Chapter 41
The capital city of Aterna was a marvel.
Maeve had traveled all over Earth to cities like Paris and New York.
They were nothing in comparison to Crystalmore, named for being like the light of dawn, which Maeve had resisted visiting since her arrival in Aterna.
The metropolis was alive and warm, despite the winter at its doorstep.
Crystalmore didn’t just house the people of Aterna. It was a diverse city of Elven people, Magicals boasting Dread Magic who were descended from those long ago, and even humans. She questioned why such a place, where Magic roamed freely, had not been her home.
Why had the Sacred Seventeen, her father even, chosen a life in hiding on Earth?
As she watched the lives of strangers buying things, selling things, traveling, eating, and walking, she felt an understanding of Reeve’s sacrifice. Kneeling before Shadow kept Crystalmore untouched.
For now.
She hated picturing the storefronts blown out, crawling with decay, the flower-lined pathway to the university nothing but rubble. Hundreds of thousands of lives uprooted, even destroyed completely.
It was a very possible future if she failed to save Mal.
If she didn’t break Shadow’s hold on his mind, there was no future at all.
She kept her hood up as she and Zimsy spent the morning in Crystalmore.
It felt wrong to be shopping while across the Black Deep, Mal was drowning.
Abraxas was. . .surviving. Each time her mind drifted back to her cousin, her stomach twisted.
She wanted so badly to jump to him, to tell him everything would be fine, that she and Reeve had a plan.
But with his silver tongue, Maeve knew he wouldn’t be able to lie to Mal, and so communicating with Abraxas was not an option.
The shame rolling in her belly for enjoying her time with Zimsy, doing frivolous things that made her happy, pulled tight and turned warm as she watched Zimsy enjoy sampling desserts from an Elven baker.
The resolution was coming no matter what she did, but it was not coming that day. And so she set aside her guilt and allowed herself to enjoy the day with her best friend.
When she returned to the Celestian Palace, she headed straight for Reeve. She hurried up the stairs of his wing, bags in hand, prepared to tell him just how amazed she was by the city.
She barreled through the open doors without invitation and halted when her eyes met his. They were warm and inviting, swirling with dark violet fire where he reclined in his chair, legs up on the table, and a drink of amber liquid in his large hand.
“Hello, Maeve,” he hummed, his head tilting to the side.
“Zimsy and I went to the city,” she replied, holding up her bags. “I found the loveliest tea shop off the main park square.”
“Sereneteas?”
Maeve smiled softly. “Yes. They carry Earth brands. My favorite brand at that.”
Reeve’s smile grew. “I know.”
“What are the chances? Isn’t that so strange?”
Reeve crinkled his nose. “Not really.”
Maeve’s shoulders dropped as she understood the victorious look on his face. “You did that?”
Reeve didn’t answer.
She pressed again, her voice soft. “You asked them to import Earl Grey?”
“Asked is a little demeaning, Maeve, I am their High Lord after all.”
Maeve scoffed, a casual and appreciative laugh. “But you couldn’t possibly have known I would go to that tea shop.”
“That is correct.”
A silent moment fell between them as Maeve understood—
“You made sure every tea shop in the entire city, that massive city, carried Earl Grey?”
Reeve’s smile faded, but his eyes remained glowing. “That seems like a waste of my time.”
Maeve nodded. “Indeed.” She swallowed hard.
The kindness of his action did not go unnoticed by her. The intimacy of it, of even knowing that was her favorite in the first place. . .
Reeve watched the forced breaths that rose and fell in her chest. His smile faded, dropping his triumphant expression into a hungry one. He raised his glass to his lips as he sipped the amber liquid, his eyes never leaving hers. “What else did you do?”
“I bought a book. And a dress.”
“Tell me about them,” he said.
Maeve crossed the room towards him, setting her velvet bags on the table carelessly. Reeve stood and stepped towards her in a gracefully fluid move.
She stopped. “The book is called Crystalmore in Silk. It’s about fashion and style through different ages of Aterna.” She knew she was rambling as he stepped closer to her. “The storekeeper recommended it to me based on my outfit.”
“And the dress?” he asked.
Another step closer.
“It’s blue,” she replied, yielding a step towards him. “Though I don’t have an occasion upon which to wear it.”
He was just a step away now.
Reeve looked down at her. “I’m certain I can remedy that.”
“You are the High Lord after all.”
Reeve took the remaining step between them and brushed her hair behind her ear. Warm Magic flitted down her neck. She leaned into the sensation.
His fingers remained gently cupping her neck. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“I have dinner with you every night.”
Reeve shook his head. “No. Not like that.” His fingers brushed alongside her jaw. “Something special. I want to see you in that dress.”
Maeve dared herself a fraction closer to him. “Dinner it is then.”
They never ate in the formal great hall of the palace, and as Maeve stepped inside it, she couldn’t understand why. The space was otherworldly, glowing with moonlight that had no source. The darkened night sky beyond the arches, where windows should be, created a stark visual.
Starlight refracted across the pale stone of the hall, moving as though she were traveling through space.
Reeve turned, standing in the middle of the hall, and faced her. He wore a dark suit with embroidered embellishments of silver fire. His hair was down, and his eyes were rimmed in the faintest smudge of black, almost indistinguishable from his lash line.
The sight of him was electrifying.
His eyes traveled down her body, taking his time as he watched her cross towards him. She glanced at the table behind him, already set with two chairs, one at each head of the table. She looked back up at Reeve.
“That,” he said, “is your color.”
“I know,” she answered coolly.
Reeve’s neck rolled, clearly invigorated by her confidence.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the table as starlight shifted in ease around them.
Maeve moved towards one of the chairs. He crossed behind, pulling it just slightly from the table, and extended his hand to her.
She took it without hesitation, with only the desire to feel their skin meet. He guided her closer, and as she sat, his lips touched down on the top of her hand.
From her seated position, his height should have been paralyzing. But the Immortal God was too busy tenderly kissing her skin with closed eyes to evoke any fear.
He flipped her hand over, touching his lips to her palm. Her palm, which was raised with a line of scars. Tainted with dark Magic where she had offered her blood countless times.
He kissed the scarring fully, opening his eyes to meet hers.
His hands remained holding hers in place as he withdrew his lips. He looked down the long table, where the only other seat was at the opposing head. With a snap of his fingers, the chair vanished and appeared at her side, Magically adjusting his plate setting and goblet as well.
“Shouldn’t you be at the head and not me—” she started, gesturing to her own seat.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “I just want to look at you.”
Maeve bit the inside of her lip. His fingers brushed against hers as he let go of her hand at last and took his seat.
“Have you heard back from Demevirld?” she began.
Reeve poured them both sparkling water. “No,” he said. “I have a request for this evening.”
Maeve’s brows raised. Reeve continued.
“No politics. No war. No remorse. Not tonight.” He handed her one goblet and raised his own, until their rims touched midair. His eyes were heavy with steadfast, dark intensity. “Tonight, I want to fall in love with you again.”
A positive charge shot through her. She smiled with a satisfied hum.
Maeve leaned towards him, their goblets still raised between them. “You already have.”
Reeve grumbled a laugh, never breaking their eye contact. “If you think this is me being in love with you, you’re in for a surprise.”
“What’s different than last time, then?” she challenged, enjoying every second of his eyes on her. “You buy me things. You can’t keep your hands off me.”
Reeve placed his goblet down, and his fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her closer to the edge of her seat. “You want to know what will be different this time, kitten?”
Maeve nodded in his hold.
“This time,” he continued, bringing his free hand to hold her chin in his broad grasp, “will be very different. I need you to know that if we do this, you will be by my side until death. I will not give you up without a fight a second time. If redemption is what you seek for Malachite, then I can stand at your side. But if your goal is a life with him after this, you must tell me, and I will deny myself the dream.” His thumb pressed into her bottom lip.
“I’ll repeat myself: If you become mine once more, I will not give you up a second time. ”
A reply caught in her throat. The answer was a betrayal she wasn’t ready to voice.
Reeve's thumb bristled over her lip, swiping back and forth in a taunting movement.
“This time,” he said once more, “I want to cherish you boldly. Not in darkened corners or behind closed doors. I want to stand with you in the light.” His hand slid up her face, sliding gently over her hair, ensuring not to mess it up. “I want to put a crown on your head.”
The image, the thought, the words—his words had her nearly coming out of her seat and into his. He smiled, dark and devious, like he knew exactly that.
“This is dangerous,” she said, her voice low and even. “You are dangerous.”
Reeve nodded, accepting fully the truth of her words. “And that’s why you like it, isn’t it?” His eyes slid down to her lips. His thumb shifted, piercing the soft skin and causing a jolt to move through her. A sigh ran through him. “Such a pretty girl.”
Before the confidence could leave her, she moved her mouth around his thumb, teeth barely pressing into his skin. He allowed her to hold him there.
“I bite,” said Maeve lowly, her tongue flicking across the skin of his thumb.
Reeve nodded. “You’ll beg, too.”
Maeve’s jaw loosened, and then she swallowed hard.
Satisfied, he pulled back, and she took a moment to compose herself. Food appeared before them, filling their places. Maeve knew at once it was Zimsy’s cooking.
“Did you make Zimsy cook for us?” she asked.
“Firstly,” he replied, “no one makes Zimsy do anything.” He said it like he felt sorry for the soul who tried. Maeve held her chin proudly at the sentiment. “Secondly,” continued Reeve, “she insisted.”
“How did she even know?”
“She was in the kitchen baking when I went to speak to the chefs about it.”
Maeve eyed him, uncertain if he was telling the truth. Either way, she was grateful it was Zimsy’s cooking she was about to devour.