“I just need a minute,” she choked out, turning on her heel and squeezing one eye shut to dull the ache in her head.
“Bring me another brandy, then, will you?” Abraxas shouted after her.
Neither of them followed after her, for which she was grateful. She passed through the hall with her head down, her nails so deeply embedded in her palms that the skin was torn.
She rounded one,two, three corners until she stopped. White light tore at the edge of her vision as she held herself upright against the wall. The firelights flickered in the dark, driving her eyes closed.
Just a little blood, Maeve, please. Please. Please. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat—
She pressed her back against the cold marble wall, desperately searching for something to ground her.
“You seem quite distraught.”
Maeve pushed off the wall and turned sharply in the shadowed corridor. She swallowed quickly as Mal moved into the flickering glow of the firelights.
She fell back against the wall once more, looking away from him, as a roll of pain rippled through her head and down her neck.
“It’s. . . none of your business,” she said at once. Hearing how sharp her voice was, she sighed. “Apologies, I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he replied casually. “Your husband’s sister is my personal healer. Perhaps you should pay her a visit.”
Maeve nodded. “Perhaps I should,” she replied, unwilling to tell him Astrea couldn’t offer her any help. Unwilling to admit to him that the medicine she needed was gone.
A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Deception comes so easily for you.”
Maeve’s control of her expression dropped. She didn’t care that he was her Prince as she glared at him.
Mal chuckled lowly. “It was a compliment.”
“Allow me to accept it and take my leave,” she said, feeling a wave of light flickering towards her. The voice grew more desperate with each pass it made through her.
Just a little blood, Maeve, please. Please. Please. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. She’s consuming me completely.
Mal’s chin lifted as his Magic searched her. “You’re in quite a state. Your Magic is completely unstable.”
Maeve took a lengthy inhale. “Why does my stateconcernyou?” she asked breathily.
Mal’s eyes moved down her entire body. The action caused her head to slam back against the wall as that same voice cut across her mind again.
No, not voice.
Hisvoice, she realized at last.
It had been his voice all along. She squeezed her eyes shut, begging his voice in her head to shut up. To stop whispering things she knew not to believe. “You,” she whispered.
“Judging by your expression, I’d say right about now you’re realizing that I’ve been in your head for quite some time. I must say it accelerates my ego that I figured out it was you in my head first. Would you like to see what currently plagues me where you areconcerned?”
Maeve shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter.
“Too bad,” said Mal.
He closed the gap between them faster than she could register and placed both his hands on the side of her temples. She didn’t resist, curiosity getting the best of her as she allowed the memory to play out across her mind.
Her birthday at Sinclair Estates. Before her father’s death. A small party where only a handful of family gathered for dinner. But Mal’s memory did not match her own. He himself sat, one leg crossed over the other, in a large armchair, watching her open gifts as her family drank and conversed.
Maeve pushed back on Mal’s Magic that slid into her mind. With a groan, she flung herself back to the darkened hallway at Castle Morana. Mal did not retreat. His hands hovered over either side of her face.
Maeve didn’t care that he was her ruler, her superior. She felt everything from deceived to toyed with. And so she spoke far more boldly than she should have. “How did you come to this memory, for I know it is not yours. That was my birthday. My party. You were not there.”
