Reeve sighed and turned towards her. “I have one last confession to make. One final truth. Because without it, you will not rescue Mal.”
Her stomach twisted at the torn conviction on his face. She shifted back, suddenly feeling out of place so close to him. No, no, no, he was going to say something that changed everything—
“You are my Inheritor.”
The heat in Maeve’s cheeks drained. She was certain she misheard him. Fear, cold and paralyzing, dripped down her spine at the insinuation, at the implications of his words.
She had misheard him. Surely.
Maeve listened to his heightened breathing. The High Lord, typically so relaxed and carefree, stood in front of her with a pained expression.
“No,” she managed, a shake evident in her voice.
“You are going to Inherit the power of Aterna from me.”
He said it like it was already decided! Like she didn’t have a say. And nothing pissed Maeve Sinclair off more than being told what she was going to do.
Maeve shook her head. “I said no,” she repeated, now fully in denial. She stepped away from him, giving him her back as she looked down at Maxius. She expelled a breathy laugh that was the beginning of hysteria. “No.” She laughed harder, her head dipping back. “Absolutely not.” Her tongue licked across her teeth, and she rounded back on him, her eyes narrowing. “How long have you known?”
So many steps forward ruined by another lie!
Regret dripped from his eyes, from his frown. “Since you stood behind me with those delicately deadly fingers at my throat on the day Malachite instructed me to bend the knee.”
My, my. What a surprise,he had said that night.
Reeve continued. “I felt it surge through every bit of my Magic.”
“But that means—”
“Yes,” said Reeve. “You will consume my life force.”
She shook her head. “How fucking dare you. How fucking dare you keep this from me and drop it on me like a bomb when I’ve finally chosen to accept that I want you! That I want to be yours!” She ran her hands violently over her face as an angry cry barreled from her throat.
Another deception.
“Why,” she said, voice dripping with devastation covered up in fury, “why have you done any of this? What point was there if it was going to end? If I am to lose you now, too?”
Reeve didn’t answer.
“Why?” pressed Maeve.
“You know why,” he said quietly.
“To manipulate me into fighting on your side of the war?” asked Maeve, a dark quality seeping into her voice.
“Because I love you.”
She was acutely aware that those words had never been directly said to her. Not in that order. Not inthatway. Mal’s love was evident in many ways, but never in the form of a burning confession.
She bit back the return of her own confession, one that would complement and complete his, truthful as the words were.
“Love? You’ve lied to me endlessly,” said Maeve, her temper rising. “You lied to me from the moment we met— or re-met, you knew about our bond, you knew about my mother, you knew about my Shadow Magic, you knew about Antony, you knew I once loved you, and you knew about the fucking goblet!”
His voice was quiet. “I had no idea the goblet still held poisonous Magic. When it was poisoned—”
“Whenyoupoisoned it,” she corrected him hotly.
Reeve nodded, accepting his part of the blame. “When I poisoned the liquid inside the goblet, I would never have guessed the goblet itself would retain that poison for hundreds of years. Poison, I’ll remind you, that didn’t work on its intended target.”
