Sinclair Estates was lavishly decorated for Christmas. As soon as Maeve stepped through the door with her father, the strong scent of pine filled her nose.
“It’s giant,” said Maeve, referring to the oversized tree in the foyer. It was decorated with blush and red-colored ornaments and silver garlands. “Much bigger than any I can remember.”
“Yes,” said Ambrose. “Your mother insisted this year. Something about the Mavrosi having one last year,” said Ambrose with a wink.
Maeve smiled, taking off her coat.
Trudy, their head Servant Elf, appeared and took Maeve’s things from Ambrose.
The holiday season at Sinclair Estates included very little quiet time around a fire opening gifts and much more chaos. Her Grandmother Agatha had already chastised Maeve and Arianna for not helping her pick out new holiday drapes for the dueling hall.
“Last year, the Mavrosi had gorgeous drapes,” huffed Granfmother Agatha. “It would be a disgrace to the Sinclair name to have the same drapes in the dueling hall that we did in October.”
Agatha turned from Maeve and Arianna and began discussing tablecloths with Trudy.
“I hate when we host this party,” muttered Arianna.
Maeve, who was often at odds with her older sister, couldn’t agree more. She managed to slip out of the hall while Agatha was preoccupied.
“No.” Maeve turned the page of her book without looking at him.
Mal spoke plainly. “I didn’t ask.”
Maeve tossed her book to the side and stood. “So I have no say?”
“I didn’t say you had to go. You are welcome to stay at home this evening. But I am going.”
Maeve’s mouth fell open. Mal crossed the room towards her.
“Why don’t you want to go? You love parties.”
“I don’t love them anymore. Besides, only my mother and Arianna are going. Father won’t even be there. Why should we go?”
“Because they are wealthy and influential. I need their support.”
“So it’s only political?”
Mal’s brows pulled together. “What else would it be, Maeve?”
She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
He reproached her with his eyes and spoke lowly. “Speak your mind, please.”
Maeve shook her head. It was too silly to say out loud. She would swallow her feelings about Ophelia and the St. Beverauxs and attend their Christmas party. “Never mind. I’ll go. But I won’t enjoy myself.”
The corners of Mal’s lips tugged up ever so slightly. “Have I come to bore you already?”
Maeve stopped. “That’s not what I meant.”
Mal stepped around her and on the sofa appeared a large flat black dress box with a cream velvet bow sprawling across its top.
“For tonight,” he said.
The gown was fully beaded, deep crimson red to the floor with matching satin gloves to her elbows and a long, flowing bow for her hair, which she used to fasten her hair neatly pulled back.
Despite the attires beauty, Maeve gripped the edge of Mal’s dressing table.
Once again, her throat was tight. Her chest ached and her mind spun fuzzy. Deep in her stomach, something strange moved, creating a quick wave of nausea.
