“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.
