“Something wrong, cousin?” he asked wickedly. “Your little adventure with Mal not go as planned?”
Maeve didn’t need to answer. By the smug look on his face, she was certain he knew Mal’s only visit to her had been swift, uneventful, and hadn’t been repeated.
Abraxas laughed. “Don’t be sour, Maeve. Alphard fighting for those he loves, for his Prince, is good for him. Just as it is all the Bellator. If Mal could waltz in and take the realm, which. . .with this Magic would be tricky. . .I still don’t think he would. Having an army proud to stand by your banner means something to him. It’s not like Vaukore, the realm and the school were naturally his as our ruler. As for the Magic, we have no idea. The Magical signature differs from DreadMagic. And lastly, as for Mal, his absence has been in solitude, growing his strength and studying the Magic he needs to conquer in the Elven Lands. He doesn’t want to rule a pile of rubble. He wants a realm intact and worth ruling.”
Maeve, though she was satisfied and grateful for his honesty, pretended not to care, waved him off. “Whatever you say.”
Lyrux appeared at Abraxas’ feet with a wrapped present in his hands.
“We’ll open presents later, love,” said Brax. “Go put it back under the tree.”
His son pouted and huffed, but returned to the Christmas tree where Arianna’s twins, Anselm and Aislin, and Astrea’s oldest, played. Maxius was the oldest of them all, but by far the most innocent in nature.
“Juliet bought him even more presents than last year,” said Abraxas. “Ridiculous.”
“Don’t act as though you weren’t counting your presents at his age as well,” replied Maeve. “Primrose used to say at age three, you only said ‘mine’ in regards to anything and everything.”
“Yes, well, she was an old bat, wasn’t she?” he replied with a smile.
Astrea’s fingers halted their tune. She looked over her shoulder towards the foyer.
Alphard stepped through the archway, and Maxius’ eyes lit up. He rushed towards him at once, leaving his cousins behind. Alphard scooped him up with one arm.
“Look at you,” remarked Alphard, his smile wide at the sweater Maxius wore. It had been his as a child, handed down to Maxius by Alphard’s mother, Irma.
But Maeve’s attention couldn’t linger on Alphard for long, for her husband was not alone. Her heart hammered against her chest as Mal lowered the hood of his cloak behind Alphard. The Prince observed Alphard and Maxius, his face calm and collected as always.
“Mal,” said Abraxas cheerfully, his head dipping into a bow. “What a surprise.”
Mal reached out his gloved hand to touch Maxius’ small face and stopped short. The gesture was so tender that Maeve’s insides fluttered.
“I figured no child should be without their father on Christmas,” he said as Maxius smiled up at Alphard.
Maxius tugged on Alphard and signed for him to come and see the desert he helped make.
Arianna rounded the corner. “Dinner is ready,” she said as Alphard passed her with Maxius in his arms. Her eyes landed on Mal. With a startled sound, she dipped into an awkward bow.
Mal didn’t seem to care.
Agatha corralled the children out of the living room, but not before passing my Mal and giving him a soft smile.
“Handsome as ever,” she noted.
Mal smiled at her, genuinely smiled. “Thank you, Agatha.”
It was no secret that Maeve’s grandmother, Ambrose’s mother, had been quite encouraging of Mal’s place on the throne long before all their lives began in the Dread Lands, both with her words and her gold.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” asked Abraxas casually. “Zim and Juliet probably prepared enough to feed an army.”
“No,” Mal answered swiftly, with little emotion in his voice. “I’d like to speak to Maeve and then I’ll take my leave.”
Abraxas rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “But if you’re after my place, cousin,” he added, turning towards Maeve, “I’ll remind you that though I never need it, I use a single finger now too.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, smoothly slid the sleeping baby from her arms, and left them alone.
Maeve shook her head, stretching her arm where Astrea’s youngest had been asleep for quite some time.
“A Supreme who doesn’t fight,” remarked Mal once they were alone.
The silence between her and the Dread Prince grew heavy and thick. Voices from the dining room carried across the house. Mal looked to the glass-paned doors that led into the atrium. His eyes cut back to hers, and she followed the silent command. With a gentle wave of her hand, the doors spread open for them.
