She wanted to be drenched in him. In his scent and his skin. Suffocated by his Magic.
They pulled away from one another, Maeve’s breathing quick. Mal ran his thumb over her bottom lip.
“They will not take you from me,” he assured her.
Maeve nodded, looking into his dark eyes. He meant it. Beatrice, The Committee, Her Father- none of them knew who he was. None of them understood.
He kissed her once more, and bit gently into her bottom lip.
She was glad they would be leaving in the morning and looked forward to escaping from all of this at Vaukore.
“What time is it?” Asked Maeve as they walked back towards Roswy’s family home.
He glanced at the watch Maeve gifted him. “Nearly eleven.”
Maeve nodded and was grateful the night was coming to an end.
The pair returned to the party as the final waltz was being danced. Maeve grabbed a glass of lemon juice off a floating tray and met eyes with Aunt Beatrice and Irma Rosethorn, who raised their glasses at Maeve and smiled softly.
She returned the gesture.
Half way through the room she stopped walking suddenly.
“Why the sour face?” Asked Mal.
Maeve took a long sip of her drink. “Do you see that girl there?” She pointed with her glass. “The blonde? She was meant to marry my brother.”
Mal hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh.”
“Yes. But her family didn’t approve, to begin with.”
“Did she love him?”
“Does it matter?” Answered Maeve, cooly.
Mal pressed her with a frown.
“No. She did not,” relented Maeve.
“Have you ever considered-”
“I have actually,” interrupted Maeve. “And tonight is not the night.”
Maeve had no interest in delving into the most likely theory that Isabella Zaichosky’s family had been the ones behind her brother’s murder.
Chapter 27
Ambrose Portaled them, and an insistent Abraxas, directly into the Entrance Hall at Vaukore. Maeve and Mal stepped into the warm castle with their new Head Girl and Head Boy badges pinned proudly to their uniforms.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, vibrating the floors beneath them. Ambrose shook Mal’s hand and kissed Maeve on the cheek. He wished them a good term at school.
At the foot of the Grand Staircase, The Headmasters stood. Rowan looked at Ambrose in disapproval.
“Milites!” Ambrose shouted, never breaking his gaze with Rowan.
The soldiers of the Magical Militia in the Entrance Hall all slammed their fist to their chests at once.
“Mundi!” They called out in unison.
