Chapter 13 #2
Maeve ignored him, continuing to read his entry. “‘Dark hair, blazing blue eyes. Skin, smooth and warm. The darkness has her eyes, but she is cold and her hair is white’.” Maeve slammed the paper down and looked up at him. “You know more than you have told me.”
“I do,” he seethed, that temper a breath away from shattering.
“Then why are you keeping me in the dark?”
Mal drew the breath in, and shatter it did.
“Because we both know it was you who did this!”
Maeve swallowed. Mal continued.
“And I have yet to determine if you did it with my consent or not.”
Maeve fell still, suddenly aware of the dangerous Magic pressing down on her.
“Why didn’t you tell me from the start?” she offered softly.
“There is Magic holding my tongue, and you are lucky it allows me to speak to you at all.”
“That Magic I felt here before? The darkness you refer to in these writings? The one that caused your eyes to burn green and your skin to—”
“Enough,” he said, his eyes closing. A hand brushed across his face in exhaustion.
“No,” argued Maeve calmly. With the slightest shake of her head, she refused to back down. “You dragged my baby boy into this. You will not put his life in danger.”
Mal’s hand dropped. That frown that somehow made him more enticing was directed fully at her. “Our.”
“What?” she snapped softly.
His chest rose.
Up.
“Our son.”
Down.
His Magic withdrew, no longer looming threateningly over her.
“Again,” he said hollowly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She leaned forward in his chair. A blatant challenge. “Why, the moment you read these,” her fingers danced over the piles of letters, “didn’t you come to me?”
“Because until recently, they were blank. We’ve been under a spell for far too long, Maeve.”
She relaxed at his words, at some tiny shred of honesty at last. And so she offered him some in return.
“I want to break this spell of lies.”
Mal didn’t move towards her. He remained planted on the other side of the massive desk.
“I’ve searched the Dread Spellbook. I’ve searched every writing on memory charms, spells that ensnare the mind, and nothing ever comes close to even touching on what this is.
The Library here, the library at Vaukore. There is nothing.”
“If I did this,” she said hesitantly, eager not to anger him again, “then why was it you who felt it breaking before me?”
“Those damn potions,” he drawled, as though it was obvious.
Maeve nodded softly, looking back down at the letters.
“Could these be a trick as well?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“You are far too clever to believe that.”
The Dread Ring pulsed on her finger as though it begged her to feel every dark and intimate moment of their past again.
“And how would you know anything of my cleverness?” she fired back softly, brows flicking upward.
His slender fingers traced across the desktop between them absentmindedly. The motion made her stomach tight.
His voice was velvet. “You are in the dead blooms of hydrangea in the gardens. Your scent lingers in my chamber bed. In the Entrance Hall, I taste blood, and I know it is yours. I know little of you, and yet I know that you are mine.”
The words slammed into her like a physical blow.
The room darkened, shadowing everything but him. In a mist of black Magic, he stood beside her, his glistening eyes locked on her. Magic swirled under her chin, pulling her towards him. Only then did she realize there were small flecks of deep brown in them.
“You know that too,” he said lowly. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t have the luxury of believing what I feel.”
Mal’s fingers reached out, gently tapping along her temple. “You are of sound mind, Maeve.”
The magnetic pull between them intensified, pulling her towards him from where she sat.
“What does it matter? I hear rumor that another is to be crowned your Queen,” she said.
Mal’s eyes traced over her face meticulously before he said, “And yet. . .I crave you. I do not want her.”
His eyes widened as their green color darkened and the small trace of brown vanished. Magic barreled up around them. He turned from her, falling, and braced his hands on the desk with a loud slam.
His shield of Magic slammed around her before she could conjure one of her own. She stood from the desk and stepped back carefully, placing distance between herself and the sudden darkness.
Mal’s head hung. The firelights in the room flickered. The darkened state around them that had previously enticed her, drawn her to him, slowly morphed into something unwelcome.
He stumbled slightly, placing himself on the opposite side of the desk once more. He did not look back at her as he commanded her with a strained voice. “Go.”
She disobeyed.
She sent her Magic out, feeling that new darkness, assessing its threat. Her Magic hissed through her veins with fearful warning.
Maeve crossed back towards the desk with careful steps. He turned and he looked up at her with heavy eyes, still bracing himself. Eyes that were now swimming in new shades of green. “I told you to leave.”
She placed her hands on the smooth wood between them and took a steadying breath. “If my Prince commands it, I will go. But if Mal would have me stay. . .”
She saw it then: the conflict reflected in his eyes as the green in them fought for dominance.
“She is here, isn’t she?” asked Maeve quietly. “The one you are meant to marry? The one who offered you victory in the Elven Lands in exchange for a queen’s title?”
Mal did not look away from her. “Sharp as a thorn, you are, at last. Freeing your Magic was worth your animosity.” He turned towards her fully. He contemplated his next words and finally said, “Part of her is always with me.”
Maeve nodded and leaned over the desk. The darkness seeping through the walls buzzed in threatening disapproval.
“You should fear her,” he said, his voice slipping in and out of control. “If you only knew. . .”
Maeve’s head dipped to one side, observing him. “Fear is the absence of Magic.”
She pressed her palms into the desk and closed the space between them, locking her lips on his.
His body tensed as Magic skyrocketed around them. His hands grabbed her face instantly and pulled away, as if burned. Maeve melted into the feeling of his skin on hers.
The green in his eyes flickered and dimmed. Warm tones of brown swirled to the surface. Maeve smiled triumphantly, with no understanding of just how deadly the Magic she challenged was.
How with just a kiss, she had broken her own forgotten promise to that darkness.
Mal’s hands dropped, fear prevalent across his beautiful face.
“Tell me, Mal,” she said, as she propelled herself on top of the desk until she kneeled before him, “that you want me to leave.”
She placed her hands on his chest and looked into his wild expression.
His fingers slid up the sides of her thighs hesitantly, drawing a hum from her throat.
Maeve’s head dipped back, and her eyes closed.
Mal gripped at her waist, her back arching in approval.
His thumbs pressed into her with bruising force, bringing a laughter of arousal from her lips.
She looked directly at him. Her fingers brushed a few stray hairs from his forehead and then carded through his hair until her hands rested against either side of his jaw. “You’re exquisite,” she whispered. “I won’t run from you this time.”
She pressed her Magic into the darkness, piercing it with everything she had, and at last Mal breathed fully as his eyes darkened.
His hands moved further up her body, exploring freely, until his fingers locked around her face.
His grip constricted, knotting up her hair and propelling her chest into his.
“I do not want you to leave,” he said at last.
Maeve sucked in a breath. “And what do you want?”
His lustful eyes bore into hers.
“I want you just like this: on your knees before your Prince.”
“My soon-to-be King,” she replied.
With a sharp inhale, his mouth was on hers, their lips fighting for dominance. His hands hooked behind her knees and pulled hard. She gripped him tightly as her behind slammed into the wooden desk. Mal moved himself hungrily between her legs as he bit into her bottom lip.
Her fingers wound through his raven hair as his tongue trailed down her neck. Bliss settled deep in her stomach. Reason and sensibility nowhere to be found.
“When was the last time you were touched in such a way?” he murmured into her skin.
“I can’t recall ever being touched so sinfully.”
Mal nipped at the base of her neck, bringing her shoulders tensely up. His teeth sank into her skin, freezing her entire body like trapped prey. His mouth clamped down harder, causing her fingers to twist tightly through his hair, desperate to inflict pain of her own.
His teeth pulled from her skin with a sharp exhale, and his forehead trailed across hers. Together they shared one breath. Mal slid a finger over her bottom lip, rolling it down.
“You are a dangerous dream,” he said. “My mind is filled with nightmares, and they do not enjoy sharing me.”
His lips met hers, and his tongue dragged across her own.
“Now that I have tasted you,” he said, pulling back, all points of his contact tightening, “I know with certainty that there is much we’ve yet to remember.”
Maeve scooted closer until the heat between her legs met the growing and bulging desire beneath his hips. “Remind me.”