Chapter 64
Ambrose had been the first to bow and swear his allegiance and his army of Magical Militia to their new Dread Prince.
Mal didn’t break their grasp. He looked across at Ambrose reverently. His eyes glassed over, and when Maeve looked to her father, she realized his eyes were the same.
They stared at one another with what Maeve could only describe as… love.
Pride swelled in her chest.
“Premier Sinclair,” said Mal.
Ambrose’s grip tightened. “My Prince.”
The hall burst into applause.
The throne room at Castle Morana transformed into a reception hall. Long tables of food and refreshments and more liquor than could possibly be consumed lined the hall. Music played serenely across the hall.
Mal pulled forth the Dread Goblet and presented it to Ambrose.
“A gift,” said Mal. “For your allegiance and dedication to my cause.”
Ambrose took a hefty exhale. He hesitated to grasp the goblet’s serpent handles.
“Bring us some wine,” called Ambrose. He looked up at Mal. “Our new Prince deserves a toast.”
The wine was poured. Floating trays of glittering goblets delivered them around the hall. Ambrose stepped onto the stairs of the throne and raised the Dread Goblet high.
“A toast! To the new age of Magic, to the end of living in the shadows and hiding from the world. To our Savior and his Viper, my darling daughter. I knew from the moment the pair of you stepped into my home that this day was soon to come barreling forward.”
There were a few clamors of excitement. Maeve and Mal locked eyes. That new Magic slipped from him, taunting her with every breath he took, filling his eyes with otherworldly implications.
“To the Dread Prince!” Cheered Ambrose. “May your reign be true!”
Ambrose raised the goblet to his lips, and everyone followed suit. Light conversation began flitting through the room. Ambrose stepped past Maeve and clapped her shoulder, heading towards her Mother and Arianna.
Maeve watched as each magical came, desperate to grasp Mal’s arm, to feel some of that divine violence resonating from him. He smiled at all of them with unbeatable charm.
Abraxas was already playing the game. He was in deep conversation with King Kier.
Maeve placed her glass of wine on a floating tray.
An unsettling feeling slipped into her spine. She ran her thumb across her fingers and then slowly flexed them. There was an unfamiliar magic in the room. Her eyes moved slowly to Mal.
He was fine. His magic at rest.
She followed the feeling. Unfamiliar- no.
Wrong-yes.
She looked across the hall and hit her mark.
Ambrose lifted the Dread Goblet to his lips once more.
Maeve’s whole body went cold.
“Daddy-” she started, but he didn’t hear her over the music and the crowd.
He coughed.
“Daddy!” She shouted as she pushed through the guests.
Ambrose brought the Dread Goblet to his lips, drinking quickly, in an attempt to satiate his coughs.
Alphard’s father whipped his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Ambrose. Her father coughed into the bright white cloth.
Red spattered through the fabric instantly.
“Irma!” Screamed Mr. Mavros as Maeve broke through the crowd to him.
Ambrose faltered. The goblet fell from his fingers. Maeve didn’t hear it clatter on the emerald and silver floor.
She gripped his shoulders and forced his gaze to her. He took her down to the floor with him. Something sinister slithered through his body, its power hot and lethal.
Blood slipped from the corners of his eyes.
From his nose.
From his ears.
Irma was at Maeve’s side, her hands over his face, which was turning a yellow shade of sickness. Bright red lines shot from his lips, spreading across his cheeks.
Ambrose’s eyes went black. Empty.
Then the whole world stopped.
And he collapsed forwards into Maeve’s arms.
Maeve’s frantic eyes looked to Irma. She was ghostly white, her shaking hands still raised before her.
Ambrose was limp against her. His body cold as ice. Maeve moved her hands to the back of his head, cradling him, feeling for his magic. He didn’t blink. He didn’t meet her eyes. He stared past her at the ceiling with collapsed black eyes.
She found no heartbeat. No magic flowing from him.
Maeve’s eyes burned. Her chest tightened. Pressure built up in the back of her jaw.
Arianna appeared before her. Her knees slammed to the floor. Her hands moved to hold their father’s face. His head was limp in her hands between them.
“No,” cried Ariana, tears spilling onto her face. “No, you can’t.” She was shaking Ambrose’s shoulders now, desperately attempting to wake him. “You can’t, you can’t,” she cried, touching his face again.
She continued to beg her father to wake.
The room was terrifyingly silent, save for Ariann’s sobs. Her voiced bounced high into the hall, echoing across the room. No one moved away. No one stepped forward. They kept their distance, creating a large circle around the Sinclair sisters and their father.
Maeve’s heart was slow and steady. But something electric and deep in her began to swell. It was barreling forward like a hundred year storm.
Maeve tore her eyes away from where her father’s cold dead body lay in her arms. And looked to Mal.
He was a few feet away. His arms limp at his sides. His eyes wide and his mouth hung slightly open. Pure horror plastered across his beautiful face as he looked at Ambrose.
More electricity rushed through her.
Mal’s eyes darted to Maeve as he realized-
He stepped towards her with one long outstretched arm. But it was too late.
Magic, uncontrolled and unyielding, shattered through her. She sucked in a sharp breath as darkness erupted from her.