Maeve looked down the table where Reeve and Eryx sat. Abraxas sat across from them. The three of them having more than their fair share of fun. Abraxas poured them all another round.
Reeve’s eyes lifted to Maeve. He looked to Xander and then winced at Maeve. She rolled her eyes and brought her attention back to the conversation at hand.
Maeve knew the last thing Mal wanted was to be reminded of his parents, even if Xander was wrong.
She spoke, so he didn’t have to.
“Actually, Xander, both of Mal’s parents were Magicals. But I am curious,” said Maeve with a drawl, as though hanging on his every word, “does it feel strange to be the only non-Magical being here?”
Ambrose’s eyes shot to Maeve. Abraxas had told her everything. He was the son of royalty yes, but what little Elven power their kind possessed, which was usually that of battle, Xander was gifted with no skills besides his politics.
Xander didn’t miss a beat. “Only as strange as it feels to be the only member of the Royal Elven Family here.”
Maeve replied with a charming laugh. “Ah- of course. Well, I hope you’ll volunteer for tonight’s duel. I know we’re all dying to see such royal abilities.”
Ambrose kicked his youngest under the table. Maeve bit her lip and didn’t take her eyes off Xander.
“You are every bit as ferocious as I had hoped,” said Xander. “You studied at Vaukore, correct?”
Maeve nodded.
“What prestige,” continued Xander. “Your Father tells me you were Head Girl and best in your year.”
Maeve smirked at her father, already haven forgiven him for kicking her. “Head Girl, yes, however, I was second best. Mal was the best in our year. My Father is kindly biased.”
“Mally and Maeve are quite the pair,” slurred Mr. Iantrose. “I remember when I taught them in school!”
“You never taught us, Mr. Iantrose,” said Maeve, her eyes rolling dramatically.
“Never taught school at all,” muttered Ambrose with a grin.
“Of course,” said Xander. “The Dread Descendant would be at the top.”
Maeve looked up at Mal. “Where he belongs.”
Mal looked over at her, smiling softy with humility.
“I don’t mean to pry,” said Xadner. “Our worlds have just been apart for so long.” He turned his attention to Ambrose and raised his glass. “Here’s to new alliances between The Orator’s Office and the Royal Elven Family.” Xander turned his glass to Maeve, “and to new bloodlines.”
Maeve’s stomach dropped about a hundred feet.
That was a bold.
Too bold.
Quite a few heads turned their way. Ambrose held his composure well, but for the first time all evening, Maeve thought perhaps her father wasn’t genuinely fawning all over The Elven Prince. Perhaps he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
To new bloodlines, she repeated over and over to herself, each time growing more panicked and nauseous.
He hadn’t just come for an alliance with Mal or the Double O. He came, with that stupid smile he must have thought was charming, to win her.
Maeve hadn’t realized how fast her breathing had become until Mal’s long, slender fingers rested on her leg underneath the table. His thumb traced cool, calming circles across her thigh.
Ambrose gave Xadner a small nod and met Maeve’s eyes for a moment. He couldn’t hide his expression of shame from her.
After dinner, Maeve and Mal took their places at the center of the Dueling Hall. Mal had been picked to duel Arman, but Arman fell too ill after Maeve saw Ambrose whisper hurriedly to him just before the duel.
Ambrose then suggested Maeve and Mal show them all what Vaukore was teaching their children. Maeve noted to herself that none of what they were about to see was learned from any Professor at Vaukore.
