Mal waltzed through the mayhem of the room, dodging each of the tables piled with antiques, and kissed Vetus on the hand.
With the twirl of his fingers, he conjured a bouquet of radiating magical flowers and presented them to her.
“You naughty boy, you shouldn’t have!” Squealed Vetus. She placed the flowers in an empty vase to her side. “Sit down, dears.”
Maeve took a seat on a gold and pink tufted stool.
Vetus Willus was a plump little woman. She was seated on a yellow velvet seashell shaped chair, which clashed horribly with her puffy, pink, layered dress and her half styled red wig.
She grabbed a compact and began applying pink powder to her already saturated cheeks. Maeve noticed several ornate rings that looked like they were shoved down onto Vetus’ fingers in a way that they might never come off.
“Descendant of Merlin? Or is that hogwash?” Vetus asked Maeve as she powdered her nose.
“My Father says hogwash, though the books say otherwise,” said Maeve with a smile.
“Sacred seventeen, though?” She asked while pinching her cheeks in the compact mirror. A bit of disdain crept into her voice.
Maeve nodded.
“Well, surely Malachite, the darling boy he is, has told you about my bloodline?” Vetus raised her eyebrows at Mal.
“Of course, ma’am,” said Maeve. “How impressive.”
“Jema!” Snapped Vetus. “Come and lace these shoes once more. They’re too tight again.”
The elf servant obeyed, kneeling at her master’s feet. Maeve watched as Jema struggled to fit all of Vetus’ feet into the ornate boots. They were at least two sizes too small.
“I know Mr. Bogstrum has sent you here to persuade me to sell some of my treasures,” said Vetus, eyeing Mal.
Mal smiled at her. “I am only here per your gracious invitation,” said Mal, charm oozing from his words.
Vetus’ chin dipped down as she relished his attention.
“May I?” Maeve interrupted, pointing to the large shelves of antiques.
Vetus’ looked annoyed and waved her away. Maeve stood and made her way through the room as she and Mal continued their conversation.
Her house was packed to the ceiling with ornaments and knickknacks. Maeve thought she might as well be in her father’s basement, or Mr. Bogstrum’s shop, The Daydreamer. Only Vetus’ collection was much more curated to her specific taste.
“I have a gift for you, The Dread Prince,” said Vetus.
She had dropped her voice, Maeve assumed, for her not to hear their conversation easily.
“You honor me,” said Mal.
“It is you who honors us, dear boy,” said Vetus. “I can only hope there is a place in your Dread Kingdom for an old Magical like me.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. She bent over to examine a gold-plated mirror with ancient ruins engraved along the handle. The inscription was hard to follow. It was a spell of sorts.
Maeve turned around just as Vetus presented him with an ornate golden goblet. His eyes lifted to hers.
“I told you I had it didn’t I?” She squealed.
“I cannot accept this,” said Mal.
“Of course you can! You must drink from it on the night of your coronation!”
She pushed the goblet towards him. He took it gently in his hands. A wave of relief washed over Maeve. Mal ran his fingers over the two serpent handles.
