Chapter 15
Maeve pushed on Abraxas’ chest, gently moving him aside, and kneeled before Maxius, fixing his hair for the celebration at Castle Morana. “You’ve recited your speech twice already, Brax. Go away.”
“You’re in my wing of the castle,” he retorted. “The whole wing is mine.” He huffed and continued pacing across his lounge. “‘Go away’,” he muttered. “You go away.”
Maeve looked over her shoulder at him incredulously. He began to recite his speech a third time, despite her protests.
Juliet and Lyrux were already downstairs.
Abraxas was, uncharacteristically, stressed as he marched across their luxurious residence inside the castle.
Alphard had returned home as well. Though Maeve was certain he was relishing all the attention and praise he was already getting at the festivities.
Maxius let Maeve fix him as he played with his fingertips.
Maeve talked over Abraxas. “Victory, blah blah, all thanks to our new Queen, blah blah blah.” She pulled on the buttons on Maxius’ overcoat a little too hard. His eyes shot to hers. “Sorry,” she said, smiling softly.
Will Mal be there? Maxius signed.
“Yes,” she replied, careful to keep her voice void of any emotion. “Though I think tonight you should address him properly in his crowned title.”
Maxius shook his head and signed, He said not to.
“Well,” said Maeve affectionately, her heart heavy, “aren’t you special?”
Maxius smiled and crinkled his nose.
Abraxas was still muttering his speech under his breath as Maeve stood and took Maxius’ hand in hers. With a long and grounding exhale, she prepared to meet Mal’s Queen.
Abraxas’ speech was just as irritating the fourth time she heard it. She stood by Alphard, just below the throne’s dais, awaiting Mal, who officially claimed the title Dread King, and his new savior queen’s entrance.
Applause rolled through the hall. Abraxas oozed the perfect amount of confidence and humility as he had the honor of announcing such a monumental step for The Dread Lands. His arm spread wide as he turned towards the center of the dias.
Magic coiled up Maeve’s throat, her black inky veins hissing in warning. Maeve retreated a step, pressing back against Alphard. His hands steadied her hips as the corners of Maeve’s vision flickered white.
“Hold it together, my girl,” said Alphard, his voice low for only her to hear. “You can do it.”
His thumbs traced slow circles on her hips, a motion he’d made many times in the past during her episodes.
Abraxas’ voice became a distant whir of sound. His dazzling smile and his bright blonde hair blurred into one fuzzy image. One of Alphard’s arms slid around her front, holding her up just as Maeve’s legs began to turn to mush.
Two figures appeared on the dais, blurs of black and white. Mal was there; she’d know his silhouette anywhere. And she could only assume the white mass of light in her decaying vision was his new Queen making her grand entrance with Abraxas’ perfectly practiced words of gratitude.
Alphard’s voice was distant in her ear, but suddenly, both arms were around her, yanking her to the side.
Glass shattered close. Or far? Maeve didn’t know. A blade flicked across her mind, and the Throne Room snapped into darkness.
A voice, distorted and eager, filled the void around her.
A game? A game of crowns? A game of broken hearts? A game of death? I win them all.
The infinite black space beneath her feet swallowed her whole, tipping her body backwards until the green glowing lights of the Throne Room returned to her vision.
Alphard’s distinct scent filled her nose, bringing her mind back to the celebration at lightning speed.
She gripped at his chest, fabric coiling beneath her fists, and pressed her forehead into him.
His arm remained in a tight hold around her.
The spell ripping open inside Maeve, threatening to reveal unknown truths, tore further.
Maeve winced, desperate to keep it sewn together.
The hall was silent. Completely still and silent, save for Roswyn’s sharp and encouraging tone.
“It’s alright, Em, let it happen.”
Maeve pressed her heels into the floor and turned, still gripping Alphard tightly. A crystal goblet lay shattered across the marbled floor at Emerie and Roswyn’s feet.
Emerie’s eyes were completely black as Roswyn held her upright. Her voice was raw, and words not her own spilled from the Seer’s blush-painted lips.
“Three were made and given away. Bound in gold and silver chains, the Magic lay, buried beneath another from the protection of the father.” Her fingers curled into themselves as her breathing became labored.
“When the night devours the sun, when the holy three join one, the Dread Stone will stand alone.”
She gasped like a sword had just sliced through her stomach, and doubled over. Roswyn’s strong arms were already lifting her back as he supported her weight fully.
When Emerie’s eyes flooded with color, they were already on Mal. She trembled against Roswyn as she took long and strained breaths.
Roswyn held her close, pride beaming in his voice. “Another Em. Well done.”
Maeve’s attention whipped to Mal. His wide green eyes were set on Emerie. Astrea appeared suddenly. With a snap of her fingers, the broken glass vanished, and her hands grasped Emerie’s face. The healer checked her briefly and then smiled. “Well done,” she whispered in agreement.
“The Dread Stone.”
Maeve’s shoulders dropped. The voice from the vision she had just had. It was unmistakable, it was—
Maeve’s eyes locked on the woman next to Mal.
His Queen.
“What a way to step on a Queen’s entrance,” she said, her blue eyes on Emerie.
Abraxas made to smile, but it quickly vanished as he took in the new Queen’s frown.
Emerie stood and bowed to her, her breath still lagging. “Apologies, my Queen.”
Magic swelled at all ten of the queen’s fingertips. It poured from her lips and pooled at her feet. Maeve was so entranced by it, so stunned by the greenness of Mal’s eyes and the dead expression on his face, and utterly caught off guard by his soon-to-be queen’s beautiful appearance.
She had convinced herself that this dark queen who held power over Mal was a creature from a cave. Something lacking in grace. But this woman was more striking than even the Elves Maeve had seen.
She was decadent in an all white gown.
But her Magic was wicked.
She was a match for Mal where strength was weighed. But their Magical signature was distinctly different.
Her long white hair cascaded across her shoulders, shiny and straight.
Her laugh echoed across the hall, unsettling and forced. “There’s no need to apologize when making such grand prophecies, is there?” She giggled.
Alphard’s grip on Maeve tightened.
Abraxas cleared his throat, drawing Judyth’s eyes to him. “Would you like me to continue with your introduction now, your grace?”
“No,” she said with another hollow laugh. “Let them enjoy a night of victory.”
“All thanks to you,” said Abraxas, bowing.
The entire hall followed suit. Abraxas then quickly instructed the music and serving to begin.
“Emerie,” said Mal, stepping down from the dais towards her. “Anything else?”
“No, my King,” she said, adjusting easily to the title change Abraxas had just announced. “It would appear the stone you have been searching for was split into three parts.”
Abraxas, a drink already in hand, offered one to Alphard. He took it without question, a hand still wrapped around Maeve. “Alright there, Em,” asked Abraxas, sipping his drink. “Ruined my speech a little.”
Emerie smiled in apology.
Maeve wanted to thank Emerie for upstaging her own episode, but held her tongue as Mal’s attention shifted to her.
They stared at one another in aching silence.
His face was stone cold. Maeve felt each step that his new queen took down the dais towards them.
Mal’s expression never changed as she drew closer.
“And you are?” she asked as she arrived at Mal’s side, one arm snaking around his, down until their fingers joined.
Maeve swallowed. Alphard’s hand rested against her back. Sweat pooled at the base of her neck.
Abraxas pulled his drink from his lips quickly and introduced Alphard.
Magic raced down Maeve’s spine as the queen’s blue eyes rested on her. They were so familiar.
So very. . . Sinclair.
Maeve’s mouth fell open as Mal’s words rang clear across her mind.
Such pretty eyes, even if they aren’t yours, he had said.
The pale queen laughed. “I know all about our beloved fighter. I meant the stunning little thing hiding in his shadow.”
She was suddenly so grateful for every lesson Agatha and her father taught her. “Class and cleverness” was always the lesson for the children of the Sacred.
Regardless, those titles didn’t matter in Mal’s world.
“This is my wife, Maeve,” Alphard’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
The queen’s eyes never left Maeve. “A pleasure,” she said, as she rested her head against Mal. Long, white fingers slithered across his chest, resting possessively.
Maeve did not bow. She smiled, her Magic buzzing beneath her skin in challenge.
Maeve knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had met this woman before. She remembered her.
Shadow.
And she knew with even more certainty that in the eyes of the pale queen with striking eyes that didn’t belong, Maeve wasn’t meant to be there.
She had vowed not to be there.