Arianna didn’t stop as they entered the ballroom. Patrons and donors were eyeing them awkwardly as they continued to argue.
Maeve continued. “I’m sorry you did everything you were told, and now you’re miserable for it.”
Arianna turned in a flash, and Maeve whipped out her hand just in time to deflect a hefty curse sent her way.
A large collective gasp came from the room, and a few guests quickly shuffled away from them.
“Oh, my, Arianna,” Maeve mocked her sister. “I must have hit a nerve.”
Arianna screamed in anger, sending bright green beams her way. Maeve blocked her once more.
“You’re making a scene,” said Maeve cooly.
“How do you always get your way? How is everyone else making concessions except for you?”
“Are you joking?” Laughed Maeve darkly. “You have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made, the things I’ve endured to ensure Mal is crowned and we are able to return home.”
“That’s rich.”
Arianna sent another spell her way, which Maeve blocked with ease. Arianna’s spells were weak. Her anger was fueling them, which, for Arianna, was not a powerful enough source.
“It’s not my fault I fight for what I want and you don’t, Arianna.”
“And what you want is that dirty blooded boy,” hissed Arianna.
Thin strands of weak, green lightning swarmed at Arianna’s finger tips. But Maeve didn’t notice.
A surge of hatred rose in her chest. She barely had time to think before her body reacted.
Anger was a powerful source for her.
A jet of black light burst from the tip of her fingers. Arianna screamed as it was deflected with a deafening crash, though not by herself.
Ambrose Sinclair stood between his daughters, looking at Maeve in complete shock.
The room was deadly quiet. The band had stopped playing, and the usual chatter and clanking of glasses had ceased. All eyes were on Maeve and Arianna.
“Come with me. Now,” commanded Ambrose as he strode past Maeve.
She looked at her sister, whose face was white with fear, and she dared not look at anyone else in the room. Ambrose was silent as they ascended the stairs to his study.
“What is the matter with you?” Ambrose spoke darkly once they were behind a closed door, which he slammed.
Maeve wasn’t even aware her father had spoken. She made her way to the sofa and sat, shaking out her hand.
“Are you aware of what you just did?” Asked Ambrose, louder now.
“I used illegal magic,” said Maeve, her voice dry. “Deadly and unforgivable magic.”
There were only a handful of spells that produced black light. None were permitted under the Orator’s Office.
“Deadly.” Ambrose searched her expression, confused. “On your sister!”
Magic Ambrose blocked.
“She insulted me. She said Mal had dirty blood. He’s about to be The Dread Prince!”
“I don’t give a damn what she said. Maeve Sinclair, none of my children have ever embarrassed me like this.”
