Chapter 65
Guilt hovered over Maeve like a stalling storm cloud.
She was a selfish fool.
Mal concealed Maxius from her. He was hidden away to ensure her obedience. Even if she could get to him, she was at a loss. The newfound realization that he was her son settled into her slowly. Emotions rolled in like a shifting storm, uncertain and unpredictable.
Her self-inflicted stab wound from The Dread Dagger took its time healing, even with the stitches Astrea sewed her skin back together with.
“You could at least numb it,” she had said through wincing breaths.
Astrea continued to pull the needle through Maeve’s skin without stopping. “I was commanded not to,” she had replied.
The attack plans for Aterna were laid out on a large table in Abraxas’ study.
Her cousin’s eyes were bloodshot as he laid out the landscape of Crystalmore and Aterna.
Maeve didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Larliesl answered Abraxas’ or Mal’s questions about the Bellator. His voice was strained as he spoke of attacking citizens.
“Reeve will not take kindly to this,” said Larliesl.
Mal spoke from the head of the table. “Reeve will see that either his people will die, or he will bend the knee. Do you think he will offer me his crown and power without some incentive?”
Larliesl shook his head. “No, my Prince.”
“No,” repeated Mal. “I am done waiting to discover the identify of his inheritor. I will take the power of Aterna myself.”
“And the Elven Lands?” Asked Larliesl, looking back to Abraxas.
“One crown at a time,” he replied darkly, not looking away from the map.
“Astrea,” called Mal, causing the healer to startle. “How long until Maeve can break the shield in the Black Deep?”
“She’s nearly back to her full strength,” answered Astrea. “Give it two more days.”
“Any arguments, Maeve?” He asked.
She shook her head in silent defeat.
“Marvelous.”
She wondered how much of her Mal remained. How tight the grip this green-eyed darkness had on him was. Was her Mal buried just beneath the surface?
Play the game.
Her father’s words. Abraxas’ words.
Just play the game. She’d been prepared for the game her entire life. Born and bred for deception. Just as the darkness that now resided in Mal had deceived her.
She raised her hand, prepared to rap her knuckles against the door. It swung silently open. Maeve moved into the candlelit West Tower.
Mal sat at his desk, a long owl feather quill scratching away at the parchment before him.
He offered her one glance before returning to his writing.
She closed the doors to his chamber with a gentle twist of her wrist.
“Why are you here?” He asked coolly.
“I figured you’d be asleep.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Maeve crossed towards him. She slid between him and the desk, forcing him to pull away from his writing. He did not protest her presence as his green eyes scanned down her body. Maeve leaned against the desk.
“I’m lonely,” she answered plainly.
Mal dropped the quill on the dark wood and leaned back in his chair. His legs brushed hers as he trapped her between them.
“Lonely?” He repeated, lust creeping into his tone.
“Mhmm,” she replied.
“And your Prince cares about your loneliness, why?”
Maeve pulled on the soft satin bow that held her robe across her chest. “Because you look lonely, too.”
Mal’s eyes drifted down her front as she exposed her thin undergarments. His fingers crept down the back of her knee, gently teasing her skin.
“You are a wicked little thing, aren’t you?” He asked, each word humming in the quiet space.
The robe fell from her shoulders and sprawled across the desk behind her.
“Do you aim to sway me from attacking Aterna,” he said, “or to distract me from my anger at you?”
Maeve stilled. Her performance nearly faltering. “You are angry with me?”
His eyes moved down to her legs, where his fingers slithered across her skin.
“You kept him from me.”
Maeve resisted the urge to grab his beautifully haunting face. “I urge you to remember that someone hid him from me as well, Mal.”
His name brought his eyes back to her.
His fingers traveled slowly up her legs, his eyes dropping to her stomach.
“Marks on your body used to delight you,” he said quietly, observing her most recent wound.
“How do you know this one doesn’t?” She asked. His eyes snapped to hers through his thick lashes. “You think I went into that mountain with anything other than you in mind?”
A controlled breath rolled through him. He slid forward in the chair and placed a single hand on her chest and tilted her torso backwards, giving him a better view of the scar.
“I’ll bleed out for you over and over,” she said.
He bent over her stomach and brought his mouth to her skin, trailing down her sternum. Maeve’s body tensed and ran wild with goosebumps. He licked over the scarred tissue of the Dread Dagger’s wound. Ice pierced the tender skin beneath his tongue, drawing a hiss from her lips.
He snagged her wrist at once before she could push his head away.
His eyes lifted to hers. His tongue flicked over the raised skin once more, bringing her teeth together, never releasing her wrist.
“I want to show you something I remembered,” she whispered.
Mal’s cold eyes scanned her face.
“Please?” She asked with a soft smile.
Mal did not return it.
“You want me to be tender and good, Little Viper? You want me to stroke your face and tell you everything will be fine?” His head cocked to the side. “You think you can manipulate me, of all people, with your pretend innocence?”
Maeve sucked in a tight breath and relented. She snatched her hand from his and pushed off the desk with a glare. Mal’s hand moved to her throat at once, pressing their bodies together and holding her hostage.
“You’ve never fucked with hatred, Maeve? Oh, that’s right. No one has fucked you but me. Do you know why that is?”
“Because I’m yours?” She asked with a scowl.
With a devilish smile and a shake of his head, his teeth sunk into her skin, clamping down on the tender area between her shoulder and her neck. Maeve rose to the tips of her toes, desperate to alleviate the sting.
His mouth withdrew and two fingers shoved inside her mouth. “It’s because there is no match for you besides me. There is not a soul alive who could handle such a rebellious, arrogant ego. No one else has fucked you, Maeve, because you know they’d never be crawling through your skin like I am. They’ll never force you the way I’m willing to force you. Because what you want most, is to not be in control. Day in and day out you stand above the rest in control. You fight the battle of control in your own mind of doubt. I take your control away. And you worship me for it.”
White light erupted across her eyes.
“This is not forever, Maeve,” said the hooded figure, as Maxius reached towards her with frantic tears.
His voice was still familiar, and impossible to place.
“Then why is my heart breaking?”
The hooded figure held Maxius tenderly.
“How am I supposed to walk away?” She asked, her voice breaking.
Warm wind swirled around them, settling Maxius against the hooded man’s chest and calming him instantly. Maxius breathed deeply as his eyes fluttered close beneath thick lashes.
The figure’s hood began to slip back–
Maeve groaned as her mind slammed back into Mal’s chamber. She fell backward into his desk.
Mal staggered and gripped the sides of his head. He turned his back on her.
“It was you,” he said quietly. “You tried to take him from me.”
Maeve shook her head, unable to argue, unable to understand. “Mal,” she said, her voice quivering.
“That night he appeared,” he continued, “I knew then it was somehow you. With the blood coating your upper lip, just as it had been with Kietel, I knew you were the coordinate. Emerie’s prophecy . . .”
Maeve stilled. “What?”
He stumbled across the room and caught himself on the bedpost. His breathing was sharp and uneven.
“What prophecy?” She asked, not moving towards him.
Mal did not answer her. Maeve gripped the desk beneath her with white knuckles.
“She had another prophecy, didn’t she?” Asked Maeve quietly, her Magic at the ready. “One about Maxius.”
Mal gripped the sides of his head and groaned as his green eyes flickered with darkness.
“Mal,” she snapped, stepping towards him.
He whipped towards her, scowling.
“What. Prophecy.”
Mal was on her in a flash. She threw up a shield just in time to separate their Magic, propelling them each backwards, her heels sliding across the floor and flipping over his desk. Papers and books slid to the floor with her.
The room fell silent.
He had moved to attack her.
The blood in her veins stilled. The electric Magic pleading to fight at her fingertips dissipated in one breath. Ink spilled across the dark floor beside her.
When she looked up at him, his eyes were dark, not a trace of green in them.
“What. . .” Mal’s voice was barely above a whisper.
The freezing air assaulted her overly exposed skin. She coiled her trembling fingers in.
“Hey,” she said softly, trying not to sound too eager. “I’m fine.”
Mal shook his head.
“It’s okay,” she said gently. “I want to help you, Mal. But we need to get to Earth okay?”
His head tilted back at the ceiling. “You can’t, Maeve. I keep trying to tell you.”
She moved to stand and his eyes snapped to her. She stood on shaking legs and extended her hand towards him.
“Earth,” she said. “We can talk about it there.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. Green flecks of light surged through them.
“Take us to Earth,” said Maeve frantically. “Now!”
“It’s too late,” he said. “If I go to Earth, I bring her with me. You should run.”
Her chest tightened, pressure shooting up her jaw. Every bit of her trembled as she choked out, “No.”
“You are not listening to me. . .”
“You’re goddamn right,” she said, sniffling and suppressing the tears ready for release. “If you won’t take us, I will.”
She prepared her Magic to create a Portal as black night swirled around her, knocking her to the floor. Mal pinned her body down, holding her right hand hostage, dulling the Magic ready to manifest their way out of Castle Morana.
Maeve looked up at his solid green eyes as sharp, slicing Magic cut into her wrist. An agonizing and devastating scream raked across her throat until her insides were so raw, no scream came.
He was gone once more. Maeve squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Warm, wet tears streaked her cheeks.
“I want to go home, Mal,” she cried in a broken voice. “I want to go home.”
She looked up at his vacant expression.
“You have lost,” said Mal, his voice not his own. “You will never go home. You are alone.”
The sides of her face and hair were wet with tears as she said, “Children of Magic are never alone.”
Mal’s eyes slammed shut. His brows pulled together and his lip curled. He pushed off her and ran his long fingers over his face, pressing into his eyes.
Maeve slipped from beneath him, scooted back against the wall and pulled her legs in tight.
“Don’t do this to me,” she whimpered as Mal’s eyes opened and were void of any green color.
He fell back on his knees, his chest heaving.
“You’re hurt,” he said, his eyes on the blood coming from her wrist.
Maeve shook her head. “Stop it,” she said weakly.
Mal looked up at her, confusion plastered across his wild expression.
“Maeve?” He asked.
“Stop it,” she repeated, angry tears streaking her face. “Whatever, whoever, you are–stop.”
Mal raised his hand and ran his thumb across his fingers. His eyes saddened, still on the blood coming from her wrist. “I did that.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a fearful and gut wrenching realization.
He didn’t look away from the wound.
His eyes flickered like an igniting green fire, the color deepening rapidly. His head rolled back, and Maeve prepared herself for another switch.
She pointed two fingers at him and fired. His shield slammed up as she dove into his mind, successfully distracting him for just a fleeting moment.
Darkness consumed her, dripping in bloody black nothingness all around her.
“You will not take him from me,” she said boldly.
I already have , replied the voice from Mount Morte.
Deadly Magic swirled around her. The doorway slipped open like it always did. Maeve took a steadying breath. . .and jumped.
A grey room with wet dripping stones misted before her.
“Judyth,” a wretched voice snapped.
A child with skin paler than snow, and hair whiter than ice, looked up. Her pale eyes were covered in thick, transparent lashes.
The young beauty did not respond.
Smack.
She barely recoiled as the back of the wretched woman’s hand collided with her face. The hit knocked her sideways, the chains and cuffs binding her wrists and ankles clattered as she fell.
Metal on metal reverberated in Maeve’s ears, changing the scene completely.
Smoke plumed into the sky from piles of ash. Bodies lay scattered, fresh with still bleeding wounds.
Metal scraped against metal with a slithering sound.
The child was older, a woman now. The albino woman that haunted her dreams and was painted in the library mural stood in beautiful white clothes. The Dread Crown sat woven between braids of curled pale hair, cascading down to her radiant skin.
She pointed a sword at Reeve. Not just any sword.
His sword. The one the Bellator fawned over and always hung at his side.
She smiled. It was entrancing.
“Hello, Reeve of Aterna.”
Reeve’s head lowered with vengeful eyes. Blood and dirt coated his face as he sucked in shallow breaths. “Shadow.”
Maeve’s heart slammed to a stop.
Shadow laughed. “A generous term of affection. I must say what an even more generous sight,” remarked Shadow. “The heir on his knees. Too weak to even stand.”
Reeve’s chest compressed. Blood splattered from his mouth in a suppressed cough.
She vanished and reappeared behind him, placing the large blade at his throat.
The Magic that pulsed from Shadow set Maeve’s skin crawling with terror. Her blood screamed and begged for her to escape.
She pulled herself from Mal’s mind with a heavy blink, her stomach flipping at the sudden release of such potent Magic.
Mal shifted uneasily on his feet and covered his mouth.
“My potions,” muttered Mal as he yanked open draws, flinging their contents behind him.
“Mal,” said Maeve.
He slammed open the door of the armoire and ripped his suits and cloaks from their hangers, frantically rummaging through the pockets.
“I have to have them-I-I-” he stammered.
Maeve crossed towards him and attempted to take his hands.
He whipped away from her and moved towards the bed. He swung his arm across the bedside table, sending numerous empty potions bottles shattering to the floor.
“Mal, please,” she started, her voice cracking.
He growled in frustration and whipped around towards her. His breathing was heavy and his stare intense.
Maeve kept her arms calm at her side. “Please, Mal,” she said as her throat tightened. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to free you from this wicked curse.”
His eyes narrowed. His chest rose and fell with haste and a scowl moved across lips. “I cannot be saved, Maeve. You should run. You should take Maxius–”
Her insides twisted. She stepped towards him as a hiss of warning escaped his mouth. Maeve halted at once.
“No,” she said, with a slow shake of her head. “I can save you.”
Mal laughed, kicking his head back madly. “Save me? This is your doing!”
The door slammed open, ripping from its place in the wall. It clattered to the floor with a bang. Astrea stood barely ten steps away on the other side of the threshold. The potion in her hand flew across the room and into Mal’s outstretched hand. The glass stopper disappeared, and he downed the swirling contents at once. His eyelids drooped and his jaw relaxed. He stumbled and braced himself on the post of his bed frame.
He looked up at Maeve one more time before falling sideways onto the plush bed.
Astrea stepped calmly into the room.
Magic swelled up through Maeve, all the way from her toes to her chest. The tightness in her throat exploded with a furious cry. Warmth filled her cheeks and her eyes squeezed close.
She ran her hands over her face. Her warm tears streaked the backs of her fingers. When she looked up, Astrea was sliding Mal’s dangling legs onto the bed. She propped his head on the feathered pillows and pulled the duvet around him.
“That potion should kill him,” Astrea said under her breath. “But it doesn’t. And he keeps telling me to make them stronger and stronger. I fear I will run out of ways to sedate him.”
Astrea looked down at her sworn Prince with a tight expression.
Maeve steadied her breathing and moved towards what remained of the door. “Come. We need to talk.”