“What about him?” Replied Ambrose.
“Do you think that it’s true?”
“Unfortunately what I think doesn’t matter,” said Ambrose. “I must treat the threat with validity.”
“Threat?” Asked Maeve with a quick laugh. “If he is the Dread Descendant, then is it wise to go against him? You know the prophecy of his return as well as I do.”
“I do,” said Ambrose. “And his claims align with that of the prophecy.”
“Then I don’t understand what makes him the enemy. Some made up Human line of land?”
“No,” said Ambrose. “Some of Germany’s Magical Militia have pulled from the treaties we have with the humans. My men. They are not fighting the same war we are anymore.”
“So what are they fighting for?”
“Domination. Under a new flag. Under a new regime.”
Maeve leaned back in her chair. “I read his speech. The one from this morning that the Starlight Gazette printed and you threw in the fire.”
Ambrose pulled a cigar from a golden box on the side table, the tip lighting instantly as it touched his lips.
“Where did you get a copy,” he asked casually.
Maeve ignored him and continued. “He seeks to free Magicals from their confinement.”
“Ah,” said Ambrose. “But that is not the prophecy, is it?”
“It’s part of it,” argued Maeve.
“It’s not, Maeve. You so badly want it to be true?”
“No,” said Maeve. “For what it’s worth I don’t believe he is the Dread Descendant.”
A smiled tugged at Ambrose’s lips. “I figured not.”
“The prophecy speaks of those with Golden Blood being freed.”
Ambrose nodded.
“Purebloods.”
He nodded again, all trace of that smile gone. “As you can see, that puts me in a precarious position with the Orator’s Office. And the other realms. It is not my duty to protect only Magicals with Pureblood. It is my duty to protect the Magical world from evil actions, regardless of those actions being magical or not.”
“I know. Have you seen Reeve recently?”
Ambrose eyed her. “The Immortal High Lord,” he corrected, “is not meant to make an appearance at the party.”
“What does he say?” Asked Maeve.
“Alright,” said Ambrose as he clapped his hands on his knees and stood.
“What?” Asked Maeve, feigning innocence.
Ambrose smiled and flicked her nose. “That doesn’t work on me.”
Maeve batted his hand away and he chuckled, planting a kiss on her forehead. Arianna, who had been pretending not to listen to their conversation, crossed her legs and eyed Maeve.
“What’s your problem?” Asked Maeve lazily.
