Chapter 56
All the realms graciously accepted Mal’s proposal for a tournament.The Magical duels began in Aterna, with an exciting appearance from Lithandrian and the Elven court. Her gown was beaded, accenting her tall frame. Her white and gold hair hung long down her back with glistening jewels throughout. Her husband wore a matching set as they breezed along the crystal halls in Aterna, generously accepting the joyous praise of all Immortals.
All except one.
Reeve’s eyes were on Maeve.
She stood alone, leaning against the pale crystal balcony as water from the Black Deep gently pushed against the steps around her in Reeve’s palace. Her arms were folded across her chest. She wore her attire as Mal’s second, with the Dread Mark green cloak pinned at her shoulders.
The Dread Ring stood stark against her pale hands. Her Sinclair family ring glistened, matching the beauty of the crystal castle around her.
He arrived at her side, and she did not look at him.
“If you’ve come to mock me,” she said weakly. “I’d ask you to withhold your desire to toy with me.”
Reeve did not reply to her statement. Instead, his eyes scanned over her and he said quietly. “Your eyes are red and swollen. Perhaps you need to retire.”
Maeve was silent for a moment as she did not meet his gaze.
“Have you ever read ‘Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” Asked Maeve, ignoring his comment entirely.
“Maeve,” said Reeve with a low voice and far too much concern in it.
She looked up at him. His lips pulled together, and he was silent for a long pause, before he said. “I’ve read it.”
She looked back across the party where Mal stood, charming Immortals and the Elven people, with Lithandrian at his side. She ran her gloved hand up her throat, tracing the lines of Dark Magic in her veins.
“I am always steps behind, wondering what version of him I will come upon.”
“Do you think it’s wise that you attend the opening ceremony? You appear under duress.”
Maeve nodded as her mouth turned down. She looked up at him. “Is this the part where you sympathize and try to make me forget all the secrets you harbor? All the pain your careless choices caused me?” Maeve scoffed and laughed hollowly. “There’s too much green in his eyes,” she said. “If I leave, I’ll regret it later.”
“What?”
“If I leave–” she began.
“No,” said Reeve. “What did you say before that?”
Maeve’s brows pulled together.
“About his eyes?” Pressed Reeve.
His face was calm, not an emotion out of place. But his questions gave him away, and Maeve realized the color of Mal’s eyes suddenly mattered to Reeve.
More secrets he’d never tell her. More lies.
“I didn’t say anything about his eyes,” she said coolly.
Reeve held her gaze for a moment longer and then inhaled slowly before he spoke.
“Some advice, if you insist on staying: set right your face and do your job as his second. Because right now, you are only infuriating him more by not being at his side.”
“And what of my fury?” She asked.
Reeve fought a smile. “A beautiful thing when used properly.”
Maeve didn’t have a chance to reply before he jerked his head towards Mal and the rest.
“Go,” he said gently. “Try to enjoy your evening.”
Reeve’s welcome speech was grand. He toasted his Senshi Warriors and the Bellator about to compete in a series of duels. The winner was honored with more than glory. Reeve and Abraxas pulled together a large sum of gold for the top victors.
The open air coliseum was just as Maeve remembered it. Tall pillars of crystal carved out the stadium seating, where thousands of citizens from across Aterna, The Dread Lands, The Elven Lands and Hiems sat eager to see the duels.
Kier and Lithandrian were beside themselves, praising Abraxas for his brilliant and virtuous goal of inter-realm cooperation.
The realms and their courts were not seated with the rest. They remained in the lavish hall of Crystalmore that opened into the coliseum. Tables of food and wine were laid out on silk fabric, tufted leather seats lined the arena for a perfect view. A band of musicians played lightly.
Mordred and his wolves stole most of the attention from Reeve and Lithandrian’s courts. They marveled at the oversized, Magical, talking beasts. Mordred kept his distance, observing from a far as he always did.
Thunderous cheers and applause erupted from the crowd as Reeve jogged up the smooth steps from the arena. Maeve’s head rolled back against her seat as she watched them. He clapped Abraxas on the back and congratulated him. Abraxas smirked and pulled two cigars from his pocket.
“We’re going to need more than cigars,” said Reeve, popping one in his mouth and motioning Alphard and Drystan over. “Where’s the Aternian Absinthe?”
“Gods, no,” said Abraxas with a sharp laugh. “Nope,” he said, popping the P. “I can’t allow you to do that to me this early.”
Reeve grinned. “Who are you, and where’s the real Abraxas Rosethorn?”
“I am serious, Reeve,” he said, lighting the tip of his cigar with the snap of his fingers. “These duels will last long into the night.”
Reeve looked to Alphard, and they shared a grin. Reeve raised his brows.
“Just one,” said Alphard.
Abraxas whined.
“Hush, Rosethorn,” said Alphard.
Drystan poured three glasses.
“Will you all think so terribly of me–”began Abraxas, sick at the idea of being left out.
But Drystan was already pouring a fourth glass for him.
They clinked their glasses together all at once and tossed back the liquor.
Abraxas turned a slight shade lighter.
“And when will the Dread Viper be participating?” Asked an airy voice.
Lithandrian stood beside her chair, her stare fixed on Maeve’s attire.
“You certainly look ready to shatter minds,” she finished.
Maeve didn’t answer. She looked down at the ring on Lithandrian’s finger. The elegant band and stone Mal gifted her was still radiating with his Dread Magic.
“Am I supposed to stand for you?” Asked Maeve dryly.
“Of course not,” Lithandrian replied, taking a seat opposite Maeve.
A loud clamor of Magic resonated from the arena, drawing their attention only for a moment.
Lithandrian turned her attention back to Maeve. “So?” She asked once more.
Mal’s cool Magic brushed down her back, seeping through her clothes and chilling her skin. He appeared at her side a moment later.
“Maeve isn’t dueling today,” he said with a soft smile.
Lithandrian returned one. “I agree to come here after all this time, and you can’t even let me see these fabled gifts she possesses.”
Mal’s eyes never left Lithandrian’s as he said, “I promise you this, Lithandrian, you will see her power soon enough.”
Lithandrian looked pleasantly unaware of the buried meaning within Mal’s words. Maeve looked at the crown atop her head. A crown Mal craved.
A loud bang of Magic and a bright flash of light brought their attention back to the arena.
The Senshi Warriors duels were dissimilar in many ways from that of the Magicals. The people of Aterna held no Magic in their veins. Instead, the weapons they wielded were filled with Aterna’s Magic from Reeve himself. Protective shields of Magic coated their plated armor, and once broken through, the duel ended.
They were elite, far superior than what Maeve had imagined.
“Drat,” said Abraxas, looking down at his list of bets. “Already in the hole.”
“Will you enter any horses into the games in my realm, Maeve? I hear your father’s horse is quite fast. What’s the beast’s name?”
“Spitfire,” she answered. “And yes, he’s quite fast.”
“Marvelous,” the Elven Queen replied. “I simply can’t wait. I’ve heard you are an excellent fencer, perhaps you’ll give us a show?”
“Sure,” said Maeve with great disinterest.
Mal’s annoyance slipped towards her, intentional or not, she didn’t know. His eyes scanned over her with a look of disdain.
“Perhaps you should return to Castle Morana and make yourself more presentable?”
Maeve did not look up at him. Her eyes remained on the two Senshi Warriors battling it our in the arena.
“Excuse me,” said Maeve, pushing out of the chair.
She only made it a few steps before Mal snagged her arm. His Magic gripped her tight, sending burning ice into her skin.
“How disappointing it is to see the fire dull from your eyes,” he whispered. “All that rebellion squashed with a single blow to your ego.”
“Let go,” she said weakly, turning away from him, desperate to be anywhere but at his torturous side.
He was like air too toxic to breathe.
Water that merely made her thirstier.
“Backing down so easily?” He asked. “It’s a good thing Ambrose is dead and doesn’t have to see how fucking weak you’ve become.”
The tether that held her temper slipped free with ease in her next breath. She turned, furious, and drew two fingers at her side. Green lightning sparked across her knuckles, hot and prickling as it pulsed with rage.
The courts and guests around them fell silent with their eyes locked on the Magic radiating from her fingertips and her face of fury set on Mal. The band of musicians faded one by one.
Mal’s chin lowered as tiny, dark swirls of green pierced from his narrowed eyes, daring her.
Don’t.
The command rang clear across her mind, and Maeve froze.
For it wasn’t Mal’s voice that echoed past her impenetrable shields.
Mal had always been able to speak into her mind, but she allowed him entry. A fragment of his very soul ran through her veins. He was a part of her.
For another to speak into her mind without her permission. . .to break past the strongest mind wall of any Magical known.
She turned with horror. Her eyes flitting up to the High Lord. Reeve stared casually at her across the hall.
Everyone between them and everything around them blurred. And there was only his presence. The world slammed to a halt.
And she forgot Mal. And his comment. She forgot that she lost her temper and nearly attacked her sworn Prince.
All that rang through her mind was the life altering and potentially catastrophic fact:
She was the High Lord of Aterna’s fated mate.
Reeve’s chin lowered slightly.
Don’t . He said again.
Maeve’s stomach dropped beneath her, nearly sending up her dinner.
Cold slender fingers wrapped around her arm, which was now collapsed limply at her side. Any and all trace of lightning was now gone. Maeve looked up at Reeve with wide eyes.
The hall snapped back into time, and tense murmurs whispered through the crowd.
Mal took her hand is his own and brought his lips to her ear.
“What are you going to do now?”
Maeve stammered, tearing her eyes away from Reeve. “I–“
Mal’s grip tightened. What are you going to do now that you’ve made a scene?
Maeve couldn’t form words.
Such a pity you can’t alter their minds all at once, isn’t it ?
Fear prickled down her spine. Maeve steadied her breathing, desperate to control herself.
Mal laughed lightly, tossing his head back as he stood to his full height. He smiled down at her with easy charm. He released her from his tight hold and kissed her fingers.
“Fiercely loyal, this one,” he announced to the room. “She thought I was in danger.”
The mood shifted at once. Shoulders sighed in relief and the music resumed.
Mal kissed her fingers once more. As the attention on them faded, so did his smile. “You can thank me later. I have plenty of ideas.”
He dropped her hand and turned on his heel. Maeve turned slowly, her body stiff and tight, to Reeve. The High Lord was swapping his drink for a new one, laughing with Eryx and some other warriors as though he hadn’t just revealed yet another secret.
Damn him.
Her heart shook and air tightened across her chest.
He did not meet her gaze but his voice slid smoothly across her mind.
Stop staring at me and pull yourself together.
Maeve’s lip curled upward. She turned and pushed through the crowd. They parted hastily around her. She did not announce her departure. She slipped through the Portal to the Dread Lands without a word of goodbye.
Reeve stood leaned against the bannister of her chamber balcony, his arms folded. Maeve scowled and crossed out into the cool night air.
“How are you in my head?” She demanded.
Reeve didn’t look at her. “You know how.”
“No,” said Maeve. “That’s ridiculous.”
Reeve shot her a look. “Is it any more ridiculous than the charade happening all around us?”
Maeve tensed.
“How long have you known?” She asked.
“That doesn’t really matter.”
Maeve shook her head slightly and spoke sourly. “I must be a joke to you.”
She leaned against the frame of the glass doors.
Reeve studied her, an arrogant look on his face. “Is that what you think?”
Maeve didn’t answer him. A cold breeze drifted between them. Maeve hugged herself tightly as clouds covered the moons, darkening the balcony.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her voice lacking its usual confidence.
“I know,” he replied, his voice in perfect opposition to hers.
“I choose Mal.” She said stubbornly. “I have faith he will pull through this.”
“I know that too.”
“You aren’t owed me because of some ancient–”
“I never said I was,” he interrupted quietly.
They stared at one another in a painful silence, longer than was comfortable. Finally, Maeve spoke.
“I can’t tell him this.”
Reeve made a face as though he agreed, though it annoyed him all the same. “I can promise I don’t need your protection from–”
“Oh shut up,” snapped Maeve. “This isn’t just about you, or me.”
A forced breath escaped her lips.
This was wrong. This was the last thing she needed. Mal was so distant, so far now.
Barely hanging by a thread.
If he knew that Reeve was standing before her in such a secret and private way. . .
“Things are changing, Maeve,” said Reeve, pulling her from her thoughts. “I know you can feel the darkness that is growing here.”
Of course she did. But God’s be damned if he didn’t just be quiet.
Maeve tossed her head back and closed her eyes. “Shut. Up.”
“I can feel it all the way across the Black Deep-”
“Did you not hear me say shut up?” Asked Maeve.
“No, I did,” snarled Reeve. “But say it again. I love hearing the hatred you harbor for me singing off your spoiled fucking tongue.”
Maeve pushed off the doorframe and closed the gap between them, stopping short before they touched. Reeve’s eyes were swimming with dark fire.
He bent until they shared one breath and whispered playfully. “You’re too easy.”
His body radiated warmth. She resisted the urge to step closer and allow herself to be shielded from the cold night air.
Maeve huffed and stepped back from him. “How did this even happen? I thought you already had a mate. I’m not even an Immortal.”
“She was not my mate, despite the love we shared.”
“But I thought,” began Maeve. “I asked you about her.”
“You referred to her as my mate. I did not correct you.”
Maeve stammered.
“I loved her, yes. Despite no Magical, fated bond, I loved her fully,” he said. “Painfully and achingly so. The way you love your Dread Prince.”
“You’ve known the whole time,” said Maeve softly, reflecting on his first appearance at the Summer Solstice party the summer before her father died.
“I won’t say anything.” He leaned casually on the bannister.
“To anyone?”
Maeve’s stomach twisted as Reeve answered. “It is not in my best interest to announce to the world that my mate is Malachite’s Dread Viper.”
Those words stung.
Maeve ran her fingers along the chilly stone bannister. “It is not, nor it cannot, come to good.”
Reeve attempted a small smile, and failed. “You read Hamlet?”
Maeve nodded, avoiding his gaze. “You gave it such a glowing review.”
“And?” He asked.
Maeve shrugged. “It was. . .”
Dark mist flared sharply around Reeve, reminiscent of his dragon form. Maeve gasped as soft prickles of ice crept from the nape of her neck and down her arms. Her eyes slipped closed as Mal’s Magic crept in, taking over her senses.
Her eyes whipped open to Reeve, but he was gone, and in his wake was a swirling mass of black shadow and shining flecks of darkening starlight.
She walked briskly across the balcony. The glass doors clicked closed behind her with the slightest twist of two fingers at her side.
Mal appeared a moment later, sauntering across her bedroom chamber towards her.
“You’re flustered.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He stopped short of her.
His eyes flicked up towards the balcony behind her, and then slowly moved back to hers.
Mal grabbed her face tightly between his fingers, dark Magic pulsating into her skin. She closed her eyes and mustered her courage.
“Mal,” she said calmly.
“I can’t see into your mind,” he said far too calmly.
“What would you like to see?” She asked, looking up at him.
“Don’t,” he said quietly, “toy with me.”
He moved his hand away tensely and took her right hand in his own, holding up her two fingers as if they were on display.
The bits of green glowing in his eyes were smaller now, but still remained.
“You made to strike me.”
“I was angry,” said Maeve coolly.
Mal’s head cocked slightly to the side. “And that gives you permission to strike your Prince?”
“No one even remembers.”
Another lie. The lies between them were piling up.
“That is far from the point and you know it.”
He discarded her hand and moved away from her, reclining in the loveseat.
“Sit,” he commanded.
She obeyed, taking a seat opposite him.
“I’m done waiting. The time has come to solidify my supreme leadership.”
“Kier is already under your control. Is that not enough?”
Mal did not answer. “You are so adamant that you will not fight Aterna.”
“I did not say that,” she argued carefully. “I said I didn’t want to attack innocents.”
“And you think Reeve is innocent? Despite his hand in your father’s death.”
“I believe the High Lord–”
“Don’t call him that.”
A sigh slipped from Maeve. “I believe Reeve is a smart ruler, who, unlike his father before him, isn’t willing to sacrifice his people for his own power.”
“Ambrose told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Ambrose was a fool for putting so much faith in Reeve.”
Acid boiled in Maeve’s stomach.
Mal’s eyes narrowed. “And you are as well.”
Maeve leaned back in her seat, crossed her legs and whispered. “You are in a rare form tonight.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Mal’s mouth, as though he delighted in throwing such an insult at her.
Crumbling. It was all crumbling.
Maeve saw it, she felt it all. She was running out of time.
She abandoned all fear and pride. She stood and crossed the rug between them. Standing before the man she had sworn herself to in so many ways.
She dropped to her knees and placed her hands on his legs.
Mal’s head inclined as he stared at her with green flecked eyes.
She was at risk of losing it all.
“I’m sorry for this evening,” she whispered. “It may be a fool’s errand to put Reeve’s true colors to the test, but you must do so regardless. Even if you are certain he will not bow, that he will not give up that crown, I urge you to try. The adoration you will receive for it will abound.”
“And what about the alternative?”
“The alternative is we take it all by force. And if that is what my Prince demands of me, it will be done. But as your second, I urge you to try for peace.” Maeve sat up on her knees and moved between his legs. She placed her hands on his chest. “I want to be at your side and see you wear the only crown in all the realms. I want a future here where we have a life not plagued by constant battles. Try, for me, and for your loyal subjects here, try for peace. And if it does not work, I will burn every last monarchy and ruler down that opposes you until all that remains are the faithful.”
Mal leaned over her, a prideful smirk playing on his lips. “Such a speech. You’ve been learning from Abraxas.”
Her entire body relaxed. He took her chin in his hand. “I am not innocent tonight. I provoked you.”
His lips moved closer to hers.
“You are quite good at it,” she muttered.
“No one knows you like I do, Maeve.” His hand drifted down her neck, tracing her black darkened veins. “And no one ever will.”