Agatha raised her teacup, toasting Maeve.
Maeve’s attention was drawn to the giant portrait of her grandfather, who had just stood up from his armchair and began walking in the field of wildflowers in the mural mounted next to him.
“So,” said Agatha. “Malachite. Our soon to be Dread Prince of Darkness.”
Maeve felt a flush in her cheeks at the mention of his name. And the twinkle in her grandmother’s eye.
Agatha continued, “Though I hear you call him so already.”
Maeve remained silent. The conversation had arrived.
“Well?” Pushed Agatha.
“What would you like to know?” Maeve asked calmly.
“Well, for starters, I’m wondering how I missed the addition of the name ‘Peur’ on the list of suitable pureblood men for you to marry.”
Maeve placed her teacup down, folding her hands into her lap. “You didn’t.”
“And so I’m to understand you’re aware he is not of pureblood. Regardless of his blood heritage from centuries ago, on paper he is not fit for a Sinclair. You need strong magical bloodlines.”
“You think our child wouldn’t be strong?”
Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “I think he has no need for future descendants. The last Dread King reined for an eternity before the blight. Malachite will be no different.”
Maeve chose her words carefully, wondering if Mal would ever see this moment through her memories.
“His blood means nothing to me,” said Maeve.
Agatha frowned. “Then what of him does mean something to you? Besides his future throne?”
Maeve smiled softly. “Oh, where to begin? There’s so much more at play here. Grandmother. Bigger things are happening.”
“Thank Merlin for that. But what are you to him? Will you stand as his second, and marry like expected? Bare children that continue a Sacred line? To repopulate our Promised Land? I know my son has raised you to be fearless. However, I wish you could for-see the regret you may have one day. If you stand beside a ruler that has no desire or need for a family of his own, will you waste your life for that title? Better yet, will you give up your life? You’ve truly known this boy a little more than a year and you’ve nearly died three times, my girl.”
Agatha’s eyes drifted to Maeve’s neck. To her gloved hands. She knew about the marks Maeve was concealing.
“I do fear regret, Grandmother,” said Maeve gently. “I fear the mundane. I fear sitting in a mansion all day with more gold than a God waiting for a man I despise to return home. A life of redecorating the same rooms over and over again. I fear a life lived without thrill. I fear growing old and regretting the life I wasted doing what was expected of me. I crave excitement.” Maeve sighed. “I crave him.”
Agatha nodded slowly, her face a mixture of remorse and pride.
Maeve leaned back in her chair. “I have been mesmerized by him before I knew who he was. No one understands. It’s as though our Magic is one already.”
“Even on the brink of death again and again?”
Maeve gave her grandmother an understanding look. Agatha looked over her spectacles, her lips in a thin line.
“I will gladly die a hundred deaths if it is he who breathes life back into me.”
Agatha didn’t respond.
“I know why I’m here,” said Maeve. “I know you’re meant to convince me to marry Alphard Mavros or that insufferable bit of Elven Royalty.”
“And?”
“Oh, Grandmother. You already know. I can’t.”
“Every Sacred Seventeen woman before you, myself included, has risen to the occasion Maeve and done her duty to her family. A duty that the Dread Prince will continue to enforce.”
