Chapter 14
Mal stood at the edge of the Dark Peaks, Mount Morte behind him. The Greywood extended farther than he remembered, circling back to The Beryl City. The Dreaded Dead that lurked there moved in silence, observing him, but never moving without command.
Her command.
The waters of The Black Deep vanished over the horizon.
Vanished.
He couldn’t shake the feeling, as he had for quite some time, that something about that horizon was strange. That it lacked. That it too was a lie.
The Dread Stone, the last piece he needed, remained out of his reach. Not a trace of it. Not a single writing or clue as to its whereabouts. Still, he knew it was out there somewhere. He’d overturn every single stone in the Elven Realm to ensure it wasn’t hiding there.
He’d wandered through the Greywood endlessly searching for answers, answers he was on the brink of finding. He’d delayed his Queen for as long as he could. Now she’d grown strong enough to manifest a body. One with eyes too beautiful to possibly be hers.
Her skin was paper white. The first time he saw her form, she was nearly transparent. Every muscle and vein in her body visible through her thin skin. Now, her hair had grown long and straight and whiter than snow. Her lips were cold and distant. Like kissing a phantom.
Maeve’s lips were the first warm thing he’d felt in. . .
And now that he’d had her fully, regret sat deep between his ribs. The Elven Lands and his victory there felt disappointing in comparison to the way she lost herself beneath him. He now ruled a fourth realm.
And he didn’t fucking care.
Acid burned against his mind, a silent reminder of what he gave in exchange for power. That it would not be Maeve who warmed his lips any longer, that it was his Queen who spoke of heirs.
That was the bargain. The vow.
A Magically-binding promise of an heir in her belly, and all would bow before him. A pact made before he knew. . . Maxius needed him. Both Maeve and his soon-to-be crowned Queen would have to endure the truth that the Magic, stifled and trapped within Maxius, was his to unleash.
Back in the North Tower, he silently crossed his chambers.
Maeve slept soundly in his bed. Before he left her, Mal adjusted the duvet over her exposed back and placed a heavy shield of Magic around her, aiding in her sleep.
She looked just as he’d left her.
The bedding shifted beneath him as he moved over her, pulling back the covers.
She stirred slightly, lifting her arms above her head in a sleepy stretch.
Morning light peeked through the windows as he watched her frame twist towards him.
The cool air prickled across her skin, making her even more devourable.
The black veins that ran the length of her body pulsed beneath his touch. He delighted in the way her body responded so eagerly to him. His fingers dipped past her navel, each hand pressing into her thighs and spreading her legs slowly.
She groaned.
“So, you are awake?” he murmured, lowering himself to the bed with his face dangerously between her legs.
Another groan. He lifted the barrier of his Magic that he knew aided in her sleep. She never slept through the night at Blackstone.
He pressed his lips to the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. Her knees pulled up instinctively. He pressed them back down with steady hands. With a content sigh, her pale eyes met his. Her thick black lashes against those icy eyes made her ethereal.
“Hi,” she said, sleep still thick in her voice.
Mal didn’t reply. He smiled at her and pressed another kiss, closer to her center, into her chilled skin. Another. And another.
Her fingers found his hair. “Can it always be this way?”
His eyes found hers, though he did not stop his slow and steady onslaught of kisses. The truth wasn’t an easy admittance.
“So much peace. Just you and me,” she continued, her eyes closing as his lips kissed down just above her hip.
“Peace,” he repeated, crawling over her body until their chests pressed together and his nose nearly brushed hers, “is fleeting.”
She tilted her chin up until they shared one breath. “Are you speaking of us or of war?”
Mal hummed in approval. “So quick to make assumptions that you understand either.”
Maeve frowned. He grazed the tip of his nose over hers. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“I end one war and am already preparing for the next.”
She hesitated beneath him. “Earth?” she questioned at last.
“Sharp as a thorn,” he commended her.
“Earth will fight hard,” she remarked, something like doubt in her voice.
“But I will fight harder,” he said with a small smirk.
“You travel to Hiems often?” she asked.
Mal nodded. “I am their Prince.”
“Hmm,” murmured Maeve.
“Why?” he pressed casually.
“I dream about the realm often. At least, I think it’s Hiems. Truly, I’ve never been.”
“Would you like to see it?”
She pressed back into the pillows, her eyes darting between his. “You’d take me to the ice planet?”
“My planet,” he corrected, his fingers raising to brush hair from her forehead. “What are your dreams about?”
She looked up at the ceiling. “My brother,” she answered softly. “I think. That wolf that trails you, the one from Hiems. He reminds me of him.”
“Mordred is his name,” said Mal. “He tells me your brother was a werewolf.”
Maeve nodded, her eyes still not meeting his.
“Death circles you like a vulture,” said Mal, reaching for her hand and swiftly slipping the Dread Ring off her finger. Her eyes snapped to his, color draining from her cheeks. “Can you feel it? All the destruction you could bring?” His lips moved towards hers. “I am insatiable for it.”
He kissed her tenderly, savoring her warmth.
There would be no warm kisses in his future.
A content sound slipped from her. He pulled his lips back.
“With every touch,” she began, “I can feel Magic unraveling inside me. You were right. It was me who cast this spell.” Mal watched her throat as she swallowed. “I’m scared to let it rip completely,” she confessed. “If I do break it, I’m scared of what that will mean.”
He kissed her lips once more, withdrawing slightly, and said, “It’s not a question of if. It’s when.”
“And when you have a queen. . .where will I be?”
He didn’t answer. He knew that moment with her was fleeting. As death circled Maeve, his own reaper breathed at his back.
“I don’t have an answer for that,” he admitted, his voice even.
A heavy breath shifted through her, but she did not complain. She didn’t have time to as his mouth claimed hers.