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January 3 - January 8, 2025
Abraxas Rosethorn snatched the book from view and tossed it onto the side table. Maeve frowned up at her cousin. His bright blonde hair was styled neatly back, his black blazer and pants were pressed with perfect seams. Abraxas had a pale boyish face, bright blue eyes, like all the Rosethorns, and the confidence of someone far beyond his years.
The Restricted Section of the Library was for staff and approved and monitored visits only.
They watched as a second, smaller unicorn joined the first. “They travel in families,” she whispered. “Father says their blood is incredibly powerful,” said Maeve. “Drinking it prolongs life,” stated Mal.
Mal strode towards the door and demanded entry from Sir Knoble. The knight bowed at the waist and stepped aside.
“Henry said something nasty about. . . her. . .” The girl referred to the brunette, who still didn’t look up. “He said she didn’t deserve to be here. He said she had dirty blood. And that Kietel was killing dirty-blooded Magicals like her every day.”
The ring Mal took from his father and the locket he spoke of were powerful Magic objects. They were made with Dread Magic, and they were two of many Magical objects. “Seven of them,” said Maeve with a surprised exhale. “The Dread Armor.”
“So the ring, the locket, the dagger, the goblet, the spell book, the stone, and the crown,” said Maeve.
He had called her a blood traitor. Maeve continued to smile at Mal, but her insides twisted. That hadn’t just been an insult to her. It was also directed at Mal, whose Magical blood was considered less than her own.
Grindylow.
Despite being offered a top spot amongst the Bellator, Mal took an unadvertised and unopen job as a curator for the Magical Antiquities Museum, working directly with auctioneers and Magical antique stores.
When I am crowned as The Dread Prince she will be the rock against which the waves crash. The mountain standing against the storm. Everyone must know now that she is something to be feared.”