Maeve’s smile blossomed, and Malachite’s performative charm faltered.
“Yes,” she answered. “He is my greatest love.”
Malachite’s grip loosened, as his expression returned to that of a Prince.
“That must be wonderful,” was all he said.
Maeve’s smile faltered then. Malachite had no heirs. No companion he shared his secluded and secretive life with.
“I’m told your son only uses one finger to produce Magic.”
Maeve nodded. “It happened once. He struggles to channel even the simplest of Magic most days.”
“Regardless, you understand how incredible that one moment is, I trust?”
Maeve nodded again, softly. “I believe the restoration of Magic is to your credit. He is able to flourish here.”
“You had him here, yes? And not on Earth? Before you were wed?”
“Yes,” she said with a small laugh. “I’m afraid I was carrying him. . .preemptively.”
The Magic pulsing through his fingers retracted, bringing her heart rate back to a racing speed as he withdrew his calming effect.
Maeve’s cheeks flushed at her own admissions. Such bold things to confess to her Prince. The song ended, and this time, Malachite let her go. Her arms fell to her sides, and she took a small step back. He reached for his pocket, pulling out the black leather gloves he had removed prior to their dance, and began working his long fingers back into the fabric.
“The surname Mavros feels so strange to call you,” he said, his voice detached and plain.
“You’re the crowned Prince,” she replied. “I’m certain you can refer to me however you please.”
“Is that so?” He asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone. His now gloved hands landed behind his back. “What would you have me call you?”
She hesitated. Words she couldn’t find on the tip of her tongue. “Maeve seems sufficient,” she settled on saying.
“I look forward to working with you. . . Maeve.”
Chapter 4
The corridor was dimly lit at Blackstone as Maeve slipped off her heels in the foyer, home at last. Her bare feet padded against the cool, dark tile in silent solitude. Alphard remained at Castle Morana with Roswyn, though Maeve elected to return home the first chance she got.
She could feel Maxius’ slow flicker of Magic where he slept a floor above her. Her thoughts lingered on Malachite’s words, on his remarks about her son.
A single finger. Maxius’ use of a single finger, though it had only happened once, was truly remarkable, as the Prince stated. But it mattered little when controlling even the smallest bit of his Magic was out of his reach a majority of the time.
She rounded the corner to the kitchen. With a soft snap of her fingers, the firelights illuminated the space.
“Enjoy your dance, cousin?”
Abraxas leaned against the center counter, a cigarette between his fingers.
“Don’t smoke that in my house,” she replied, moving towards the teacup cabinet without answering his nosy question.
Abraxas put out the tip of his cigarette with his free hand, and it disappeared. “At least offer me a drink then.”
“You’ve never needed permission to make yourself at home before,” she remarked, grabbing the tea bag she wanted.
Abraxas leaned over the counter, propping his chin on both his hands. Maeve endured the silence between them with ease, knowing Abraxas was squirming behind her. She continued to prepare her tea and then joined him at the counter.
“Did you have a good evening, cousin?” she asked, blowing across her hot tea.
