Zimsy’s shoulders fell, and her mouth popped open. “You don’t sound surprised at all.”
“I’m not,” she replied, as though it were a question.
“You didn’t think to tell me he would be coming?” Zimsy hissed.
“You don’t live here,” said Maeve as her brows raised. “By your own choice,” she added as a reminder.
“Well, I’m still here all the time,” said Zimsy.
“I know, Zim,” agreed Maeve grimly.
“Please,” said Zimsy as she rolled her big, round eyes. “You can’t even braid your own hair.”
“Yes, I can,” said Maeve indignantly. “Anyway, where is he? I just have this feeling we shouldn’t leave him waiting, you know, being the Prince and all.”
“He’s in the gallery, looking at all the paintings,” relented Zimsy.
Maeve turned on her heel and made her way to the gallery at the front of the manor. When she rounded the corner, Malachite stood with his back to her. His gaze was fixed on the largest portrait in the space with a golden frame and firelights illuminating it all around.
The portrait of Ambrose Sinclair dominated the space.
Malachite stood with his hands in his pockets, his cloak draped over a nearby chair. Maeve waited respectfully for his attention to fall on her. After another moment, he looked over his shoulder at her.
His green eyes flickered with Magic that made her spine straighten.
“Maeve.”
His voice was cordial, but his stance was casual. She bowed at him, as she knew was expected of her, and moved towards him, each step feeling like she was surrendering something. She kept a slight distance between them, stopping beside him in front of the portrait of her father. The Prince looked down at her from the corner of his eye.
“Apologies for coming unannounced.”
Maeve shook her head. “Not necessary.”
Malachite looked back up at the wall, taking a step farther down as his eyes scanned the various paintings.
“Are you still willing to assist me?” he asked.
Maeve made a small sound of agreement.
“Really?” he asked, his eyes on a small painting of Alphard and his father. “You haven’t been. . . coerced into changing your mind?”
Maeve didn’t smile. “I’m not so easily swayed.”
Malachite looked back at her. “So I’m told.” His eyes moved away from her, his expression unreadable. Even his Magic remained coiled tightly around himself. “Your cousin, my Hand, was quite adamant I leave you out of my affairs.”
“My cousin is very protective.”
“Of me or you?”
Maeve tensed beneath his words, but Malachite left no room for an answer.
“Abraxas is my most trusted advisor and friend. Perhaps if he thinks our union would yield problems for me, then I should heed his words.”
Maeve didn’t move towards him. “May I speak candidly?”
“I would prefer it if you did so without asking permission first.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. “I don’t care what Abraxas says.”
