violent.
“Stop it,” whispered Ophelia, her voice cracking.
“I’m sorry,” said Maeve. “Would you like to see something more tender?”
The room shifted into an array of colored mist that formed a montage of Maeve’s memories: Mal running his hand along her jaw, his lips pressing against her temple, stroking her cheek, his hand placed on her thigh at the dinner table, his caring face as he healed her wounds in front of the firelight, and a memory of the way he smiled at her when she had a brilliant thought.
“You’ve made your point,” said Ophelia with a clenched jaw.
“I don’t know that I have,” said Maeve coolly. “But I know I should have made it a long time ago. Perhaps if you had feared me as much as you feared the Double O and the Committee, my father would be alive.”
Maeve held Ophelia’s head still as the memories continued to flash. Ophelia fell silent and Maeve wandered further into her mind. Her own memories vanished and were quickly replaced by one of Ophelia’s.
The room twisted into something new. Maeve’s stomach dropped as she witnessed Ophelia push up on her toes and bring her lips to Mal’s.
His hand swiftly moved to her jaw, gently pushing her away and holding her in his grip. Ophelia looked up at him with flushed cheeks, attempting to suppress her smile.
“You are beautiful,” said Mal.
Maeve’s heartbeat kicked at hearing him speak those words as Ophelia’s smile blossomed.
“But you are not what I want,” said Mal quietly.
Maeve sighed with staggered breathing. Ophelia’s face fell flat as Mal released her chin and walked away. The memory vanished.
Maeve looked down at Ophelia next to her. The poor girl stared down in defeat. Her cheeks were just as red now as they had been in her memory. A solid tear streaked down her face and her glasses were fogged over.
Maeve withdrew from Ophelia’s mind as burning hatred swelled in her chest.
Ophelia remained on her knees with her head bowed. The hall was completely silent.
“When was that?” Asked Maeve, barely above a whisper.
Ophelia’s voice was muffled by sobs as she spoke, but Maeve heard her clearly. “After the coronation, before the portals to Earth were closed.”
Electric ice trickled down Maeve’s arm, fury that Ophelia had dared to make such an advance on Mal in her absence, right after her father’s death.
And perhaps even fury that Mal had not told her.
“You are not worthy of him,” said Maeve.
Ophelia’s eye slid to Maeve. “Why is that?” Her eyes narrowed. “Your blood is as pure as mine.”
Maeve sucked in sharply through her nose and pointed two fingers at Ophelia. Bright red light burst across the hall, pulsing and whipping out with each lash Maeve administered.
Ophelia’s shrill scream filled the room. She doubled over.
Marguerite attempted to shoot to her daughter’s side. Maeve stopped her with her other hand, palm flat.
“Stop this, I beg of you!” Marguerite shouted. “She’s just a girl!”
“Then what am I?” Snarled Maeve. “Why is it that I must always be held to a higher standard?” Ophelia squirmed and twisted in pain under Maeve’s Magic. “Why is it that I am the one to lose my family? And the pair of you expect to be pardoned for the role you played in my father’s death? In the attempted assassination of my Prince?”
“Ophelia never wanted to hurt Malachite! She was desperate to keep him away from Vetus and her trinkets.”
“And you? Can you say the same?” Maeve asked. “Or if I dive into your mind, will I find a shred of reserve as you pushed your daughter on Mal?”
Maeve scowled.
“My late husband wanted that engagement, he proposed her hand to The Dread Prince and knew nothing of my agreements with the Double O and Committee of the Sacred.”
“If you are going to kill me,” cried Ophelia, “do it.”
Maeve shook her head, and pointed two fingers directly at Ophelia’s face. “Death, too, must be earned.”
“Frangere,” said Maeve confidently.
Magic surged through her, unbridled and free. It slammed through Ophelia, ripping apart every memory and shattering every bit of her mind. Ophelia’s body contorted and she convulsed beneath Maeve’s power.
She withdrew, and wobbled slightly.
Mal was in her head a moment later.
Do not falter, his voice commanded.
She sucked in a tight breath as her Magic back flowed, replenishing itself from her violent attack.
She met Mal’s eyes where he sat on the throne.
His head lowered ever so slightly in silent praise.
Marguerite fell to her knees. “What have you done?” She cried.
“She shattered her mind,” said Mal, his eyes never leaving Maeve.
Marguerite’s sobs echoed across the hall.
“S’il te pla?t, sois rapide avec moi,” she said, begging for a swift death.
“No,” said Maeve. “Your punishment is a lifetime of watching your daughter be but a shadow of herself. Unable to speak, unable to stand or clean herself. Unable to recall anything beyond each moment of misery. On Earth.”
Mal looked to Roswyn and inclined his head.
That was the only command needed for Roswyn to march towards the St. Beverauxs and drag them from the hall. Maeve never saw either of them again.
“Well done,” said Mal as he pressed a kiss into her back, slipping her clothes down her tired arms. His hands gripped her hips tightly, pulling her backside into him.
She groaned against him, collapsing into the bed and burying her face back into the sheets. She’d slept for a full day, regaining her strength.
His fingers pressed deeper, sending sharp magic through her body. She winced and whined against him. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know he was smirking, completely aroused by her pain.
Maeve flipped over onto her back and met his satisfied smirk.
“She kissed you,” Maeve blurted out.
Mal stilled. His smile faded.
“Why did you keep that from me?” She whispered.
“You were already carrying such sorrow,” he said. “I rejected her, and she never returned.” Mal leaned forward and placed a kiss in the hollow of her neck. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of hiding Alphard’s advance on you from me.”
“I considered it,” she said.
Mal hummed into her throat.
“Don’t act so pleased,” muttered Maeve.
Mal hovered above her. “Nothing pleases me more than seeing you come unglued.”
Her stomach pinched.
Mal’s dark eyes held her captive as he said, “I want to create enemies just to watch you slaughter them.”
Maeve couldn’t help but grin up at him. “Then I better get to training. Our visit to Aterna is only days away.”
“You are healing,” said Mal smoothly. “Shattering Ophelia’s mind took quite the toll on you. I am not worried about your appearance in Aterna.” His bottom lips brushed hers. “You’ll have me there.”
Maeve hummed. “I don’t want special treatment,” she said with a smile.
“That’s just too terribly bad,” he replied.