He let go of her hand, his fingers slipping across her scalp and carding through her hair as he pulled his face back, taking in her expression. She opened her eyes and looked up at him through heavy lids, fighting off the dizzy heat rolling through her.
“Much better,” said Mal as he observed her with a frown that somehow suited him. His fingers twisted at the base of her neck, gathering her hair and angling her head up at him.
Maeve’s teeth ground together. “What are you doing?”
Mal’s frown deepened. “Breaking you.”
He flicked her forehead faster than she could register.
The living room at Blackstone disappeared, replaced by utter darkness. A void. The vision didn’t slam into view. It crept up slowly, manifesting in soft plumes of Magic and filling the space around her. Glittering gowns and massive emerald green banners whispered into view as she was forced to watch the scene unfold.
The Throne Room at Castle Morana.
She spotted herself immediately. Bright-blue eyes that felt right and real, that were in keeping with her father’s. With her siblings.
Mal, no scar running across his face, with The Dread Crown atop his head, smiled down at Maeve, where the fanged serpent pin Roswyn now wore gleamed on her chest. She wore pants and boots, and a long coat that matched his set. Combat attire that still held every ounce of the femininity and beauty she loved in a gown.
Maeve felt a twist in her chest as she watched herself. “I was your second.” It was partially a question, her voice dampened, hardly moving anywhere across the vision. . .the memory.
The hall was silent as all watched Ambrose Sinclair step towards their newly crowned royalty. Her father’s handsome and kind face held such adoration for Mal as he held out his hand with the pride of a father.
“Premier Sinclair,” said Mal.
“My Prince,” replied Ambrose.
The silent hall then burst into applause.
Mal turned away, and when he moved back to Ambrose, something slender and gold sat between his hands. A goblet.
“A gift,” said Mal, presenting the goblet to Ambrose. “For your allegiance and dedication to my cause.”
Ambrose took a hefty exhale, clearly honored. He hesitated to grasp the goblet’s serpent-like handles.
“Bring us some wine,” called Ambrose. He grinned up at Mal. “Our new Prince deserves a toast.”
As guests’ goblets and glasses were filled, including the gold glittering one Mal gifted Ambrose, her father stepped onto the stairs of the throne and raised the goblet high.
“A toast! To the new age of Magic, to the end of living in the shadows and hiding from the world. To our Savior and his Viper, my darling daughter.”
Cold Magic shot through her.
Mal’s Viper.
His darling daughter.
Maeve’s mouth went dry.
Ambrose continued. “I knew from the moment the pair of you stepped into my home that this day was soon to come barreling forward.”
There were a few clamors of excitement as her younger self and Mal locked eyes.
“To the Dread Prince!” cheered Ambrose. “May your reign be true!”
Ambrose raised the goblet to his lips, and everyone followed suit. Ambrose stepped past Maeve and clapped her shoulder, a gesture fitting for The Premier and the Prince’s Viper. He stepped closer to her mother, no, Clarissa, and Arianna.
“Breaking you”, Mal had said before plunging her into this moment of happiness. A smile pulled at her lips as she enjoyed watching her father in this way. He oozed perfected dominance in such a warm and protective way. He was strong, stronger than most, and knew that gave him a duty to keep others safe.
To keep her safe.
