Chapter 36
“I have told your father it is not the same as my own beastly transformation,” said Reeve. “But I am willing to try as much as you are.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Antony as their crystal goblets clinked together, his sapphire Sinclair family ring gleaming on his finger.
“Drink to what?”
Maeve appeared at the bar beside Antony, placing her elbows on the smooth wood. She was dressed casually in comfortable clothes.
“Trying to control my transformation,” said Antony plainly.
Maeve looked from her brother to Reeve. His head tilted to the side as he surveyed her. Her eyes narrowed slightly under his scrutiny.
“This is my sister, Maeve,” said Antony.
Reeve was well aware of the name of the creature before him. Her existence had plagued him for all nineteen years of her life, despite never having met her.
“Maeve,” continued Antony, “this—”
“I know who you are,” said Maeve, her eyes still on Reeve.
“Then you know I am a friend to your father and brother,” said Reeve, speaking to her at last. “No need to scowl.”
“That’s just her face,” said Antony with a smile. He reached out and pinched her cheek. “She’s moody.”
Maeve batted his hand away as the corner of her mouth ticked up.
“You’re in high spirits,” she remarked at Antony, eyeing down his glass. She looked back at Reeve, no care or concern for his title or his power in her voice. “You’re here to help my brother?”
“As best as I can,” he replied.
She eyed him once more, a lack of belief prevalent across her expression, and smiled softly at her brother. She grabbed his wrist, twisting it towards her to view the time on his golden watch with an emerald inlay and twin serpents for hands.
“I’m going to bed,” she said. “Enjoy your evening.”
Reeve returned to Sinclair Estates many times that summer at Ambrose’s request. Despite nineteen years of not speaking to his old friend, he did not ignore Ambrose’s desperate plea for help.
As he grew close to Antony and attempted to manipulate the unfortunate Magic that demanded Antony’s body mutate into something completely inhuman, he found an unexpected joy in toying with his old friend’s youngest daughter, who learned that after each lesson with Antony, Reeve and her brother shared a drink at the bar.
She began to frequent their late-night wind-downs, never pouring herself anything more than water.
Antony, who was understandably exhausted, began retiring for the evening before Maeve, leaving the High Lord of Aterna sitting at the bar with a dangerous weapon, who looked at him more and more each time they met like she wanted to fight, to see what he was made of, to see if she stood a chance against him in a battle of words.
They sat on two tall barstools, Maeve swiveling hers slowly with her foot.
“How old are you?” he asked. It was rhetorical, of course, as he knew the answer. But it was aimed as an insult after she’d thrown one his way.
“I’ll be twenty at the end of summer,” answered Maeve, leaning her cheek against her fist on the bar, the movement drawing up a desire Reeve quickly pushed down on.
“Old enough to know better than to be so disrespectful, then,” he said.
“Have you earned my respect?” she asked, bringing her nails to her teeth and biting on them gently as the corners of her lips curled upward.
His voice dropped. “You are just begging for someone to put you in your place, aren’t you?”
“Are you up for the job?”
“You’ll be the one doing the job.”
Maeve’s teeth sank into her bottom lip as she fought harder not to smile. “How dare you speak to a lady in such a way.”
“Yes, I can tell you’re quite repulsed by the way your heartbeat accelerates with every moment that I hold your gaze.”
She faltered for a moment. “You can feel my heartbeat?” The question was genuine, even somewhat awe-struck.
“I can sense it,” he answered. “Immortals have far more advanced senses than you Magicals.”
She took a sip of her water and made a mocking motion with her hand. “Does the arrogance work well on Immortal women with far more advanced senses than me? Or do they find you as annoying as I do?”
Reeve chuckled. “They don’t find me annoying.” He slid off the barstool and closed the gap between them. A single finger tucked beneath her chin. “And neither do you.”
He dropped his hand at once and left her with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
Reeve watched her from a distance, where she and her friends sat on the main balcony, sipping his drink as party guests moved around him. He was certain Ambrose was talking. Then the Orator, then Ambrose again, but whatever they had to say had stopped mattering to him the moment he spotted her.
She tossed her head back in laughter as Alphard Mavros scooted closer to her on the settee. She didn’t notice his advance. She never did. Antony and Abraxas were seeing who could drink the most Dragon Whiskey at once while Astrea monitored them.
Antony yanked his bottle from his lips and clutched his stomach. After a groan, he said, “Damnit, Rosethorn.”
Reeve would have to get on him about drinking so much at their next lesson. Lessons that yielded nothing for the young man. Reeve told himself he kept returning that summer for Antony, but he knew that was a lie.
Abraxas finished his bottle and then raised his arms in a celebratory cheer. Maeve and Alphard applauded. Astrea and Abraxas exchanged a whisper.
Antony gasped. “You cheated, didn’t you, Brax?”
Abraxas’ mouth fell open in hurt, but he didn’t deny it.
“My sister made you a little potion to help you win, didn’t she?” asked Alphard.
“Mind your own business, Al,” said Astrea.
Abraxas slapped her on the arm. “Shut up,” he said through his teeth.
The rest of their conversation vanished from Reeve’s ears as Maeve’s eyes landed on his. Her smile didn’t falter.
It blossomed.
His chest tightened.
Ambrose’s voice pulled him away from the beauty with her eyes latched on his.
“Come, Reeve,” said Ambrose with a smile. A smile, Reeve knew, he reserved for politics.
Ambrose didn’t speak again until they were both seated in his study. Reeve knew what was coming.
“Don’t lay a hand on her.”
Reeve anticipated the crack of Magic that would normally accompany such a command, but it never came. Ambrose’s Magic lay calm and still.
Reeve looked up at his friend. The Premier stared at him with unwavering resolve. Reeve maintained his poker face.
“You might be the most powerful of us all,” continued Ambrose, “but when it comes to my daughter, there isn’t a man alive that can slip past me.”
Reeve shook his head. “I don’t want to slip past you.”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have my blessing. Make no mistake, I am aware that there is likely no safer place for her than at your side.”
Reeve relaxed in the chair. “Then what is your reservation?” he asked with a small shrug.
“Is there Magic that grants her everlasting youth and life like you have?”
Reeve was silent. Ambrose pressed further.
“Is there some incredible spell Magicals have forgotten that would grant us the years an Immortal is blessed with?”
“No,” answered Reeve quietly.
“What happens when she out-ages you? When her body begins to decline, and you are just as you appear now? What happens when she no longer looks like the beautiful young Witch she is, and you desire something fresh—”
“Enough,” said Reeve, an edge in his voice, insulted at the insinuation.
“Act indignant all you want, old friend,” said Ambrose. “It’s a valid concern.”
“I think you’re acting a little prematurely, Premier,” said Reeve with a half-hearted grin, trying to dissuade his friend from worry.
But worry racked Reeve himself. He hadn’t felt a pull in his chest like Maeve in two hundred years.
Ambrose was so rarely without a cigar that the lack of one in the Premier’s hand unsettled Reeve. After a moment, he spoke at last.
“I mean it,” said Ambrose quietly. “Stay away from my daughter.”
“Are you asking as the Premier of Magicals or as my friend?”
“I am not asking.” Ambrose turned in his dark leather chair, now facing the enchanted window of his study.
Behind the glass was a dark, cloudy evening sky.
“She deserves to grow old with someone. She deserves youth before that. She will be cast into the fire of the adult world harshly enough as it is.” He turned back towards Reeve.
“She is too young to understand. And so you will be the one to sever whatever this is before it begins.”
“She is not a child, Ambrose.”
“She is my child, Reeve. And will always be.”
“I am certain it is not proper for you to be on my balcony unannounced,” said Maeve as a Portal closed behind Reeve. He stood with one hand behind his back, looking down at where she sat reading in the setting sun.
“First thing you need to know about me is that I don’t particularly love rules. Which reminds me. I got you something.”
Her gaze traveled to his hand behind his back.
She bit her lip. “I told you to stop,” she said, no trace of disappointment in her voice.
“I can’t keep lying about where the gifts are coming from.
My father thinks the bouquets of foxgloves are from my distant great aunt Merrilyn.
Who will, by the way, be sour I used her in a lie. ”
Reeve rolled his eyes and brought his concealed arm towards her. In his large palm, he carefully cupped an all black kitten with wide-set eyes.
Joy spread across Maeve’s face. She tossed her book aside and stood. She joined her hands with his and brought her face close to the tiny creature’s nose.
Reeve relished the look on her face and the feeling of her hands over his. “It can’t be more than a few weeks old,” he said, “and he’s already bitten a chunk of my finger off. Made me think of you.”
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. “Can I hold him?”
Reeve nodded. “He’s yours.”
She scooped up the kitten and held him close to her chest. He began purring at once.