Chapter 11
Mal returned to Blackstone each day. Each day, he watched Maxius. Taught him a training exercise. Encouraged him. And each day, Maxius failed to truly perform the way Mal instructed him to. Frustration never developed on the Prince’s face, though it was prominent on Maxius’.
Maeve watched them each day. She couldn’t find it within her to deny Maxius the potential to find his power.
She couldn’t deny Mal his request to be near the boy.
Not that it had been a request. She wondered if he’d ever command her to lower the shields around Maxius’ mind.
It wouldn’t matter if he did. She had already made up her mind where that was concerned.
And the answer was no.
She watched as her son’s anger piled up with each failure.
A visual reminder of why she never pushed him.
She remained silent as he blew out the windows, the glass shelves, the picture frames, the vases, and the firelight fixtures.
Mal watched with unmatched patience as his Magic never manifested much more than violent and uncontrolled destruction in a close vicinity.
When their lesson ended, Maeve left the shattered mess. She’d mend it all later, not in front of Maxius. Her son turned sharply and made for the stairs.
“You need to eat something,” she stated calmly, standing and heading towards the kitchen without acknowledging Mal.
I don’t want to, he signed, not looking at her. I want to go to bed.
“You’ll feel better if you eat even something small, love.”
Maxius shook his head, his scowl never softening. She reached for his hair as she moved past him, the gesture familiar. He swatted her away with a sharp hit. Residual Magic from his outburst trickled into her skin like tiny flecks of ice.
“Maxius,” said Mal, his voice cool and low.
The boy’s eyes shot to him as he swallowed hard. They stared at one another. Maxius, with his heavy and frustrated breaths, and Mal, with his unsettling emotionless control.
“You’re working hard,” said Mal. “That requires you to eat.”
I’m just failing, signed Maxius, his movements fast and sharp. Like always.
Only then did Maeve see the tears swelling along the bottom of his eyes. Her lips parted. Mal spoke before she could offer him reassurance or comfort.
“Failure,” said Mal, his eyes locked with Maxius’ glassy ones, “is the only path to success.”
Maxius’ lips quivered. His fingers balled into fists at his side.
“Breathe,” said Mal, his tone soft.
So soft it made Maeve’s chest ache.
But Maxius did. He breathed. And his tiny fists uncurled at his sides. He swallowed, and by the fourth breath, his eyes were dry.
“What if,” came Zimsy’s voice as she rounded the corner, dressed in a thick coat, a fuzzy head wrap, and gloves, “we went to your favorite restaurant in the Beryl City?”
Maxius ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at Zimsy. She already had his coat and hat draped over her arm. His breathing began to settle.
“I’ll come with you,” said Maeve.
“You’ve been hogging him for weeks,” said Zimsy. “This will be just Maxius and Aunt Zim time, hmm?” She smiled down at him again as Maxius took his coat from her and slid his arms in the sleeves.
“Thank you,” Maeve mouthed to her, acknowledging that he needed space, and happy she had such a friend she trusted him with.
Zimsy took his small hand in hers, and they left. Maeve turned towards Mal. His eyes followed Maxius until the pair vanished from sight.
“Do you have to push him so hard?” she fired immediately.
Mal nearly rolled his eyes. “If you think this is me pushing him hard, I’d encourage you to prepare yourself.”
“And if I say he’s done with this? That you’re done coming here?”
“Then the command won’t come as some trivial power play as your Prince that I know you don’t respect. It will come in full demand of my strength versus yours.”
She angled her head to the side. “Did you send Alphard to the front lines so that you could step in this way without hindrance?”
Something between a laugh and a scoff hummed through him. “As if he could hinder me.”
“Could I?”
Mal’s expression shifted, suddenly interested.
“I don’t know. Could you? Have you performed Magic in the last year beyond lighting all these pretty candles and the occasional Obscuring?
Or maybe you can change the color of the drapes?
It must be so hard playing the role of the oppressed housewife with all that Magic crawling under your skin unused.
It’s unfathomable how you can stand it.”
“You’re awful,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’ve been so compliant, so silent—”
“Then speak up,” he hissed, his eyes turning wild and the mask fading. “You think I push you so you remain soft?”
“What does it matter?” she said dully. “If he is yours, then who am I to deny you your son? I’ve accepted that truth. But why must you drag my dignity into this? What does my Magic matter?”
Mal’s eyes searched hers with a look of disbelief. Then his expression twisted, understanding washing over his features. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice full of realization. “You think all this is only about Maxius.”
“Isn’t it?” she pressed.
Disappointment flashed in the way his eyes narrowed.
Then a different resolve settled into his expression.
He stepped towards her, and she didn’t dare step back.
He peeled the glove from his right hand with such predatory grace that her tongue slid across her bottom lip without a thought.
Another step closer, and his left glove was off.
He was going to touch her.
He held out his hand expectantly. She was hesitant to trust him again, to let their skin make contact after the last time he’d forced her to see such forgotten things. But the pull was strong. A flicker of Magic at her core asked sweetly to feel his skin on hers again. It yearned for his attention.
She looked from his hand back up to his face.
“Aren’t you at all curious what once was between us?” his silky smooth voice hummed.
She shook her head, but her fingers brushed his, submitting to his beckoning call, and her eyes dipped down to his lips.
His fingers curled beneath hers, and his elbow retracted slowly, forcing her to yield a step towards him.
His free hand found her front, knuckles brushing up her waist. His fingers unfurled, snaking across her back until he had her wrapped fully.
Their chests pressed together in forced intimacy as he closed in on her, never releasing her back. He tugged her impossibly closer, pulling her to the tips of her toes as his nose brushed down over hers.
She tried, but failed to conceal the small gasp that slipped from her at the contact. At his cool breath on her lips. Close enough, she could claim them. Close enough for his to claim hers.
“Are you that starved?” he asked, his voice low.
She refused to answer. Refused to give him the satisfaction of a clever response. The truth gnawed at her. The desire to taste him, to know what his slender fingers would feel like tracing across her thighs, to hear both his praise and his degradation, bubbled up inside her.
Foolish thoughts.
“You don’t think about it?” he hummed, inhaling slowly as his head dipped and his nose brushed behind her ear. “Don’t you wonder what it was between us that created a life?”
“No,” she said, hearing the lie in her own voice.
His cool lips brushed across her ear, and a surrendering moan spilled from her throat.
“Is it just me you feel so compelled to lie to?” An amused hum vibrated up his throat.
His grip tightened with bruising force, causing her to suck in sharply.
Magic pulsed from his palms and fingers, each flicker growing hungrier.
Deadlier. “I’m curious.” His hand moved lower on her back, his fingers ghosting across her skin.
“I think about it.” Her eyes fluttered to a close.
“I can admit I wish I remembered what drove me to find completion inside you.”
Maeve whimpered at the words, warmth rolling across her core, buried between her legs.
Why? Why didn’t she remember?
“One thing you can be certain of, Maeve, is that we are in this together.”
His words were both a threat and a promise as his power pressed down on her like a blanket from all angles. Heavy and oppressive.
He let go of her hand, his fingers slipping across her scalp and carding through her hair as he pulled his face back, taking in her expression. She opened her eyes and looked up at him through heavy lids, fighting off the dizzy heat rolling through her.
“Much better,” said Mal as he observed her with a frown that somehow suited him. His fingers twisted at the base of her neck, gathering her hair and angling her head up at him.
Maeve’s teeth ground together. “What are you doing?”
Mal’s frown deepened. “Breaking you.”
He flicked her forehead faster than she could register.
The living room at Blackstone disappeared, replaced by utter darkness.
A void. The vision didn’t slam into view.
It crept up slowly, manifesting in soft plumes of Magic and filling the space around her.
Glittering gowns and massive emerald green banners whispered into view as she was forced to watch the scene unfold.
The Throne Room at Castle Morana.
She spotted herself immediately. Bright-blue eyes that felt right and real, that were in keeping with her father’s. With her siblings.
Mal, no scar running across his face, with The Dread Crown atop his head, smiled down at Maeve, where the fanged serpent pin Roswyn now wore gleamed on her chest. She wore pants and boots, and a long coat that matched his set.
Combat attire that still held every ounce of the femininity and beauty she loved in a gown.
Maeve felt a twist in her chest as she watched herself. “I was your second.” It was partially a question, her voice dampened, hardly moving anywhere across the vision. . .the memory.