The conflict raged inside him. His desire to claim her, to take her for himself, clashed with how he craved for her to choose him. Not because of some bond, or even because she felt fated to him. But because she wanted him.
“That’s beautiful,” she noted, her voice soft. “Will it fit?”
The answer that rose in Reeve’s throat was silenced at once. So, with a sigh, he merely nodded his reply. Maeve’s left hand rose between them, her empty ring finger beckoning him in silent approval. He obliged, silently taking her hand in his. Her fingers sat over his, so small, so fragile in appearance, drawing some primal desire to the surface.
But he knew better than to believe Maeve was anything but strong, even as she relinquished her dignity and allowed him to slip the one-of-a-kind ring on her finger, something that marked her as his, all for a ruse. This was the girl Eryx refused to see. The girl who persisted.
At last, she noticed the twin band to her ring on his left hand. No dazzling stone, just a matching band that physically designated them as a pair. A set.
If she hated the notion, she did not say it. If she felt repulsed, she hid it well. All Reeve felt through her loose grip on their bonded Magic was her contrition.
Her breath sharpened. Reeve’s eyes shot to the veins running down her chest as they darkened.
The Dread King had arrived in Aterna.
Reeve looked down at her as she looked up at him at last.
“If you want me to stop,” he began, but then his voice became silent, exclusive just for her as he spoke into her mind.I’ll need more than a “stop.” I want a designated word.
She chewed this inside of her lip, her gaze drifting somewhere distant.
Foxglove?she asked.
A villainous smile spread across Reeve’s face.Perfect.
Maeve nodded.
Seemingly satisfied with her mind-to-mind acknowledgment and their agreement of a “safe word,” he pulled her close, closer than was necessary since they were still all alone, and gave her one final thought before they stepped into the bright lights of the crystal palace.
When I win, you’re going to want to remember that safe word.
Chapter 33
Mal stood in all black, funeral black, at the center of the largest hall in the Celestian Palace. With one long wall completely open to the west, it allowed a breeze from the Black Deep to glide across the hall through its pale crystal pillars.
He stood alone, save for the white wolf Mordred, who traced the perimeter of the hall. Somehow, in the months since she had last seen Mal, his face had changed even more. And gods be damned, he was intoxicatingly vicious. A perfect feline smile curved up between the shadowed bones of his cheeks and jawline as their eyes met. His raven hair sat in elegant ease, making him look approachable in a brilliant predator’s trap.
But his eyes were more dead than they were that night in the Throne Room. Merlin, Primus, and all the seven fucking realms. She didn’t know eyes could be so. . .void. So nothing.
So lost.
But the way his eyes tracked her every step across the hall. . .the way they narrowed in on Reeve’s fingers pressed around her waist. . . the way his head tilted to the side as if he was ready to strike, all told her she hadn’t truly considered the stakes of the game she agreed to play to send Mal over the edge.
Because Maeve was terrified of that edge. What if it didn’t look like sweet hazel eyes, and instead it looked like shattered bones and blood pooling across crystal tiles?
She halted when Reeve did, a lengthy distance from Mal. His hand dropped from around her waist, and together they bowed before their King.
“What a welcome.”
Mal’s smooth voice sounded out, not in a call or in an exclamation, but in a pointed tone that felt like it was just for her. She lifted her gaze to him.
Reeve stood as Mal crossed the hall towards them.
“My King,” said Reeve, reverence in his tone, as he gestured towards the table set with goblets and trays of food.
The intimate table near the open-air wall, or lack thereof, was set for four, but one guest, who had been presented as attending, was not present.
“Where’s Abraxas?” Maeve asked, daring to speak to him at last.
