Maeve’s eyes widened.
Ambrose’s chin lowered.
“I have a new deal,” said Kietel. “Her.”
Maeve’s heart kicked.
“No,” said Mal.
Kietel looked to Mal. “You can join us too, Dread Prince. But that is the new deal. She fights for me.”
“In exchange for what?” Ambrose said sharply.
Kietel looked at him like it was obvious. “The lives of thousands Ambrose.”
“Kill them all,” said Mal. “She is leaving here with me.”
Kietel looked at him now. “That doesn’t sound very Princely.”
“Do you see me in a crown?” Asked Mal darkly.
Mal’s Magic was pulsing, pushing out from him. Maeve could feel it around her neck. Winding up, preparing to strike.
“You and I could be quite powerful together,” said Kietel.
“I don’t need your help,” said Mal.
“I am not suggesting you do. Only that it would be beneficial for us to be allies. The real enemy slithers among us, leeching off our power, lining his pockets and maintaining stolen power.”
“You think that after hurting someone close to me, I would want to join you?” Asked Mal calmly.
“Ah, but she’s fine, isn’t she? And you’re going to find that your methods won’t gain you much popularity amongst those in power. Or do you plan to usurp them, anyway?”
Mal never broke their gaze. “You will never know.”
All hell broke loose then.
The shield wall between them burst with a howling of wind. The finger Kietel had pointed at Maeve snapped in two with a crack. Mal and Ambrose obscured in a blink. Ambrose toppled Maeve to the floor.
The room turned to pure darkness. Maeve looked up as Mal was a swirling flame of green crackling death, black sparks undulating from the one finger he pointed at the ground.
Maeve was only able to see the look of anguish on Kietel’s face before her body flipped over and she was pressed against cool white marble tile and everything around her fell silent.
She pressed into her palms as her vision focused on the foyer at Sinclair Estates. Reeve stood leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes slid to her with a gloomy expression.
She leaned back on her knees to catch her breath and looked around. Her Father had sent her alone. She ran her fingers across her wrists, where a dullness still lingered, but the moonstone shackles had vanished.
“Are you alright?”
Maeve looked back at the High Lord of Aterna. He was dressed in casual clothes, no suit of armor for war or velvet tux for pleasure. Just a simple pair of pants and a shirt suitable for a human. But nothing about Reeve was human. He face was too glorious. The power in his golden eyes flickered with fire.
Maeve nodded. “Why weren’t you there?”
Reeve looked away from her, slightly annoyed. “It was voted best I not attend.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but sucked in a quick breath instead. Magic lifted around her.
“Woah,” she said with a shutter.
