All of them meant trouble.
Chapter 32
Hours seemed like a long time for Reeve to wait to see her in that gown again. But he passed the time swiftly, plotting and planning his behavior for the evening. It had always come easily for him to flirt, steal attention, bring the party to him, ensure he was seen and heard. Not that tonight would be any different.
Except it was different. Tonight, the balance of Maeve’s own psyche hung between him and Malachite. Her own emotional convictions were on the line like never before. Breaking the Dread King would be so easy if her own sanity weren’t a concern he held.
So fucking easy.
He’d taste her lips before Malachite’s very eyes, wrapping his fingers around her throat and pressing his claws against her pulse point, something he knew would draw a sweet sound from her throat. He’d shove his tongue so far down her throat it would mark her permanently.
But she wasn’t ready for that. Despite her bluff that she’d do whatever it took, Maeve was not ready for his kiss. For his hands to bring her pleasure, or for his attention to be more than a war game.
Temptation was a brat, much like the girl he’d watch like a hawk all evening, keeping in tune with every breath she took. At her first sharp inhale, he was prepared to bring out the nastiest version of himself to ensure Malachite didn’t see fit to take her back in a cruel power play.
A binding Magical vow. Reeve scoffed. He could take her back so easily, force Reeve’s hand. But something told him that gaunt demon wouldn’t let Maeve return to Morana. That perhaps Shadow was the only reason Maeve was here at all.
What a strange twist of fate, to be grateful for that wretched creature.
The creature that stood before him now was far from wretched. Her milky skin glowed in the moonlight that reflected off theBlack Deep. The pale light danced across her gown, the one that he’d had made for her long ago.
Selfishly, he couldn’t wait any longer to see her in it.
Realistically, he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance in the future.
Any lesser woman couldn’t wear such a gown. It would wear her. But not this woman. Not Maeve. She stood with her spine tall and her gaze fixed on the horizon, focused on the Dread Lands, wearing an expression of soft defiance. Her hair was up, much to Reeve’s joy, giving him a perfect view of the curve of her back, the subtle dip of her spine that ran from the nape of her neck and disappeared beneath the smooth fabric.
She was without fault.
Nearly without fault, he corrected himself as his fingers brushed over the ring in his palm.
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll claim as your prize should the heavens shift and I lose tonight?” he asked.
She didn’t startle as he spoke from his watching place. Reeve knew this because, since that morning, she had kept a loose hold on the thread between them, ensuring she felt his presence. Normally, when that bond presented itself or she called upon it, she pushed it back down as soon as she was no longer in need of it.
“I have options,” she replied diplomatically, her eyes remaining forward.
He smiled at her response. She kept her cards close, a trait Ambrose instilled in her, no doubt. His chest tightened at the loss. His fingers tightened on the ring.
He joined her and stood abreast of her, his right shoulder to her left as he too watched the calm horizon, patiently awaiting the storm.
“Do I look good enough to evoke envious desire?”
“Almost,” answered Reeve. “You’re missing something.”
Maeve sighed, nearly scoffing as she began to peel her eyes away from the dark horizon. “Of course. How could I ever achieve perfection next to such—”
Her words halted sharply as she took in the jewel raised between his fingers. The thin band of the ring was balanced in his largehand, like it were floating midair. A sparkling pale tanzanite stone sat at its center, shaped like a bursting star.
Reeve felt her pulse quicken. Her pupils dilated, blackening her snowy white eyes.
My armies for a bride.
Those words he’d spoken long ago, when he was desperate to get her out of Castle Morana. They tasted bitter on his tongue then, and they felt like filth running through his mind now. She couldn’t be bartered or traded. If she desired to flee from him in her next breath, he’d let her. . .
No. Not this time.
He would not lose her.
