Foxglove.
She sent the word straight to Reeve. A safe word they’d only just established if things became too much for her. But that word only had power over Reeve as he sucked in sharply behind her. She could feel, even with her back to him, the Vexkari on his face calling to her. Calling for Reeve to tear, and rip, and—
Maeve, darling, don’t fight him,Reeve replied, tense and fighting against the rage boiling through him.
Magic, too dark and perilous to be purely Mal’s, swarmed over the ring she’d only worn for show, for an act, and showed her just how little it cared about her pathetic attempts to save the one it possessed. The ring shattered with an audible bolt of energy into absolutely nothing.
Not a shard or fragment of its existence remained.
And in its place sat a ring familiar to her. The Dread Ring gleamed with dark intent as it thrummed with ancient and intimate power. Her head tossed back against Reeve’s chest as her eyes fluttered closed.
Dread Magic.
It tasted so fucking sweet infiltrating her. She didn’t care that it was meant as a punishment. She relished the familiar scent, the cool feeling dancing across her fingers, up her arms, and down her center. It transported her back to a different time, a time when she and Mal dueled freely at Sinclair Estates. When he’d first placed the ring on her finger and she’d felt part of him merge with her—
Maeve’s eyes shot open, her pupils blown wide, as she looked up at Mal, a slight hope blossoming in her heart. But there wasn’t a single pigment of his eyes that lacked that sickening green. She waited, her head resting against Reeve, but they remained unchanged.
Despite their green color, she wasn’t convinced the ring was entirely punishment after all.
Mal’s voice was devastatingly calm as he said, “Consider it an upgrade. Hope you don’t mind, Reeve. I’m sure she remembers what happens when she takes it off.”
Mal released her wrist, and it fell into her lap at once beneath the heavy strength of the Dread Ring.
“If you ever do slide beneath the sheets with her,” continued Mal, “know every black mark along her body is a result of my stealing her purity, and doing such wicked things with the remains.”
“Enough,” snarled Reeve, shadows of his Dragon form swirling behind him and his grip on her hips tightening.
Mal looked upon him slowly. Then, with the ease and fluidity of a serpent, he hinged at the waist, bringing both his hands to rest on the arms of their shared seat, and brought himself face-to-face with the Immortal Senshi Warrior.
“Finally, the beast threatens to appear,” he said lazily.
Maeve’s head spun as the Dread Ring continued to work through her.
“She is yours, because I will it,” continued Mal. “But do not forget that you are mine. And in this hierarchy in which I wear the singular crown, where everything in this realm belongs to me, your King. . . she is still mine just as much as she is yours.”
The two deadly forces stared at one another, one at the mercy of Maeve’s love for the other, and one at the mercy of an allegiance that granted him an army capable of taking Earth.
“Is that clear?” finished Mal.
The surging beastly shadow behind Reeve retreated in long, drawn-out seconds. And with it, the rage resonating from him dissipated.
“Yes, my King,” answered Reeve, delivering him the proper, submissive, and obedient answer.
Mal’s eyes dropped to Maeve and lingered over her for a fractional moment. Then a swirl of black mist encompassed him, and he was across the hall, Mordred at his heels. Without looking back at them, he addressed Reeve as he exited. “See to Hiems at once.”
Neither of them watched him leave. They remained stuck in the chair until Mal’s Magic lifted, and Maeve’s darkened veins paled, signifying his departure from the palace. Her chest shook, practically quaking. Her bones rattled so violently, the muscles in her arms seized up. Maeve pushed off Reeve, wobbling into the table. Her body reeled from his Dread Magic without her own to balance and counter it.
Reeve stood and pushed out of the chair, stabilizing her with both his hands before she tumbled to the ground. She slapped away at his hold and found her footing through her own stubborn will, moving towards the open space overlooking the Black Deep.
Darkness coated the water below; no moonlight in sight.
“Did you win?” she asked, her voice clipped between staggering breaths.
Reeve joined her at her side, the breeze shifting his hair. “I’m afraid we both lost, kitten.”
She turned towards him with unsteady steps. Her fist made contact with his stomach in three consecutive punches. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
She raised her fist above her shoulder and slammed it into him once more, bits of lightning traveling across his chest. Again and again, exhausting herself further. Reeve didn’t move once.
