Maeve hadn’t anticipated Brianne was the sensitive type,like Blaire, but her rival had proved herself the vindictive type, certainly.
Soren made a considering noise and added a rare comment. “Sometimes, others’ words get stuck in the head and just won’t come out.”
That could be true. Although, Maeve couldn’t think of something someone had said about or to her that’d leave such an ugly scar. She just didn’t care that much about what others said, and honestly, it seemed like the better way to live.
Perhaps she might’ve cared what Padraic said about her, but he never got the chance to break things off—he simply disappeared from Queen Angharad and her life, never to be seen nor heard from again.
Perhaps that was worse.
If their positions had been reversed, Maeve would have at least found a way to see him and state clearly why it was over. She’d always had this rule for herself with any sort of dalliance, tryst, or relationship—be final. Even if it’s a blow, make it a clean blow.
“You could be right,” she allowed, “but all she had to do was say something and I’d have apologized. Instead, she waged a secret campaign of slander and undermining for the next three years. I’d honestly be flattered if it hadn’t ruined my prospects.”
“She truly had that power?”
“Apparently,” Maeve sighed. “Another fatal underestimation of mine. Her family were powerful within their guild, but I didn’t realize they had such reach. I suspect quite a few…exaggerationswere made about me, too.”
A rumbly, growly sort of sound erupted from Soren, nearly making her jump. Clapping a hand over her own chest, Maeve stared at him in surprise.
A frown, darker than the gloaming, shadowed his eyes. In the low lantern light, the reflective green of his eyes lookedpositively ghoulish.
“They insult you?” His voice seemed different then, as if it came from somewhere far deeper in his chest.
“I’m sure they did. Although, I doubt it was overly creative.”
His head cocked to the side in question, and Maeve had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. The expression, along with his clear offense on her behalf, was endearing.
“Calling someone an incompetent slag can ruin most reputations, no creativity needed.”
His frown only deepened, and he grumbled—and she grinned—all the way to the property line.
When they arrived at the usual spot where they bid goodnight, Maeve turned to him to do just that but was surprised to find him observing her quite seriously. Was he…upset?
“I hope you know, Miss Maeve, that you’re none of those things.”
She couldn’t help her smile. “I’ve been called a slag before, it doesn’t bother me so much, but I’m far from incompetent.”
Maeve could almost see his blush through his fur despite the darkness. Ears flicking back and forth, Soren cleared his throat.
“Indeed not.” And with a curt bow of his head, he said, “Goodnight, Miss Maeve.”
“Goodnight, Mister Soren.”
All in all, once Maeve got used to it, she didn’t mind having Soren around. The children certainly loved him, and he was a great help on those days when Briseis was called away to mayoral duties. He kept the schoolhouse and its grounds immaculate; the paint was never chipped, the foliage never unkempt. He let the children clambered all over him; their favorite was when he’d take an afternoon break after luncheon,sitting in the sun patiently as they climbed him like a tree.
Biting her lips together to keep from laughing, Maeve joined them one afternoon, laying down a blanket to sit on and securing the ribbons of her wide-brim hat. While she enjoyed Sorcha’s many freckles, she didn’t want them for herself.
The students’ laughter sweetened the already beautiful afternoon, although Maeve did have to pull one little bug off of Soren’s tail.
“Not too rough,” she told Dervla, the second-youngest of her students. “Pulling tails isn’t nice.”
Dervla nodded gravely before turning to pounce on her older brother Emrys.
As Maeve covered her snort, Soren assured her, “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”
“Manticore tails aren’t sensitive?” She remembered learning cat’s tails, especially the base, were packed with nerves, and Briseis had commented before that the base of her own tail was quite sensitive.
“Not particularly. It’s the ears that…” Said ears swiveled back and forth before laying flat against his dark, thick mane.
