She lowered her hand and swiveled her knees beneath her. Mal placed one hand on the back of her neck and his right hand over her heart.
Their eyes locked together.
“Amaranthine Maeve Sinclair,” he began, his voice hummed low with authority. “I mark you as a Magical of The House of Dread.” Shards of ice shot into her skin where each of his fingertips lay. “I mark you as my own.”
Magic pierced her skin. She cried out, snapping her eyes tightly shut. Mal held her firmly. She bent forward, grunting against the pain. Tendrils of shadowy black magic crept from his fingertips, crawling into her skin one by one, like metal stinging spiders. Her cheeks were stripped of color. She wined, and he pushed deeper into her skin.
The candlelights next to the bed flickered.
With one last painful scrape, he pulled his hand away from her chest.
On her chest was a bright red two-headed serpent, snaking its way through the mouth and eyes of a skull. One of the vipers mouth was closed. The other had its fangs ferociously bared, ready to strike.
Maeve ran her fingers over the mark. It was already healed. Mal tucked his fingers under her chin, bringing her gaze up at him, and cocked his head to one side. Her cheeks flushed with warmth under his sultry gaze. The corners of his mouth turned up.
“We’ll be late for my breakfast banquet if you don’t get dressed.”
“What’s the alternative?” Maeve asked mischievously.
“I have you again.”
Maeve dropped back onto the bed, flinging her arms above her head. “So be it.”
Chapter 63
“Listen to me carefully,” said Maeve as Zimsy brushed through the matted wet hair falling to Maeve’s shoulders as they prepared for Mal’s Coronation.
Zimsy’s eyes popped to hers in the mirror, and Maeve continued in a whisper.
“You are not magically bound to answer to anyone in this house except my mother or me anymore.”
Zimsy’s hands froze and her eyes grew large.
“However,” she continued quietly, “until the time comes when I can break your chains completely, you will need to obey them perfectly all the same. No mistakes.”
Zimsy nodded quickly and bit her bottom lip. “You are playing a dangerous game.”
“I have been for quite some time,” said Maeve with a half-hearted smile. “Might as well stay true to character.”
“It is illegal for one to break the enslavement curse on another where Elves are concerned. They could imprison you.”
“Do you think I would let that happen?” Maeve’s smile turned into a smirk, trying to calm Zimsy’s nerves.
“No,” said Zimsy contemplatively. “Nor would the Dread Prince.”
Maeve nodded and reached back for her hands. “Don’t worry about me. Just stay on your toes. With the magic gone, if a command slips your mind, my Mother won’t be happy and she isn’t stupid. This is my world now, Zimsy. And I won’t be leaving you behind.”
Thousands of Magicals gathered in teary-eyed awe at Castle Morana. The throne room’s floor shone with dark emerald and silver oversized tiles. The smooth stone pillars along the room towered over them, jetting up into an enchanted ceiling of the night’s sky.
Maeve smiled. It was like her bedroom window only massive. Her heels clicked across the floor as she and Abraxas walked arm in arm towards the Throne Room.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “We’re here.”
They stopped and watched as not just Magicals took their places lining the long hall. Reeve and Eryx stood with a handful of Immortals. Lithandrian and Xander brought a number of Elven citizens and royalty too. King Kier stood with his wife and children and his court.
All of the remaining realms came. All of them were prepared to move forward with their plan of unity.
Ambrose stood at the head of the room, beside an orate throne of crimson red. Maeve and Abraxas stayed at the back of the hall, behind the archway. Music began playing from the throne room, its provoking melody flitted across the hall.
