Chapter 4
The corridor was dimly lit at Blackstone as Maeve slipped off her heels in the foyer, home at last. Her bare feet padded against the cool, dark tile in silent solitude. Alphard remained at Castle Morana with Roswyn, though Maeve elected to return home the first chance she got.
She could feel Maxius’ slow flicker of Magic where he slept a floor above her. Her thoughts lingered on Malachite’s words, on his remarks about her son.
A single finger. Maxius’ use of a single finger, though it had only happened once, was truly remarkable, as the Prince stated. But it mattered little when controlling even the smallest bit of his Magic was out of his reach a majority of the time.
She rounded the corner to the kitchen. With a soft snap of her fingers, the firelights illuminated the space.
“Enjoy your dance, cousin?”
Abraxas leaned against the center counter, a cigarette between his fingers.
“Don’t smoke that in my house,” she replied, moving towards the teacup cabinet without answering his nosy question.
Abraxas put out the tip of his cigarette with his free hand, and it disappeared. “At least offer me a drink then.”
“You’ve never needed permission to make yourself at home before,” she remarked, grabbing the tea bag she wanted.
Abraxas leaned over the counter, propping his chin on both his hands. Maeve endured the silence between them with ease, knowing Abraxas was squirming behind her. She continued to prepare her tea and then joined him at the counter.
“Did you have a good evening, cousin?” she asked, blowing across her hot tea.
“You know,” he replied, leaning towards her. “I know about every single thing that Mal wants. Needs. Plans. Everything. So imagine my surprise when I look across the ballroom and see him dancing with my cousin, having such a private conversation that I know nothing about.”
“The Prince isn’t allowed to dance with his subjects?”
Abraxas’ eyes narrowed, true frustration showing through on his face.
“Did you see him dancing with a singular other subject? Have you ever seen him dance with a single subject?”
“I haven’t seen him do anything, Brax. I haven’t seen him in years. What are you obsessing about?”
His fingers drummed against the counter. “No gloves,” he remarked.
“What relevance is that?”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw him without them.”
Maeve brushed off the thought and suppressed the shiver that threatened to run down her spine, recalling the feeling of his fingers on her spine as he held her in place. . .his smooth, cool fingers wrapped around her own. . . his—
“He wants something from you. And didn’t run it by me,” said Abraxas, yanking her from her thoughts.
“Aww,” said Maeve with mock pity. “That must be so hard.”
Abraxas pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket with an exasperated sigh.
“No,” said Maeve sharply. “You’re not smoking that in here.”
Abraxas groaned as his head fell dramatically onto the counter between them. “I wanted his return to be perfect,” he muttered.
“And it was,” she replied calmly, bringing the teacup to her lips and taking a hesitant sip. “The entire evening was wonderful. Can’t you feel the Magic that has already shifted here at his return?”
Abraxas’ head rolled against the counter in a dramatic display. “What did he want from you?”
“That’s none of your business, Brax,” said Maeve gently.
His head shot up as he pouted at her. Maeve laughed.
“Pathetic,” she said with a smile.
“Alphard will be furious if you get involved in this war,” he said. “Rightfully so. There’s no reason you need to be—”
“Don’t try and make your curiosity about my well-being.”
“Can’t it be both?”
Maeve shook her head at him in disbelief and sipped on her tea. “When this cup runs out, I’m going to bed, Brax.”
“No,” he whined, as she was nearly done.
She tilted her head back and drank the remaining tea.
Abraxas sighed and stood from the counter. “I’m going to use your fire,” he said, relenting that she wasn’t going to give him the information he wanted.
“Goodnight, Abraxas,” said Maeve sweetly.
He waved her off without a glance and headed for the fire.
Maeve took the back set of stairs from the kitchen, climbing higher into the house to check on Maxius before going to bed.
She pressed open the door to his room gently, ensuring he wouldn’t wake.
He slept soundly on the bed, his lips parted slightly through even breaths.
The covers around his legs moved, and Spinel appeared between the draping fabric.
He jumped from the bed, dropping into a quick stretch before trotting across the room.
He rubbed against her legs, purring heavily.
Maeve pushed off the doorframe and continued through the house.
Spinel stayed in step with her up the curved stairs onto the third floor.
Maeve stopped short as she turned down the hallway to her bedroom.
A soft green glow illuminated the hallway from the slim crack in the open door, spilling from the bedroom and onto the deep mahogany floors. Spinel meowed and continued forward without her, slipping in the small opening of the doorway and disappearing into the glow.
Maeve followed the black cat and, with a gentle wave of her hand, opened the bedroom door. The soft green light narrowed down to one point in her room: her vanity. Maeve raised two fingers.
Spinel rubbed against the legs of the vanity, meowing loudly, his wide-set eyes glowing and refracting green. She twisted her two fingers, and the drawer popped open, flooding the bedroom in green Magic.
Spinel jumped on the vanity silently and peered over into the open drawer.
Maeve stepped hesitantly across the room and picked Spinel up. She held him close as they peered into the drawer together. The soft green glow resonated from the small scrap of parchment she couldn’t part with. The same one on which she’d written: Why does this strange bit of parchment call to me?
The words she had written were gone, replaced with a sentence she did not write, in a handwriting that was not her own.
Perhaps for the same reason it calls to me.
Her jaw fell open. Spinel meowed once and jumped from her arms. She picked up the piece of parchment as the words vanished. The handwriting was unfamiliar, jagged, but elegant, script.
Maeve grabbed a nearby quill and dipped it in the ink well, ready with a response, as a cold trickle of Magic swept down her spine. Her connection to the spell on this unknown strip of paper intensified, validating her affection for it. She wrote the words with confidence.
Who are you?
Maeve waited only a moment, and her letters vanished. New ones appeared that glowed bright green, in that same elegant script.
I would ask you the same.
The words disappeared as Maeve read them. She steadied her breathing and wrote back once more.
I did not make this Magic. Did you?
Her words vanished, and a reply came back at once. Soon, she and her unknown pen pal were writing back and forth at a rapid pace.
I believe so.
You can’t tell me anything else?
What else is there to tell?
So you know nothing of this parchment?
Nothing that could be true.
The words were like a stab to the gut. She spent so many nights hearing those words from Alphard in response to her “episodes.”
Maeve, none of that is real. Maeve, that isn’t true. Maeve, that never happened. . .
Magic cracked tightly across her mind as her fingers touched the parchment once more.
The sensation was familiar. One she associated with feeling the word no one ever dared utter about her, despite the things she saw.
Despite how certain she was at times that the visions, the reality her mind showed her, was real.
Insane.
She was insane.
She set down her quill as the ink vanished and stepped back from the vanity. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t do this to myself.”
Another reply appeared, the script unhurried and beautiful.
You shouldn’t question what’s right in front of you.
Alphard’s Magic entered the house nearby. She felt each step he took towards the bedroom. She slammed the vanity drawer closed and turned away just as he appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support.
“You’re in a state,” said Maeve cooly.
Alphard smiled at her. “A night worth celebrating. You know how Roswyn likes to celebrate.”
“I can smell how Roswyn likes to celebrate from here,” she replied.
Alphard watched her as she removed her jewelry and began unwinding her hair.
“You should be careful with him.” Alphard’s voice was low.
“Surely you aren’t talking about your sworn Prince. Whom you slaughter and claim land willingly for?” Her eyes met his in the mirror. “Save me the lecture.”
“Then you know exactly how serious I am.”
He pushed off the door and closed it behind him with a flick of his wrist. He crossed the room, and Maeve turned towards him. She placed her hand on his chest, preventing him from coming any closer.
“I don’t need you to treat me like I’m a child,” she said softly, looking up at him.
Alphard raised his right hand, where a faint line of scarred Magic ran across his palm, and held it on display for her.
“I swore to protect you,” was all he said.
Maeve studied the scar on his hand, a memory of Antony surfacing. His blue eyes, eyes she lacked, that matched the stone in the ring each of the Sinclair children had been gifted by their father—her father’s eyes as blood poured from them—
“Hey,” he said gently, warmth flooding into his tone.
Maeve’s eyes slammed closed. With a single breath, she opened them once more and looked up at him.
“Thank you for your concern. I’ll be careful.”
Alphard nodded and moved his hand to rest over hers, where it still lay flat against his chest. He ran his fingers along hers, his expression shifting to a faraway thought.
Maeve hadn’t missed how his gaze lingered all evening on one woman.
“I know,” continued Maeve. “I know you wish she were yours to dance with all evening.”
Victoria Damario had been Alphard’s before his engagement to Maeve. And in private, she was still his now. Though his moments with her were few and far between.
Alphard looked down at her. “Does our arrangement still suit you?”
“Yes,” she assured him. “You’re free to do as you please. And so am I.”
“I don’t see you doing much that pleases you.”
Maeve made a noise of disapproval. “I’m picky.”
Alphard laughed, his fingers constricting around hers. Maeve’s breath caught, her mind racing back to Malachite’s hands on her own. How even such reserved touches left her wanting them again.
“I guess I should feel honored then,” he said, his free hand finding her hip and tugging her closer.
She didn’t pull away from him as his lips found hers. Nor when he guided her backwards towards the bed. She allowed her mind to slip to thoughts of another as they pleasured one another. And she was certain Alphard did the same as he took her.