“You need to get dressed,” said Abraxas, his voice clipped.
“Why does he need them?” she asked, her eyes still on the thousands of Warriors below.
“To take Earth,” answered Abraxas.
Snow brushed her exposed shoulders as it fell from the sky, settling across the balcony in sheets of ice. She returned to Abraxas’ suite, twisting her wrist at her side to gently pull the doors closed behind her.
The doors to the balcony remained open. Maeve stilled. She didn’t let the pang in her chest linger as she turned and closed them by hand.
“Still no word about Zim?” she asked quietly, crossing towards Abraxas.
Abraxas shook his head once.
A long silence fell between them.
The gown Maeve was meant to wear lay draped over the sofa, pooling to the dark floors like white water. It was exquisite. And under different circumstances, perhaps she would have been over the moon to wear such a finely crafted gown. But being traded. . .wearing a wedding dress just for the purpose of cruelty, was far from a dream come true.
“How can I leave you here, Brax?” she uttered, her voice at a loss.
“Because it is our duty,” he replied swiftly, his silver tongue talking for him.
Duty. The word’s meaning had changed so quickly, in just a matter of minutes. But she knew what it was that kept her breathing. That kept her heart beating.
She had failed time and time again, it seemed.
“I meant what I said,” she whispered softly. “I failed him before. I will not fail him again.”
“Good. You are needed in Aterna.”
She couldn’t look at her cousin as words that weren’t his spilled from his lips. How could she tell him that wasn’t what she meant at all? How could she express that she didn’t give a damn about Reeve’s Inheritor or what lands Mal claimed and conquered?
His destiny was written in prophetic Magic.
Her’s wasn’t. But that didn’t matter. She would save him from Shadow.
Maeve ran her hands over her face and looked back at the gown. A mockery of something she’d once envisioned for herself. She’d known she and Mal would change the world. She had felt that so deep in her soul.
This wasn’t ever what she imagined.
She stepped towards Abraxas. As she placed her arms around his waist, his arms moved across her back and shoulders in tandem.
There was no look of satisfaction on Reeve’s face as he entered the filled Throne Room. Not even a hint of that usually present, playful gleam in his eyes. No, Maeve had seen this look of pure disgust on him before. His expression was cold and unyielding, just as it had been that day he refused to kneel, and now she would face the consequence of his resentment.
This was the face of war.
Eryx moved behind Reeve, several paces back, as they strode towards the throne in similar armor.
Maeve stood beside Mal, where he sat on the throne, the Dread Crown sat perfectly in his dark hair, and she in the white gown she’d almost rebelled against wearing.
Eryx stopped, stepping to the side as Reeve ventured a few more paces towards them. Reeve stood in perfect opposition to Mal. His glowing skin, broad shoulders, and muscled body screamed that he was a Senshi Warrior, not just the Immortal holding all of Aterna’s Magic. His long, black hair fell gracefully to his shoulders, half of it tied neatly at the top of his head. He’d shaved and faded one side, the side bearing his dark, scar-like Magic, and it had two lines completely shaven running through it, following the pattern of his scars.
Reeve’s eyes landed on her at last. The thread of warm Magic connecting them flared. Maeve pressed down on it, determined not to let it grow.
“Don’t you want to run to him?” asked Mal. “Have him sweep you away from your torment here?”
Maeve remained where she stood. She had not been instructed to move.
Mal laughed. It was dark. Nothing playful about it. “I trade you and you learn obedience?”
