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January 7 - January 15, 2024
Hennington, Captain of the Bellator, and her direct officer. He was a few years her senior. A true Supreme, and a decorated Wizard.
“You should fear her,” he said. “I don’t want stupid men in my court.” Mumford straightened.
“Are you stupid enough not to fear what is more powerful than you?”
But that didn’t change the simple fact that he wanted to crush Alphard’s skull with his bare hands at the thought of their engagement.
“Dragonskin. The last Ironclad there was. My great-great-grandfather killed it himself on the Dark Planet. Killed him too.” Ambrose nodded to the giant dragon skull at the center of the room.
“She will not marry Alphard Mavros.” Ambrose didn’t move. He listened to Mal carefully with a vacant expression. Mal continued. “She will be sworn in as my second in two months’ time. And on that day, any obligations to The Bellator, The Double O or Committee of the Sacred will be null and void. If she is forced to uphold those obligations, then I will step in after my coronation.”
“Why is she even back here? They never come to these parties.” “Thank you,” chimed Abraxas as he admired himself in the mirror before following Maeve out. “Mal invited her.”
He may have been the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His dark hair hung casually at his shoulders. His sharp and earthy scent slammed into her. His tan face wasn’t completely shaved. His light shadow of stubble caused her eyes to linger on him for longer than she would have liked.
His black leather top fitted him perfectly, dipping open into his tattooed chest. Three tiered necklaces hung from his neck. Each with a symbol she didn’t know the meaning of. It was no language she had studied. But she had seen it before. In books about Vexkari, and carved into the hollowed tree in The Yatir Forest.
Kier appeared at Xanders side. The ice. The decor for the evening made sense now.
“Then I am with great company! My cousin is half human. Down there by Reeve. His second in command, Eryx.”
Abraxas had told her everything. He was the son of royalty yes, but what little Elven power their kind possessed, which was usually that of battle, Xander was gifted with no skills besides his politics.
instead, what you did was ignore it to the point that Alphard Mavros thought he could put his hands on you.” Mal’s jaw tightened. His voice dangerously low. “His fucking lips on yours.”
“He’s a pathokenesis,” said Maeve.
“I’ve considered telling him. And asking him not to manipulate me that way.”
“What did Reeve say to you?” “What does it matter? Why don’t you just manipulate my emotions to your desired outcome?” She turned and stepped into the fire without even looking at him.
“I will not use my pathokenesis abilities on you,” he whispered in her ear.
Long slithering trails of frozen magic pushed through her.
Maeve bit her nails, looking down at the floor, disturbed that a part of him had nearly killed her.
“She introduced me to her Great Aunt Vetus Willus. Claims she’s a descendant of a broken Sacred Magical Bloodline.”
“What’s the matter, Little Viper,” said Mal tauntingly. “Realizing my only interest in Ophelia was her Great Aunt’s collection of treasure?”
“I’ll admit I like having leverage on your infatuation with me.”
A wave of relief washed over Maeve. Mal ran his fingers over the two serpent handles.
“The ruins say ‘forever wounded’ I am told. The dagger’s inflictions cannot be healed with Magic. They must heal naturally if not fatal.”
It was filled with bright emerald green velvet, and on it lay a golden locket. The Dread Locket. Mal’s mother’s locket.
“When I return, I will be the Dread Prince, and you will be my Dread Viper.”
