Chapter 13
Mal left her alone for longer than she could stand. And that was infuriating. Even as she traveled to Castle Morana, the hour late, she knew he wasn’t there.
“Maeve,” said Abraxas, genuine surprise in his voice as she entered the Hand’s study. Lyrux played on the floor beside his desk. He spotted Maeve, wobbling to a stand, and reached for her. “It’s late,” continued Abraxas. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Maeve bent and picked up the little blonde. His eyes were Juliet’s, but everything else in his small, round face would grow to look identical to Abraxas. “It’s past your bedtime, surely,” she said to him.
“You look rested,” noted Abraxas, setting down the papers he perused. “Better than last I saw you.”
Maeve didn’t comment. She slid into an expensive chair, settling herself and Lyrux back comfortably.
“Where is he?” Was all she asked.
She prepared herself for a snarky comment, but her cousin merely looked back down at his papers and softly cleared his throat.
“There will be an announcement within the week,” he began, “regarding the Elven lands and some adjustments to Mal’s title.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Abraxas smiled, not at her, but in the way she noticed he smiled at parties, when speaking to council members, or high-ranking Bellator. Abraxas didn’t reply. His eyes lifted to Lyrux, sprawled across her chest, drifting to sleep.
“He finally won then?” asked Maeve.
Abraxas’ voice was anything but gloating. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you sound happy?”
His eyes remained distant, thinking, calculating. “Because I am not certain the cost was worth it.”
“And what cost is that?”
Abraxas looked back down at his papers, his fingers running over the cream parchment, hesitating to speak the truth. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned back in his chair. “A Queen.”
If a heart could stop at two words, Maeve’s did. She deflected the nauseating pit that opened in her stomach. “He will take the title of King?”
Abraxas nodded. Silence settled between them.
She felt so foolish for ever having thought of him while Alphard was between her legs, for playing the image of his fingers ghosting across her face again and again.
His intentions were clear now. He’d merely wanted to make her vulnerable, like he said. He needed her guard down. Nothing more. His interest lay in his parentage with Maxius alone.
But. . .for the first time in what felt like ages, she trusted her Magic.
And she knew something deeper lingered between them.
“Who?” she asked at last.
Abraxas’ shoulder’s pulled up. “I’m not certain. She’s offered him her power in exchange for ruling beside him, and the glory for conquering the Elven Lands.”
“His ego agreed to that?” She scoffed, unable to hide the hurt in her voice.
“Mal doesn’t have many goals. There is only one goal. All the realms. Under his crown.” Abraxas looked up at her at last. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh,” he said, seeing through her at once as a grin split wide on his face. “I knew it, cousin.”
“Seal your lips, Brax,” said Maeve, her stomach rolling with unwanted energy.
Jealousy. It was pure jealousy.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he offered, his tone casual and confident.
“Does it even matter?” asked Maeve softly, her fingers winding through Lyrux’s soft locks. “It is but a dream,” she said softly. “One I will surely be denied.”
“Ambition propels him to her. But there is deeper Magic in you that calls to him. I can see it.” He paused. “I can feel it.”
Maeve laughed, a mixture of embarrassment and vulnerability. “You really do know everything.”
Abraxas bowed his head at her in thanks.
She shook her head and groaned. “Here I am, openly admitting I want another man, while my husband is off fighting a war.”
“Oh, please,” said Abraxas, his chin lowering. “He’s been home twice to see a certain redhead and didn’t even visit you.”
Abraxas knew it wouldn’t sting her, and it wasn’t said with the intention to. Maeve had known for quite some time that Alphard’s heart lay with another. She’d even suggested they part ways amicably, but Alphard insisted he couldn’t do that to Maxius.
She dreaded the day she’d have to tell him the truth. Maxius too. She’d been putting off the reality of it, at least until she and Mal had a better understanding of just how much of what they believed was a lie. The truth was a terrifying thought. The possibilities of what once was were many.
“When will he be back?” she asked, standing smoothly to hand off Lyrux to Abraxas.
“Soon, by dawn I imagine,” he replied, taking Lyrux in one arm and positioning his head on his shoulder.
Maeve bid her cousin goodnight and didn’t tell him she was headed for the Prince’s study.
There were no enchantments around the doors. No protective barrier to keep Mal’s study private. She wondered if that was because no one would dare invade his space, or if it was an invitation for her to. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment and taking in the large room.
Glass-covered shelves housed everything from books to vials, all organized and labeled. She crossed the study, observing each shelf. Some of them were filled to the ceiling with dark objects that pulsed with Magic. None of it compared to Mal’s. She’d never felt something so paramount and consuming.
She couldn’t imagine a force greater.
She stopped before an entire cabinet of pages.
Worn and blank. Curiosity got the better of her.
She pulled open the glass doors gently with a wave of her palm.
As she sifted through the various pieces of parchment, she confirmed they were truly all empty.
Hundreds of pages, stacked in the cabinet with nothing on them.
Thunk.
Her heart stilled at the sound from behind her. Turning, she saw the firelight on Mal’s desk was now aglow, casting light onto the only object sitting on the oversized piece of furniture.
The ring she’d seen on his finger, The Dread Ring, she knew it to be called, sat at the center of his desk like an offering. The dark stone of the ring appeared almost molten against the small and enchanted flame that sat on his desk.
She shifted her own ring, the one her father had given her, with her thumb, as the unavoidable feeling that The Dread Ring too belonged on her finger thrummed through her.
She yielded a step to the thought.
It couldn’t hurt just to try it on. Just to feel even a flicker of him through the Magic that resonated from the stone. Maybe then she could let the notion of him rest.
A lie. There were times when his stoic gaze was on her that she could swear he was running through her very veins.
Another step closer to the ring.
No one else has fucked you, Maeve, because you know they’d never be crawling through your skin like I am.
She stalled, a heavy curse stinging from her lips as his voice, a memory buried deep, sliced across her mind. Her fingers were steady as they brushed down her neck, hovering over the black inky veins she’d been scarred with.
Another step, and she stood above the Dread Ring. It hummed with Magic, his Magic and ancient Magic all mixed into one. She stared at it until its pulse was one with hers. Her fingers hovered above the skulls holding the dark stone in place.
No one else has fucked you, Maeve, because you know they’d never be crawling through your skin like I am.
No one else had touched her when those words were said. The venom in his voice as she begged it to play again and again in her mind was just as intoxicating as the words themselves.
The implications.
She hadn’t even realized her fingers touched down on the Dread Ring until her head shot back, her eyes rolling with it.
Consequence be dammed, she gripped the ring fully, sliding it onto her finger with a breathy exhale.
It fit perfectly. Maeve smiled at the triumph.
Wicked thoughts flooded her mind. She couldn’t tell where surfacing memories ended, and where new ideas began.
It didn’t matter; they were all centered around one singular desire: Mal’s body with hers.
A bright green glow interrupted her fantasy. The cabinet with hundreds of blank pieces of parchment illuminated the study with heavenly green light. She crossed back towards it, and this time, the cabinet opened for her.
Black ink filled each sheet in hasty script, until the words they held were fully visible to her.
She hadn’t even made it through all of the papers, all of the endless scrolls of parchment, when Mal stood before her in the darkened study, silent, and not questioning why she was seated behind his desk.
The Dread Ring remained on her finger.
He ran an exhausted hand across his face. He was thinner. His skin was pale. So pale the deep purples of his veins were stark against his skin, exposed by his rolled back sleeves. Beneath his eyes were shadows.
“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he said.
“What are these?” she asked without hesitation.
He stopped and surveyed her. His expression changed. He crossed the space between them and didn’t touch the stack of letters piled on the desk.
“You went through my things?”
She could feel the tether on his temper go taut.
“There are no dates,” she continued, ignoring his question. “Only endless ramblings and paragraphs of years’ worth of writings. Years of you apologizing to me. Years of your regrets listed again and again.”
“Maeve—”
His voice was nothing but a warning. She didn’t heed it.
She picked up one of the letters and read it aloud.
“‘If you will not save Maeve, deliver her from this darkness. It is I who cannot be saved. It is I who cannot be saved’.” She set it aside and read another one.
“‘Something that is buried deep in one who is not mine calls to me. She breathes across the room and my pulse rushes’.” Maeve looked up at him.
“What is it that haunts you? Even now, I feel its ever-present gaze.”
Mal’s voice shook with breaking control, “Maeve, stop—”