Chapter 34
The Dread Prince stood in the grand Celestian Palace of Crystalmore. Reeve was certain no Dread bloodline would ever set foot in his home city again, not after the disaster of the Shadow War. But there he stood, nonetheless, with clothing fit for a handsome young Prince with little understanding of the world or the weight of his existence.
No crown sat atop his gentle, dark curls. Despite his lack of years, he played the game well. The Rosethorn boy, Abraxas, was at his side.
“Welcome to Crystalmore, Dread Prince,” said Reeve.
Mal smiled with an easy charm as he shook Reeve’s hand, and then Eryx’s.
His entire staff was nearly bouncing on the balls of their feet to meet him.
Reeve gestured to the dark-haired woman at his side. “This is Melione.”
Abraxas held out his hand. Mely, as she was affectionately called, took it with a sly grin.
“Abraxas Rosethorn. Hand to the Prince,” she said.
Abraxas added his other hand atop hers. “Melione. We meet at last.”
“Mely is my strategist,” said Reeve. “She can smell conflict from a mile away.”
“Beautiful,” said Abraxas. “We’ll be two peas in a pod, I am sure.”
Mal stepped along the line of Immortals eager to meet him and shake his hand. Abraxas stepped away and trailed him.
“Maybe she didn’t come,” said Eryx under his breath.
“No,” said Reeve. He inhaled deeply, feeling her Magic as it called to him. “She is here.”
Eryx and Mely looked back over the hall.
She appeared atop the stairs, Roswyn and Arman at her sides, just a step behind her. Shortly followed by Mumford and Alphard, and the young blonde girl who was always eager for Maeve’s attention. Maeve paused and surveyed Mal and Abraxas below.
Magic cracked across the crystal floor beneath her feet as she descended the stairs. Reeve’s eyes alone were fixated on the Magic flowing from her.
“Is that her?” Mely practically squeaked.
Reeve nodded.
Even with daggers in her eyes, she was radiant.
“She’s beautiful,” whispered Mely, her eyes lit with awe.
A smile tugged at the corner of Reeve’s mouth. “That she is.”
“Oh,” said Mely under her breath. “I don’t know why I was expecting to see her in a gown.”
Maeve stepped down the stairs, her black laced boots stark against the pale crystal of the stairs. Reeve was certain the gold that plated them was real. Her pants were a thick brocade, her bodice fitted, and laced tightly, covering her arms and fingers. The high neck didn’t shield all the dark scars that traced her veins, though it obscured most of them. He struggled to look at them. A deep emerald cloak was pinned at her shoulders, with Mal’s Dread Mark embroidered on the back.
She may not have been in a gown, but she was still dripping in her father’s wealth.
The serpent pin that designated her position as his Dread Viper gleamed proudly on her chest.
“Will she duel?” Asked Mely. “Given her attire?”
“Yes,” he said. “I think it is safe to assume this is the form she will appear in from here on out. She is not his escort, Melione. She is his personal assassin.”
“Beautiful palace,” said Abraxas, joining Reeve at his side. “Dream-like.” He laughed. “Castle Morana is so deliciously moody. All this bright crystal and sparkling stone hurts my eyes.”
Reeve ignored his teasing and accepted the drink he ordered. Together, they looked out over the party below.
“The Orator knew,” said Abraxas. “The goblet was intended to kill Mal.”
Reeve sighed and leaned his arms on the railing before them. “I assume you will take command of Vaukore, now that the Double O has fallen.”
Abraxas interjected. “The destruction of The Double O as a whole was never the objective. It was always to root out corruption. That said, those who chose to remain on Earth will be free to travel between realms, if they so wish.”
“And who determines Magical law on Earth? You cannot abandon thousands with such power to live harmoniously with humans. There will be those who try to grab for it.”
“I know,” said Abraxas gently. “Mal is. . .hesitant to force his reign on those who do not wish it. His mind is elsewhere.”
“Then you leave Earth a lawless land.”
“Perhaps you’d like to rule it,” said Abraxas with a side-eyed grin.
Reeve laughed. “Not a chance. Malachite and I have something in common. I did not want this crown.”
“Jokes aside, I am aware we have caused a wrinkle in things.”
“A wrinkle?” Asked Reeve incredulously. He chuckled. “Abraxas, my friend, a wrinkle is not what you have caused.”
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I have no blood on my hands.”
“Hand to the Prince, you have all the blood on your hands,” corrected Reeve.
Abraxas frowned, but found it difficult to argue. After a moment, he finally spoke.
“He’ll kill anyone she deems worth killing if it means she is herself again.”
Reeve shook his head slowly. “She will never be herself again.” He clapped a hand on Abraxas shoulder. “Let go of the old version of your cousin. She was buried with her father.”