“You finally found me,” said Maeve.
“A nice hiding spot.”
Maeve set her book aside. “How did your tux fit?”
“Like a glove.”
Ambrose took Mal to Wizard’s Wears in London to be custom fitted for what Maeve could only assume was his first-ever luxury piece of clothing. Ambrose also purchased him a matching set of dress robes, but those weren’t worn frequently at The Summer Solstice Party. Most younger Magicals considered that fashion outdated.
Mal sat in an armchair close to the window, staring out over the estate. Lightning slammed into the horizon. “Your world is so very different than mine.”
“I imagine so.”
Mal’s head snapped towards her as though he wasn’t expecting such a blunt response.
“I’m not boasting. I, in turn, envy you in ways you can’t imagine.”
“You can have anything you want here.”
“It comes at a great cost,” said Maeve. “My clothes may be fine, and this house stands above all the rest but you. . . Your future is so much more free than mine.”
Mal looked away from her, playing with his ring. “You make your own future, Maeve. I will ensure that. Besides, I heard a rumor that you are now being scouted for Bellator.”
He smirked. Bellator had seemed unattainable, undesirably even until recently. To be at the top of the Magical Chain. . .
She smiled sadly. “I believe that’s true. But it’s not that simple. What is coming won’t be an easy. . .transition. There are things expected of me. Those in power who do not wish to be dethroned.”
Mal didn’t press the subject. That was as much as they could safely speak about Mal being the true Dread Descendant. Maeve figured there was a large part of him still processing the implications of his reality.
He changed the subject.
“How badly did I bruise you yesterday?”
“Not terribly,” said Maeve.
They were silent for a moment before Mal spoke again.
“Let me see,” said Mal in a low voice.
Maeve hesitated and then stood, un-tucking her blouse from her skirt, and pulling it up a bit. There, on her stomach, just below her ribs, was a deep purple circle from a curse that hit her straight on.
She had screamed when it made impact. Mal’s curses burned deep. Especially Dread Magic.
Maeve took a step towards him as his head cocked to the side. His cold fingers reached out and slid across her exposed skin, sending chills across her entire body. He was unable to look away from the bruise, and Maeve was mesmerized by his expression.
“Your father complimented my watch today,” he said quietly.
Maeve tried to steady her breathing as his fingers glossed over her skin.
“It suits you,” said Maeve, trying to control her voice.
“Did he know you gave it to me?” Asked Mal.
“No.”
Mal looked up at her and dropped his hand. She let her blouse fall down, concealing the bruise.
“This is a Sinclair family watch?”
