Chapter 45
Arman danced Arianna slowly across the Ballroom floor. Her head rested against his chest with her eyes closed in peaceful bliss. The handsome Captain brought her hand to his lips, kissing them tenderly as they swayed.
“I still can’t believe you thought you knew about them before me.”
Abraxas appeared at her side. A cigar in one hand and a glass in the other.
Maeve smiled weakly. “At least you didn’t have to walk in on them.”
“How do you think I found out?” He muttered.
Maeve struggled to return his enjoyment.
“Cheer up, cousin,” he said. “He’s only been gone a few weeks. Look at Zimsy, having the time of her life dancing with that Bellator.”
Maeve followed his gaze across the hall. Zimsy spun in a silver gown, smiling and laughing with a Supreme.
“She’s so beautiful,” said Maeve. “Sometimes I wonder how anyone could have ever desired to hurt her.”
“Envy is an evil emotion,” replied Abraxas.
Maeve often wondered how her beautiful friend came to be under an Enslavement Curse from a young age. There was no record of her being born on Earth, and she had served in many households in her earliest memories. There was nothing Maeve found in her mind that indicated a family that she was stolen from, or was sold from.
To which Zimsy took her hand and said, “You are my family.”
Abraxas opened his mouth to speak, but Maeve stopped him.
“Just let me be frustrated, Brax.” She looked over at him in appreciation. “Go enjoy yourself.”
Abraxas flicked under her chin with a sympathetic smile, forcing her face up. He kissed her cheek swiftly. “Some goods, then, to brighten your night.”
Maeve’s brows raised.
“Lithandrian is coming here at last. She accepted Mal’s invitation and will be here in a fortnight.”
Maeve mustered the best smile she could for her cousin. “Can I leave soon?” She asked as he slipped away.
Abraxas turned back towards her. “Of course, cousin,” he said with a fading smile. “You are not a prisoner here. If you wish to retire, I will not stop you.”
“I’m just not certain how much longer I can pretend at these parties.”
Abraxas stepped back towards her as cheers of excitement and welcome erupted through the hall. Their heads turned in unison as Reeve entered with a dazzling smile.
“He only comes here for the praise,” muttered Maeve.
Abraxas smirked at her. “Weren’t you going to bed?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed the hall. Reeve’s eyes slid to her as he crossed to the bar. Maeve stepped in his direction.
“Uh-uh,” said Abraxas, stepping in front of her. “We have a plan, remember?”
“Ismail can still fawn over him once I’ve finished talking to him,” she replied, stepping forward once more.
Abraxas countered. “Alright, fine,” he said with a huff. “But don’t get him all worked up. If you put him in a foul mood I worry he won’t desire to. . .entertain Ismail.”
“That’s your plan?” Asked Maeve dryly. “You think he’ll fuck her?”
Abraxas opened his mouth but Maeve cut him off once more.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “She didn’t agree to that, she couldn’t agree to that. She doesn’t even have a choice in being here and we whore her out–”
“Seven Realms, shut up, cousin,” snapped Abraxas. “How insulting. I merely meant she is going to speak to him and try to sense the Dread Stone. If something else happens or he fancies her, so be it. But I did not command her to use her body for our gain, and to be quite honest, it’s infuriating that you think I would ever do that to another. I’m uncertain if it’s Mal's absence, Reeve’s presence, or a combination of the two that makes you so irritable, but do not take it out on me.”
Abraxas downed his drink and walked away, ignoring her call after him. Moments later, he was smiling and taking a round of shots with Alphard and Juliet. Victoria hung on Alphard’s arm, already intoxicated and unable to drink more.
Maeve turned her attention back on Reeve, guilt swimming in her stomach. She’d use that guilt. It drove her every footstep towards Reeve where he leaned against the long bar.
She arrived at his side and Reeve looked her over.
“My, my, someone is in a mood,” he said. “If you’ve come to spoil mine, I must ask that you withhold your endless questions.”
“I only have one question where you are concerned that keeps me awake,” she said hotly.
Reeve turned towards her. “Tell me more of how I occupy your mind on sleepless nights, kitten.”
A breath of hatred rose through her. His satisfaction only grew.
“‘Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valor as thou art in desire?’” He asked. Reeve scanned her face. “Is she your favorite?”
Maeve raised her brows.
Reeve answered. “Lady Macbeth.”
Maeve shook her head. “Always ready with a joke.”
“She’s rather fitting for you, don’t you think?”
“You’re the one who has resorted to using Shakespeare to distract me from my disdain for you.”
“Is it me you disdain this week? Frankly, I can’t keep up.”
Maeve let loose a very shaky sigh as she scowled at him, at how easily he mocked her.
“Mm,” he hummed. “Where is the Dread Prince this evening?”
“Don’t pry, Reeve,” said Maeve boredly. “It makes you look weak.”
He laughed. “And you sniffing around me for months, desperate to find even a hint of who my inheritor is, certainly makes you look strong.”
Maeve spoke plainly, tired of the games. “Do you know who it is?”
Reeve watched her carefully for a moment. “No,” he said finally.
A deception or truth she did not know. She no longer cared. The question was on the tip of her tongue. The one she so desperately wanted to ask him. The one Mal had forbidden her from asking.
Maeve looked back at the party. “I figured not.”
Reeve took a swig of his drink. “I’m so curious, why do you think I don’t know?”
“Because my father told me the Inheritor is a cruel Magic. One that delivers its presence in a crucial moment. I don’t think you know who it is, because I don’t think it’s reached that moment. It’s all barreling towards us still.”
They held one another’s gaze for a long moment.
“Where is Malachite, Maeve?” He asked.
“Someplace far from my protection,” she replied. She swallowed and shook her head. “This is meaningless. It’s all meaningless.”
She left the Ballroom without apologizing for her abrupt departure.
Reeve followed her further into the castle. She felt each step of Magic towards her, hot on her heels.
“Goodnight, Reeve,” she said dismissively, not bothering to look back at him.
“What is it that eats at you and yet will not slip from your tongue?”
Maeve shook her head, continuing towards the stairs.
“Maeve,” he called after her with far too much concern in his voice.
“Did you know?” She asked, whipping towards him.
He stopped and took her in. His brows pulled together. “What?”
“Did you know that the goblet was poisoned?”
Reeve’s chest fell. His face softened. “Maeve.”
“Answer the fucking question,” she hissed. “The question I have not been allowed to ask so Mal can assess if you are an enemy on his own terms. But I fear you already are my enemy.”
Reeve’s lip curled. “I had no way of knowing that goblet was still poisoned.”
“So you admit you poisoned it to begin with?” She said, her blood turning hot.
“I poisoned the wine within the goblet,” he relented, his voice growing frustrated. “How was I to know it would remain for hundreds of years?”
Maeve laughed in disbelief. It was hollow and empty. She scowled at him.
“Who could you have possibly been trying to kill with such lethal Magic?”
“Shadow!” Dark violet fire flared behind him in the shape of two wings. His hands were wrapped in vines of pale flaming Magic.
Maeve stepped back from him.
He tilted his head back and rolled his neck. A lengthy few breaths later, and his eyes landed back on her. All flames gone.
His face moved like he was going to speak, but his lips curled in agony. With a soft growl, his breathing returned to normal.
“He was my friend. You think if I had known, I wouldn’t have shattered that goblet with a blink?”
“And Mal’s hands? What then.”
Reeve’s face hardened. “It was not meant to kill the Dread.”
“That’s not an answer,” she fired.
Reeve shook his head. “Your desire to paint me a villain is exhausting.”
“Imagine how I feel. When the list keeps getting longer of those I cannot trust. Those who knowingly and unknowingly laid his death brick by brick.”
Reeve scowled at her. “You blame me for the poison and not your Prince’s inability to see how deadly it was in his hands? Has it even crossed your mind that he did, in fact,–”
“Enough!”
Electric Magic raced down her arm. Lightning swirled at her clenched fist. Reeve’s eyes dropped to her hand as she shook.
“You think you know everything just because you’re three hundred years old.”
“Three hundred twenty-six, thank you. And yes, one learns a thing or two over a couple centuries. Your mere existence is a blink to me.”
“A blink?” She laughed. “You seem awfully obsessed with a blink.”
“The blink is a pain in my ass. The blink has toppled governments I was allied with and killed many in her mere twenty and some change years, so you can call it an obsession, but it is one that has been forced upon me.”
“It was not my Magic that poisoned him. You forced your way into my world the moment you laced that goblet three hundred years ago.”
His jaw loosened. His arrogant smile returned, and he returned to the party with a casual stride.