Mal looked her up and down, slowly, soaking up every inch of her gown. And his lip curled. “Where is the gown I sent you?”
“Emerald is not my color anymore,” replied Maeve, surprised at the steadiness of her voice. “You sold me to one who prefers shades of violet.”
“Green is still your color,” argued Mal, his tone dripping with boredom. “Just as I am still your King.”
Maeve hummed in agreement. “Then my apologies are in order.”
Mal’s eyes shifted to Reeve, then he turned, crossing towards the table and placing himself at one of the four seats. He sat without waiting for any formalities or instructions. Maeve and Reeve followed suit. She looked to her right as Mal surveyed Reeve across the table. Reeve, also to her right, poured himself a shot of amber-brown liquid.
“I suppose with Abraxas not attending, I’ll be drinking alone,” he said, downing the shot in one go. When he set the glass back on the table, he looked up at Mal and spoke casually, as though the apex predator wasn’t sitting six feet from him, tense and on edge. “How can I be of service?”
Mal’s eyes moved from the empty shot glass up to Reeve. “Heims has become troublesome.”
“Are the Senshi not able to get it under control?”
“I haven’t sent them in.”
Reeve hummed. Maeve wondered if anyone was actually going to eat. Food seemed frivolous, but as Reeve grabbed a bite, she couldn’t help but wonder how he was so at ease.
Reeve looked away in thought. “You want the rebellion to die quietly.”
Maeve’s mind snapped up to speed as she looked away from both of them. Why was Mal being so transparent? Her eyes slid back to him, but he watched Reeve and merely nodded in reply.
“There is a variety of life on Hiems,” said Mal, crossing one leg over the other, “though it remains small in comparison to us. Many creatures, some that possess Magic and some that don’t, humans, Magicals, Elves, and even ones like your second. Half breeds.”
Mordred continued pacing the large hall, his gleaming red eyes on the three of them as Mal continued.
“I don’t intend to rule ashes.”
Reeve nodded slowly. “Do you know where the wolves in question are?”
Maeve’s brows pulled together softly. Mal was practically leading Reeve straight to the very rebellion he sought to light a fire under.
“Mordred will accompany you on Heims,” answered Mal, swiftly dampening any upper hand Reeve might have had.
Reeve hardly reacted. “Dead or imprisoned?”
“Dead,” answered Mal swiftly. “Save for the alpha. I have promised him to Mordred.”
“How many?”
“The pack is twenty-two strong,” said Mal.
Reeve looked over at Mordred, where he paced. “His company will pose an issue.”
Mordred growled, baring his teeth at Reeve.
“I’m aware,” said Mal. “Which is why he will be hidden during your journey.”
“They’ll still smell him,” said Reeve. “I can smell him.”
It wasn’t an insult. It was stated factually, a byproduct of Reeve’s heightened Immortal senses.
Mal paused, contemplating. Mordred spoke at last, his grovelly voice sounding across the hall. “They shouldn’t go alone, my King.”
The corner of Mal’s mouth pulled up ever so slightly. “Mordred doesn’t trust you.”
Reeve looked at the wolf, matching Mal’s smile. “Was it the comment about the smell?”
