The Dread King (The Dread Descendant #3)

Prologue

It had been quite some time since Lithandrian had been to Crystalmore and visited Reeve.

Despite her Elven pride and pious nature as a long reigning Queen, even she couldn’t deny its marvel.

She’d even bestowed him a quick compliment.

The palace of gleaming crystal and Magic held Lithandrian’s attention as Mal stood at her side, introducing her to Magicals whose names Reeve hadn’t bothered to learn.

The Immortals in attendance were just as elated to see the Elven Queen and her husband as the Magicals were. The duels being hosted in Aterna were symbolic of something greater than had been seen in centuries: a Magical utopia.

If only all the fawning Magicals and Immortals knew just how close the table was to tipping.

Reeve didn’t need to know all the details of said tipping table. He took one look at Maeve where she stood, alone and distant from the rest, and knew hell was close to breaking free in this new “utopia." She watched Mal with heavy and worn eyes from the balcony.

No gown. She was fitted in her attire as Malachite’s Dread Viper. Reeve couldn’t deny she wore it well. She was born to be a symbol of power. The green cloak pinned by gold jewels at her shoulders flitted up in the breeze dancing across the water of the Black Deep behind her.

She did not look at him as he arrived at her side. Her arms remained folded across her chest as she watched Mal smile with nothing of the sort on her face.

“If you've come to mock me,” she said weakly, “I’d ask you to withhold your desire to toy with me.”

He continued to observe her silently for a moment. She looked like sleep was a foreign idea. He chose to believe the bloodshot nature of her eyes was a result of exhaustion and not tears.

“Your eyes are red and swollen. Perhaps you need to retire.”

Maeve still did not look at him. Her gaze remained on Malachite.

“Have you ever read Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” she asked, her voice nearly cracking.

Reeve’s chest tightened. “Maeve,” he began softly.

Too softly, because she looked up at him at last.

Her eyes begged for him to let it go. To just humor her, and not to care. And so he answered. “I’ve read it.”

She looked back across the party until her eyes were on Malachite once more. With a slow breath, she ran a gloved hand across her throat, her fingers tracing each line of dark Magic that ran through her veins.

Malachite’s Magic.

“I am always steps behind, wondering what version of him I will come upon,” she said.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. He wanted her to leave before she combusted and lost control of her emotions. From what he could feel, she was one wrong look away from those deadly fingers having a mind of their own.

“Do you think it’s wise that you attend the opening ceremony? You appear under duress.”

Maeve nodded as she looked up at him with a frown. “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?” she scoffed and laughed darkly. “There’s too much green in his eyes. If I leave, I’ll regret it later.”

Reeve’s insides twisted. “What?”

“If I leave—” she began to repeat herself, but that wasn’t at all what Reeve was interested in hearing again.

“No,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual. For there was nothing casual about the fearful Magic that slowly stepped down his spine. “What did you say before that?”

Maeve’s eyebrows pulled together.

“About his eyes?” Reeve pressed her further, but it was too late.

Her walls reformed at once, and she protected him as she always had.

“I didn’t say anything about his eyes,” she said, her face flat and emotionless.

He couldn’t even blame her for her well-placed mistrust. But he fucking hated it, nonetheless. He inhaled, long and slow, calming the rage that begged to lash out.

“Some advice,” he said at last, “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 fired back lowly.

He smiled. “A beautiful thing when used properly.”

He jerked his head towards the party. “Go,” he said gently. “Try to enjoy your evening.”

He tried to drown out their argument. He tried to keep his attention on forcing drinks on Abraxas and upping his bets on the duels.

He tried not to watch Maeve attempt to get away from Malachite across the hall.

She was smart to want to leave now, as he’d tried to get her to do prior to the ceremony starting.

Reeve knew he was right: she was on the verge of breaking.

No.

Malachite was on the verge of breaking her.

Ice, sharp and cruel, penetrated her skin where he gripped her. Reeve ignored that he felt every bit of it on his own forearm and kept his eyes off the pair.

“Backing down so easily?” Malachite said lowly, tormenting her further. “It’s a good thing Ambrose is dead and doesn’t have to see how fucking weak you’ve become.”

Reeve’s eyes whipped up to them. He nearly Obscured to Mal and buried his fist in his face at such disgusting words.

But he remained in control.

Maeve did not.

Something snapped inside her, and he felt what remained of her control shatter completely, just as he feared. Magic rushed down her arm as two deadly fingers snapped together with electric intentions. Green lightning danced across her knuckles as her furious eyes looked up at Malachite.

Laughter and conversation faded as tense whispers flitted around him.

The lively party music tapered off slowly until there was nothing but an uneasy silence. Crystalmore’s most talented cellists looked at the Dread Viper and her sworn Prince fearfully as the pair stared down one another.

The entire hall’s attention was on the glorified and romanticized deadly couple.

Maeve’s heart beat in a determined manner, and he felt her next breath would unleash all her, now untamed, fury. He could divert everyone’s attention or break the tension with a joke, but Reeve was rather tired of playing games.

And part of him wanted to watch her do it.

He wanted to see her on full display, showing the world just how worshiped she should be. Malachite may have worn the crown, but she was the one he’d willingly bow to if she ever grew the courage to take the power she was born with.

He wondered if she herself had forgotten her own spell—her own Magical handiwork that could make them all, even Mal, forget she’d attacked the Dread Prince himself. And then he realized. . .He felt it. . .

Part of her wanted to do it, too.

She’d regret it. It would make things harder on her than they already were. She was drowning in the waves of Malachite’s storm. So he’d stop her from making such a mistake, but selfishly it wouldn’t be at his own expense, covering for their reckless behavior with a joke or a deflection.

Because there was another way he could stop her from releasing the crackling lightning at her fingers. . .

Reeve knew it was wrong to be so selfish, to use the bond between them against her will.

But he no longer cared what was wrong when it came to her.

If she was going to fight him every step of the way, if they were going to bring their toxic Magic into his world, then he’d be damned if he continued to tiptoe around her feelings.

Even if it meant she hated him more for it. Another lie he’d told. Another deception. Ironic, he thought, that he was the one deceiving her mind.

Malachite’s chin lowered as his eyes sparkled with a green evil that still haunted Reeve’s dreams. He needed only one reminder of their color before he muttered, “Fuck it,” and tossed back the rest of his Aternian Absinthe.

Don’t, he said into Maeve’s mind.

He felt the shock drown out her Magic, as the green lightning threatening to explode from her fingers fizzled into nothing. She turned across the hall with wide eyes and her brows pulled together in horror.

He kept his face calm as he watched her arm fall limp to her side. He didn’t need to look at Malachite to know his far too green eyes had followed her gaze. Maeve’s mouth fell open slightly. An expression of pure disbelief plastered across her face.

Reeve lowered his chin. Don’t, he said again, ensuring she knew without a doubt it was indeed his voice in her head.

Her heartbeat skyrocketed at the confirmation. Reeve looked away from them as Malachite grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear.

“Primus, Merlin, and all Seven Realms,” hissed Abraxas, pouring himself another glass of Aternian Absinthe.

“Since when are they so at odds?” Whispered Drystan.

Abraxas made a horrible sound as he forced down the liquor and looked back at his cousin with sad, drunken eyes. With a sigh, he replied, “Since Uncle Ambrose.”

Mal’s voice echoed across the hall. “Fiercely loyal, this one.” He chuckled charmingly. “She thought I was in danger.”

The atmosphere shifted at once. Relief swept across the hall and Mal joined Lithandrian with a soft smile, leaving Maeve in the middle of the hall. Some even applauded her.

“Pour me another,” said Reeve with a laugh, plastering on a smile.

Eryx poured himself and Reeve drinks and toasted Abraxas. “You Magicals love drama.”

Reeve laughed and watched as Abraxas turned another shade lighter.

Maeve’s breathing barreled forward as she stared across the hall at him with rage he deserved, but didn’t have the ability to handle in the middle of a fucking party. He did not meet her gaze but spoke smoothly across her mind.

Stop staring at me and pull yourself together.

Abraxas watched her go with uneasy eyes that darted between her swift exit and where Malachite sat next to Lithandrian, watching the duels with relaxed amusement.

“Walk with me,” said Reeve.

Abraxas looked up at him and blinked heavily. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. He downed the contents in one gulp and braced himself on the bar with his head hanging low.