Astrea waited for his command in silence.
“Leave, and forget this encounter.”
Astrea nodded, another Magical command she couldn’t avoid, and merely said, “Goodnight, my Prince,” as she dipped into a formal bow and left the Healing Wing.
He stared down at Maeve for longer than was necessary. Outside of the Magical pull, beyond her voice in his head, and past the true reason he sought her out. . . She was lovely.
Chapter 10
Are you mine?
Her voice.
In every meaning of the word.
The Dread Prince’s voice.
Maeve rolled across cool bedding, pressing her palms into the mattress with a groan. She lifted herself off the bed, her hair across her face, and her body aching. She brushed her wild hair back with her fingers and grabbed the glass of water she spotted next to the bed. The cup barely touched her lips when the memory of the night before, or what she assumed was the previous night, flooded her mind. With shaking fingers, she discarded the cup back on the nightstand and tumbled her way out of bed.
Maxius.
The visions she had seen—NO. The vision Mal hadforcedon her played at super speed in her mind over and over.
My Little Viper.
His Little Viper. His?
She was in the family room in a blink, Obscuring to the point of Maxius’ Magic. He looked up from the elongated couch, a piece of parchment in his lap, and a small quill in his hand. He smiled softly at her and then returned to his writing. Spinel was curled halfway in his lap as Lyrux petted him with small hands and watched Maxius write.
The truth begged to be acknowledged; it knocked so politely at her chest, it made swallowing such a life-altering pill nearly feel like relief. But she pressed down on the feeling. Even as she looked at her son and the resemblance stared back at her with undeniable certainty.
“Maeve,” came Abraxas’ voice.
Her eyes slid to the other end of the room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, but the question was not directed at her cousin.
Mal sat in one of her armchairs, one leg crossed over the other, and his chin propped lazily on his gloved fist.
“Alphard headed back to the front lines this morning,” said Abraxas, as casual as stating the forecast, but his eyes were darting back and forth between his cousin and his Prince. “Mal suggested a brief discussion and to see him off here. Left just a bit ago.”
Maeve’s eyes didn’t leave Mal’s. He watched her with unexpectant eyes. She crossed closer to him, fully aware she was in a set of thin silk pajamas she had no memory of changing into, and that her hair was untamed.
“Can I speak with you in private?” she asked, her throat raw.
“No,” replied Mal swiftly. “My Hand will remain present. Speak freely.”
Maeve’s mouth opened with a soft sound of annoyance. Abraxas didn’t even attempt to hide his pleasure.
“You disappeared last night, Maeve,” said Abraxas, reveling in the tension that sat thick in the room. “Zimsy said you came home earlier than she expected you. Where’d you get off to?”
“Yes,” said Maeve, tension coiling at her fingertips as she refused to break eye contact with Mal. “Where did I get off to?”
Mal lost their stare down without a care. His green eyes dipped to her fingertips and then took his time trailing them back up her body.
“How should I know?” he replied as his gaze found hers once more.
She lowered her chin with a sharp exhale. If he wanted it all out in front of Brax, then by all the gods, she’d do it.
