Mordred growled, widening Reeve’s smile. He looked back at Mal.
“I’ll do whatever you command,” he said, his smile fading, “but, if I am to assume Mordred himself has not found them yet, but I am expected to. . . perhaps that won’t happen if he is present.”
Mordred made a noise like he was about to argue once more. Mal clicked his tongue, and the wolf fell silent and resumed his pacing. Mal’s eyes remained on Reeve, narrowed slightly.
“Just get it done silently and swiftly,” voiced Mal at last.
“Why aren’t you doing it?” Maeve asked, her eyes on Mal.
Mal didn’t look at her. “Does spending endless time on a freezing planet looking for a bunch of dogs sound like something a King should spend his time doing?” His attention landed on her at last, unwelcome and distant. “Have you ever jumped into the mind of something that wasn’t human?”
Her stomach plummeted.
“You can still jump, can’t you?” he asked.
The debate of whether or not to lie battled silently in her mind. That is, until Mal sighed and looked back at Reeve. “Have her jump once you are on Heims, until you pick up something useful.”
Mal’s slender finger traced the rim of his empty goblet.
“Since I’m denying Mordred the hunt, I’ll be careful not to kill your alpha,” said Reeve. “How will I know which one it is?”
“He wears a chain around his neck, with a ring on it.” He looked to Maeve, his eyes on her new ring yet again. “A stone more substantial than that gaudy thing sitting on your finger.”
“I am quite taken with it,” she replied smoothly.
“Your vanity prevails,” he sneered. “Though,” he continued, his expression becoming cold as his finger continued running circles across the glass’ rim. “There isn’t a trace of him on you, despite that ring on your finger.”
“You almost sound jealous,” she stated boldly.
Too boldly, and with too much hope in her voice.
Mal’s finger stilled, and his eyes set on her, plunging them into silence as he forced her to look into his all-too-green eyes. He studied her with such intensity, with Magic creeping between them,casing her in thorny vines, that she thought if he blinked, she’d simply cease to exist under his will.
“I come here graciously,” he said lowly, “just for you to think the nostalgia of you means something to me?”
“Doesn’t it?” she challenged, the game and her prize long forgotten. Her words were her own, desperate and weak.
Mal smiled without teeth, an image of pure and malevolent chaos as he enunciated each word like she was the dumbest prey ever caught. “Oh, Sinclair.” Her stomach rolled at the implications of him using her last name. “Let me show you just how nostalgic I am.”
With a lift of his hand, his previously empty goblet filled with wine. He lifted it from the table.
“A toast is in order,” said Mal, the corners of his mouth turned down. “To my former Dread Viper and the former High Lord of Aterna.”
Maeve didn’t reach for her glass, not that Mal noticed or cared, seeing as his toast was far from genuine. He paused, faking confusion with his eyes still on Maeve.
“Strange. It seems I’m remembering another time when a toast was made and you lost something very special. I can’t quite place it, though.” He turned to Reeve. “You were there, do you recall?”
Maeve swallowed, aware of the scowl plastered on her face.
“Ambrose’s death,” said Reeve softly.
Mal snapped his fingers, raising his goblet slightly. “That was it.” He looked back at Maeve. “Oh, I have an even better one. This one, too terribly sinful not to commemorate. Your aunt’s birthday dinner, before I was crowned. You remember that toast Leslie Loxerman made? That was before you shattered her mind, of course. I remember it. I remember that it was so boring and exaggerated that you couldn’t keep your hands off me under the table. Or perhaps when I returned to Castle Morana after fighting to secure the Elven Lands for months on end, only to find the most traitorous thing of all with her eyes on me during my Hand’s toast of my return, as if she wasn’t responsible for manipulating and erasing my memories all along.”
Mal set his goblet down, and his hands returned to his lap. “Was that enough nostalgia for you?”
“Why are you here?” she seethed, cutting off his words.
Easy, do not let that lightning surface,Reeve’s voice warned across her mind.Keep that trick up your sleeve.
