It was fear and death and desire and ambition all bottled up into one man.
Her Prince of Darkness. Her savior.
All eyes were on Maeve as she fell to her knees.
It was quick, but satisfaction shot across Mal’s eyes.
“I do not deserve this honor,” she said, bringing her fist slowly over her heart, where his mark was. “But I will spend the rest of my life fighting for your reign. For your crown. For your life. For you.”
The spell snapped between them like a whip.
Mal’s magic swelled across the Hall between them, sliding her backwards onto her feet, her sapphire and silver gown swished across the floor, flecks of light glittering around her. She braced herself against the power and allowed his gift to circle her completely.
It swirled around her, dripping her in ancient and reverent magic. She could taste his power. It was electrifying.
Her skirt transformed into fitted pants of a dark emerald brocade, like his, and her satin shoes shot up her legs, swirling with Magic. They were now shining boots laced to her knees. The fabric of the bodice unfurled itself, creating a trench coat that matched the dress with a high collared tunic underneath. Her hair swirled around her until it was intricately braided down her back.
On her breast pocket was the serpent twin to Abraxas’. Its fangs bared and ready. She looked down at it. At herself. A warrior. A fighter.
This was the uniform of a second. Of his Dread Viper. Of a deadly witch with agility.
She crossed the hall between them with confidence. In three short steps, she stood before his throne. A decaying skull broach appeared on his own breast pocket. The final piece of his Dread Mark.
She and Abraxas were the mouth and the sword. He was Death incarnate.
Chapter 64
Ambrose had been the first to bow and swear his allegiance and his army of Magical Militia to their new Dread Prince.
Mal didn’t break their grasp. He looked across at Ambrose reverently. His eyes glassed over, and when Maeve looked to her father, she realized his eyes were the same.
They stared at one another with what Maeve could only describe as… love.
Pride swelled in her chest.
“Premier Sinclair,” said Mal.
Ambrose’s grip tightened. “My Prince.”
The hall burst into applause.
The throne room at Castle Morana transformed into a reception hall. Long tables of food and refreshments and more liquor than could possibly be consumed lined the hall. Music played serenely across the hall.
Mal pulled forth the Dread Goblet and presented it to Ambrose.
“A gift,” said Mal. “For your allegiance and dedication to my cause.”
Ambrose took a hefty exhale. He hesitated to grasp the goblet’s serpent handles.
“Bring us some wine,” called Ambrose. He looked up at Mal. “Our new Prince deserves a toast.”
The wine was poured. Floating trays of glittering goblets delivered them around the hall. Ambrose stepped onto the stairs of the throne and raised the Dread Goblet high.
“A toast! To the new age of Magic, to the end of living in the shadows and hiding from the world. To our Savior and his Viper, my darling daughter. I knew from the moment the pair of you stepped into my home that this day was soon to come barreling forward.”
There were a few clamors of excitement. Maeve and Mal locked eyes. That new Magic slipped from him, taunting her with every breath he took, filling his eyes with otherworldly implications.
“To the Dread Prince!” Cheered Ambrose. “May your reign be true!”
