“What does it matter? I hear rumor that another is to be crowned your Queen,” she said.
Mal’s eyes traced over her face meticulously before he said, “And yet. . .I crave you. I do not want her.”
His eyes widened as their green color darkened and the small trace of brown vanished. Magic barreled up around them. He turned from her, falling, and braced his hands on the desk with a loud slam.
His shield of Magic slammed around her before she could conjure one of her own. She stood from the desk and stepped back carefully, placing distance between herself and the sudden darkness.
Mal’s head hung. The firelights in the room flickered. The darkened state around them that had previously enticed her, drawn her to him, slowly morphed into something unwelcome.
He stumbled slightly, placing himself on the opposite side of the desk once more. He did not look back at her as he commanded her with a strained voice. “Go.”
She disobeyed.
She sent her Magic out, feeling that new darkness, assessing its threat. Her Magic hissed through her veins with fearful warning.
Maeve crossed back towards the desk with careful steps. He turned and he looked up at her with heavy eyes, still bracing himself. Eyes that were now swimming in new shades of green. “I told you to leave.”
She placed her hands on the smooth wood between them and took a steadying breath. “If my Prince commands it, I will go. But if Mal would have me stay. . .”
She saw it then: the conflict reflected in his eyes as the green in them fought for dominance.
“She is here, isn’t she?” asked Maeve quietly. “The one you are meant to marry? The one who offered you victory in the Elven Lands in exchange for a queen’s title?”
Mal did not look away from her. “Sharp as a thorn, you are, at last. Freeing your Magic was worth your animosity.” He turned towards her fully. He contemplated his next words and finally said, “Part of her is always with me.”
Maeve nodded and leaned over the desk. The darkness seeping through the walls buzzed in threatening disapproval.
“You should fear her,” he said, his voice slipping in and out of control. “If you only knew. . .”
Maeve’s head dipped to one side, observing him. “Fear is the absence of Magic.”
She pressed her palms into the desk and closed the space between them, locking her lips on his.
His body tensed as Magic skyrocketed around them. His hands grabbed her face instantly and pulled away, as if burned. Maeve melted into the feeling of his skin on hers.
The green in his eyes flickered and dimmed. Warm tones of brown swirled to the surface. Maeve smiled triumphantly, with no understanding of just how deadly the Magic she challenged was.
How with just a kiss, she had broken her own forgotten promise to that darkness.
Mal’s hands dropped, fear prevalent across his beautiful face.
“Tell me,Mal,” she said, as she propelled herself on top of the desk until she kneeled before him, “that you want me to leave.”
She placed her hands on his chest and looked into his wild expression. His fingers slid up the sides of her thighs hesitantly, drawing a hum from her throat. Maeve’s head dipped back, and her eyes closed. Mal gripped at her waist, her back arching in approval. His thumbs pressed into her with bruising force, bringing a laughter of arousal from her lips.
She looked directly at him. Her fingers brushed a few stray hairs from his forehead and then carded through his hair until her hands rested against either side of his jaw. “You’re exquisite,” she whispered. “I won’t run from you this time.”
She pressed her Magic into the darkness, piercing it with everything she had, and at last Mal breathed fully as his eyes darkened. His hands moved further up her body, exploring freely, until his fingers locked around her face. His grip constricted, knotting up her hair and propelling her chest into his.
“I do not want you to leave,” he said at last.
Maeve sucked in a breath. “And what do you want?”
His lustful eyes bore into hers.
“I want you just like this: on your knees before your Prince.”
“My soon-to-be King,” she replied.
