“What—” she began.
“If you make me repeat myself, I will force you to watch Ambrose’s death again.”
Maeve stepped back from the desk, anger swelling up in her chest. She swallowed all the nasty things she wanted to say to him as she pitied him for the first time.
It seemed the Dread Prince held secrets of his own.
Chapter 13
Mal left her alone for longer than she could stand. And that was infuriating. Even as she traveled to Castle Morana, the hour late, she knew he wasn’t there.
“Maeve,” said Abraxas, genuine surprise in his voice as she entered the Hand’s study. Lyrux played on the floor beside his desk. He spotted Maeve, wobbling to a stand, and reached for her. “It’s late,” continued Abraxas. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Maeve bent and picked up the little blonde. His eyes were Juliet’s, but everything else in his small, round face would grow to look identical to Abraxas. “It’s past your bedtime, surely,” she said to him.
“You look rested,” noted Abraxas, setting down the papers he perused. “Better than last I saw you.”
Maeve didn’t comment. She slid into an expensive chair, settling herself and Lyrux back comfortably.
“Where is he?” Was all she asked.
She prepared herself for a snarky comment, but her cousin merely looked back down at his papers and softly cleared his throat.
“There will be an announcement within the week,” he began, “regarding the Elven lands and some adjustments to Mal’s title.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Abraxas smiled, not at her, but in the way she noticed he smiled at parties, when speaking to council members, or high-ranking Bellator. Abraxas didn’t reply. His eyes lifted to Lyrux, sprawled across her chest, drifting to sleep.
“He finally won then?” asked Maeve.
Abraxas’ voice was anything but gloating. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you sound happy?”
His eyes remained distant, thinking, calculating. “Because I am not certain the cost was worth it.”
“And what cost is that?”
Abraxas looked back down at his papers, his fingers running over the cream parchment, hesitating to speak the truth. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned back in his chair. “A Queen.”
If a heart could stop at two words, Maeve’s did. She deflected the nauseating pit that opened in her stomach. “He will take the title of King?”
Abraxas nodded. Silence settled between them.
She felt so foolish for ever having thought of him while Alphard was between her legs, for playing the image of his fingers ghosting across her face again and again.
His intentions were clear now. He’d merely wanted to make her vulnerable, like he said. He needed her guard down. Nothing more. His interest lay in his parentage with Maxius alone.
But. . .for the first time in what felt like ages, she trusted her Magic.
And she knew something deeper lingered between them.
“Who?” she asked at last.
Abraxas’ shoulder’s pulled up. “I’m not certain. She’s offered him her power in exchange for ruling beside him, and the glory for conquering the Elven Lands.”
“His ego agreed to that?” She scoffed, unable to hide the hurt in her voice.
