Chapter 59
“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a rare visit?” Asked Maeve as she pulled pins from hair.
Mal stood in the doorway of her chamber. “Are you fully healed?”
She returned her gaze to the vanity mirror, still in her dueling attire.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Astrea said a broken jaw is easily healed with a snap of her fingers. And that huge blast of lightning barely touched you.”
Maeve did not reply, still sulking from her defeat.
“He was. . .merciful,” said Mal.
“I suppose so,” she replied shortly as the last of her braids fell.
She worked her fingers through them, untangling the woven hair.
“Now look who is punishing who,” said Mal.
Maeve looked up at him.
“You knew I couldn’t possibly win,” she said bitterly.
Mal pushed off the door frame and crossed her chamber. “Perhaps I wanted to see it anyway.”
He slid into an armchair and crossed one leg over the other casually. Maeve continued to brush through her hair and did not regard him.
“He certainly had your attention all evening prior to your duel.
Maeve scowled, cleverly quick with a reply.
“I wasn’t staring at him,” said Maeve.
Mal’s jaw tightened.
“I was staring at his date,” she finished.
Mal’s head tilted and his mouth opened ever so slightly, but Maeve didn’t let him speak. Maeve slipped off her jewelry. She spoke with calculated softness, continuing to pull Mal’s mind away from Reeve.
Away from the thoughts of him that ran across her mind.
“Do you know how infuriating it is to watch them waltz around with their everlasting beauty?” She asked. “When every day my body is dying and changing with age.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm,” he hummed. “That’s interesting.” He relaxed once more, his expression dripping back into his usual dark void of emotion.
Maeve reached for the back of her bodice, pulling on the laces as it fell loose around her shoulders. She caught the fabric swiftly, holding it at her chest, keeping herself covered, and looked up at Mal.
With one leg crossed over his knee, and an elbow on the arm of the chair, his long fingers propped up his chin as his attention lingered across her body. Slowly, his hungry eyes moved to hers. A silent command.
And her dueling uniform fell.
Maeve turned back towards the vanity, and slipped her legs free of the fitted clothing. Mal watched her silently in the mirror, with eyes that glowed green in small places.
She turned back towards him, and stepped across the fabric, now crumpled on the rug. When she was before him, her hands reached for the neckline of his top. She loosened the fabric around his neck slowly. With a soft snap of her fingers, each button on his shirt slipped open, exposing his lean and toned chest. She braced her arms on either side of the chair and bent towards his neck. She planted her lips slowly and softly against his cold skin.
“Will you stay with me tonight,” she whispered, kissing across his neck, moving towards his collarbone, “my Prince?”
Before Maeve could blink, darkness swirled around them, and her back touched down on velvet bedding. Mal kneeled between her legs and tossed his shirt aside.
“Say it again,” he commanded.
Maeve obeyed. “Please, my Prince.”
Mal pushed his hips into hers with a small groan. She felt his hardness through his pants at once.
“You’d think I wouldn’t enjoy this, knowing you are merely manipulating me with this pretty body of yours,” he said, taking her chin in between his fingers. “But, Primus and the Gods,” he said darkly, grinding his hips against her once more, “it is so perfectly pretty.”
His lips met hers as his fingers trailed across the Dread Mark on her chest.
The sensation shot to her toes and arched her body towards his.
“If you are so displeased with me,” she said when their lips parted, “why is your body responding exactly how I want it to?”
Maeve pressed her Magic towards him, kissing him back with desperation. His mental shields were down, and she slipped through them with ease.
An idea struck her.
She pushed a memory gently towards him. It blossomed across his mind like a soft wind.
A floral sheet lay against soft grass, the edges lifting in the breeze. A small teapot and empty teacups sat near them. The summer sun beamed down upon them where they faced one another. Mal twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers while their lips danced on the edge of a kiss.
Maeve beamed as he whispered something.
She pulled out of Mal’s mind.
His eyes shifted to their natural color. Maeve inhaled deeply at the sight of his fully darkened eyes.
“Hi,” she said softly, tears instantly threatening to fall down her cheeks.
Mal’s expression faltered in confusion for a moment. He looked down at her body and his own arousal. His eyes dipped close, and he rested his forehead lightly on hers.
“Those feel like ancient versions of ourselves,” he said.
Maeve nodded and brushed his hair back, running her fingers gently across the scar splitting his eye. “I want to go to Earth, Mal. I want to watch the sun rise through the glass in your old apartment…safe in your arms.”
Mal hesitated to reply.
“Do you remember the sun, Mal?”
He nodded.
“Would you take me there?” She asked earnestly.
Mal pressed a kiss to her forehead and inhaled deeply. Darkness encased them as his arms moved around her body, one cradling the back of her head and the other around her waist.
They moved through time and space with ease. Mal’s Magic was paramount, unlike anything he’d been gifted when he became her tutor.
The darkness lifted, and the hazy blue moonlight of Earth filled the room. Soft sheets caressed her back in the bed at The Hapswitch House. Mal’s old flat, formerly her Uncle’s home, was rightfully his. Ambrose had ensured it.
Mal’s eyes remained their true color as he held her close. She was certain it was a cruel dream. One that would be ripped from her at any moment. But they took their time worshipping one another and pretending, even if for a moment, that a nightmare didn’t await them back in The Dread Lands.
Mal’s shoulders rolled back and his eyes fluttered to a close. His skin gained a soft warmth and his heart beat steady against her chest. His Magic was calm.
Maeve traced her fingers tenderly along the starburst scars of Magic on his exposed chest. Sacrifices he’d made for her. For his destiny as their savior.
“I wanted to take you home,” he said quietly. “I wanted to have you on every surface in that house. But I know you could not bear to be there, and nor can I.”
“We should remain here,” she said.
Mal brushed off the comment.
“I’m serious.”
“I have a kingdom to rule, Maeve,” said Mal, with a soft smile that did not meet his eyes.
Maeve propped herself up and took his face in her hands. “A Kingdom that is tearing you apart.” His hands moved over hers. “It’s tearing us apart, Mal.”
“Nothing worth having comes to us with ease.”
“No,” she fired back. “I do not believe we should destroy it all for some possibilities on the other side.”
“I am in control–”
Maeve yanked away from him and slid off the bed. She rubbed her eyes with her palms, turning towards the windows overlooking London. The morning sunlight was a soft, glowing yellow. The trees that lined the small street below bloomed with bright green leaves and soft brown bark. The cream-colored stones of the surrounding buildings looked like paintings.
The wooden floorboards creaked lightly beneath his steady steps. His arms circled around her, pulling her back into his chest. She rested her head against him.
“I can do this, Little Viper,” he murmured into her temple after planting a small kiss.
“I don’t want to go back there,” she admitted, the words quiet and withdrawn.
Mal’s lips pressed into the soft skin where her neck and shoulder joined. “The future is riding on our shoulders. We cannot abandon it now.”