Maeve
The hallowed halls of the palace in Moonrise are quiet and somber. Normally, light would spill through the ancient stained glass windows lining the foyer, casting sunlight that made the golden walls gleam, but today everything is dark. Gray. Lifeless.
Rain thunders across the glass ceiling, echoing down hallways usually alive with conversation and bodies bustling from room to room. Now, my only company is my shadow, and even that’s trying to curl away, just as worn and empty as I feel.
It’s been nearly a week since we lost Brie. I couldn’t stay in Maatua for another second waiting for news.
I walk up the grand staircase, wearing a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, a far cry from the sweeping, luxurious gowns of silk I normally dress in when visiting my future home.
Yes, one day all of this will be mine. I’ve known it–felt it in my bones since I was just a little girl. I will be queen. Soon. Three years from now, I’ll stand on the balcony and wave down at the people of Moonrise–of all of Eastonia–but in the visions I had for myself, the dreams I manipulated?
Brie was always beside me.
I close my eyes, raising my face toward what little light there is to be had, and curse her name for leaving me behind to do this by myself.
That bitch. Honestly, I mean, really, Brie? You had to die in a shipwreck?! You couldn’t have just–just been normal? Been cool? Stopped your madness about finding a husband for a single fucking second and–
“Maeve?”
I whirl, blinking back tears as my grandmother’s voice drifts toward me just as lightning pierces the sky, blanketing the corridor in violent blue light. Queen Ella–Grandma–walks toward me, cutting a corner from another shadowed hallway tucked just out of sight. Her cloak of crimson trails behind her in the shadows, but her eyes are wide and glittering like polished sea-glass as she reaches my side, laying a hand on my shoulder. My hoodie’s slightly damp from the rain, but she doesn’t seem to notice the cool chill. Instead, she squeezes, her dark brows furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you. Or anyone.”
“I got sick of Grandpa pestering me constantly in Maatua.” I sniffle, reaching up to wipe the tip of my nose with my sleeve. “Aris left for Veiled Valley and convinced Mom to go with him, and I…”
“Your grandpa told me what happened,” she says under her breath, one of her brows arching toward her hairline. “I didn’t know you knew that kind of language.”
“I’m sure Grandpa has been called worse than an overbearing, annoying motherfucker.”
Grandma’s lips part like she’s about to reprimand me for calling her mate of over forty years, the Alpha King of the Roguelands, and the scariest, most powerful man to walk our realm a horrible name, but her mouth curves into a knowing smile.
“Ryatt is having an especially hard time with this,” she admits sadly, her eyes glistening in the gray light.
“Brie was his favorite,” I murmur, my heart wrenching at even the thought of her.
Grandma bites her lip and curls her hand around mine, wordlessly leading me away. The palace is a maze to most people, but I know the winding hallways and shadowed alcoves like the back of my hand. My feet know where we’re going without needing my eyes to confirm it. Within a few minutes, I’m tucked in her office on the third floor, surrounded by the familiar crimson wallpaper and dark wood finishes.
Her paintings cover the walls in thick, golden frames. Grandpa kept everything she painted down to sketches on napkins.
Once, I tried to explain the concept of love to Brie. I used our grandparents as an example. They have the type of boundless love that spans realms, lifetimes. Something so deep it could never be broken, even by death.
Maybe one day Brie will understand that feeling for herself. I never will because I’m technically not a shifter. I’ll never feel the mate bond. I’ll never know what it’s like… but Brie could have. I imagined living vicariously through her great love story one day.
Now, I’ll have to settle for Aris and whoever is unfortunate enough to end up as his mate, bless her soul.
Grandma sits on a leather couch, reaching for a tea set, but before she can utter a word, I blurt, “I need you to force Blake to come here as soon as possible. Have your mystics reach out to him in their divine way, I don’t care how it’s done.”
She stiffens, blinking once, then turns to me with a puzzled look flashing behind her eyes. “Why?”
I perch on the armrest of the couch, my legs splayed in a very unladylike fashion, my pants also damp from the rain. “Because Sarah failed to find Brie and Logan by scrying, but Blake can do it. He’s just a lazy, rotten imbecile and needs an extra push. That’s why I’m here. I need him, and he’s ignoring me and everyone else.”
She sighs heavily, abandoning the teapot she just reheated with her powers. Powers we share. “Blake isn’t lazy nor rotten, Maeve. He’s grieving like the rest of us.”
“You know that’s not true. Everyone in the family seems to be keen on giving that asshole a pass, but I’m not. I need him here. I need his help.”
“Blake is a grown man, and if he’s choosing not to use his gifts, that’s his business–”
“Brie is missing,” I grind out.
“Brie is likely dead,” Grandma says with heartbreaking effort.
And just like every day for the past week when the crushing truth is mentioned, I ignore it, rising and turning away from the possibility that my sister is gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “I’m staying the night. Possibly for the next few days. I’ll bring him here myself.”
“Maeve,” Grandma says, shaking her head at me when I turn to look at her over my shoulder.
“Is everyone just okay with this?” I ask through tears. “Everyone just… we’re just accepting that she’s gone?”
I’ve always known Grandma to be a woman of many words. I love that about her and have craved just sitting with her and listening to her stories, her opinions, her plans but… for the first time in my life, she has nothing to say.
I see the grief written all over her face. Grief for me and especially for my mother, her only child. Grief at the loss of the glue that held our family together. I doubt Brie knew how much we all relied on her. I doubt we knew until she was gone.
I leave Grandma in her office. I have no destination in mind as I walk out of the castle into the dreary night air. I just need a minute. I need a moment to think outside of the walls of my family’s many castles and fortresses.
I pull my hood over my head, shielding my face with its shadow. I don’t bother masking my identity with my magic, not when the normally lively city is in the deepest kind of mourning, every flag lowered and door veiled with black fabric in honor of the princess who’s not coming home. No one is out on the street tonight in the inner city. It’s silent, save for the pounding rain.
My feet carry me to the village of Old Moonrise on their own accord. It’s nothing in comparison to Moonrise. The buildings are lopsided and ancient compared to the polished marble and crystal of the city my grandma pulled from the lake forty some-odd years ago. Old stone greets me in a warm embrace. The smell of food from the vendors lining the narrow, cobblestone streets remind me I haven’t eaten much in the past few days. Old Moonrise is busier than the city with its night market and bar scene flourishing despite the somber undercurrent scenting the air with grief. It’s a welcome relief.
Rain drips from awnings where patrons of taverns and shops stop to smoke cigarettes and catch up with friends and neighbors. I walk through puddles reflecting neon light, keeping my head low against the downpour. I reach a small tea shop, its doors open to the storm. I stand in line, watching the TV in the corner of the shop as the news plays in a pixelated loop. A news anchor from Crescent Falls, dressed in a khaki suit, speaks against the backdrop of the official royal portrait of Brie, taken only a year ago when she graduated from college.
“The search for Princess Brie of Veiled Valley has concluded its seventh day with no new information to report,” the report says solemnly. “The Kingdom of Maatua’s naval forces have extended their search to the ocean borders of their closest neighbor, the Kingdom of KiloKilo, but sources state that the leaders of KiloKilo aren’t cooperating with search efforts.”
The person waiting in line behind me taps on my arm. I blink, moving up in line, but my eyes stay glued to the TV.
“While the royal family of Eastonia has remained quiet on the details of the search and continue to ask for privacy at this time, Alpha King Sydney of Crescent Falls has spoken out,”
I close my eyes.
“The full force of the royal army of Crescent Falls is now joining with the Order of the Ghosts to aid King Ryatt and Alpha Kenna’s search for Princess Brie and Captain Logan Atrayis of the Silverhide Pack. According to the two survivors of the wreck, there’s reason to believe that this was a targeted attack on the princess, and the mastermind behind the plot was Hannibal Arachnis. Sources out of Eastonia recently confirmed that warriors have been deployed in all major territories–”
Another tap on my elbow has me moving up to the counter where I murmur my order and step aside to wait.
The image of the anchor from Crescent Falls fades to an anchor reporting from Eastonia, and images of my family in Maatua fly across the screen. Paparazzi pictures of my parents leaving the castle in Maatua. Me speaking to Aris on one of the balconies. I should be used to feeling like I’m under a microscope every waking minute, but this…
I shift to the side to turn from the TV, grabbing the tall paper cup tea off the counter–and miss. I swipe the cup instead, sending its contents spraying over the stomach of a man standing less than a foot away.
He doesn’t flinch away from the hot, chamomile scented water.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out, fisting a handful of napkins and thrusting them in his direction, but he grabs my wrist before I touch him. Tattoos stretch from his wrists to his fingers. Stars, I realize. A map of the heavens. Constellations and planets in faded black ink.
I look up into his face, but he’s… wearing a mask. It’s a black mask that covers all but his mouth and the outline of his sharp jaw. His eyes shine behind the fabric, but it’s otherwise… simple, yet jarring.
He looks at the woman behind the counter and says, “Another chamomile tea, with honey. A ridiculous amount of honey, apparently.” He snatches the napkins from my hand and dabs at his shirt with an annoyed sigh. I move away just a touch, bending to pick up the cup I knocked on the floor. When I rise, he’s turning toward me with a new cup of tea, his mask cast in the shadow of his hood.
He’s taller than me by a foot, which is no easy feat, even for a man. He’s broad in the shoulders but lean in the waist, a build that makes me think he’s a long distance runner, or something of the like. I take him in, tilting my head as I scan his worn, tight wash jeans, thick black leather boots that match his black leather jacket.
He’s wearing a hoodie similar to mine beneath–brandless and a dark gray now soaked with tea and honey.
I hold out a hand to accept the tea but let my powers simmer, sending a spray of heat toward the stain, which dries in a matter of seconds.
He just stands there, looking down at me through his mask. I can feel him scanning my face, taking me in, just like I’d so unapologetically done to him less than a minute ago.
“I can… buy you a new hoodie,” I offer, reaching to take the tea from him.
“You shouldn’t do that in public,” he whispers.
I go still, unsure what to make of his tone. It’s casual but laced with warning. I never use my powers in public, but I’m so rarely in public these days, especially this close to my coronation. Well, I do go out, but in disguise, using my powers to give myself… blonde hair, a shorter build, or something like that.
I hadn’t done that tonight.
“Habit, sorry,” I murmur, clutching my tea for dear life as I slowly turn away from him. We’re the only two people in the snug tea shop now. A few others linger under the awning, but the three vinyl tables are empty, and the TV’s still blaring the news on an endless loop. “Thanks for this.” I hold up the tea. I reach into my pocket, rolling a few coins in my palm before extending them to him.
“It’s fine,” he says, his voice low. He glances at the TV. I wonder how well he can see it through the mask.I wonder why he’s wearing a mask. It’s not unheard of in these parts, but it’s still a little… odd.
The anchor has moved on from my family to another story coming out of Tarsian.
“Alpha John Yarris was found dead three days ago after a lengthy search. His body was located ten miles from his pack territory. Local officials have deemed his death a murder, but the motives are unclear–”
The stranger slowly lifts his cup to his mouth but doesn’t take a drink. I’m watching him, however, watching the way his jaw flexes as the anchor continues, “An official statement from the Royal council of Tarsian has been released regarding the investigation, confirming this was a targeted attack by the assassin Blade, supposedly the right-hand of the criminal underlord Hannibal Arachnis, a wanted fugitive in both Eastonia and Crescent Falls.”
The stranger cracks a small, tight smile.
“Blade,” I whisper, rolling the moniker over my tongue. “What a stupid fucking name for an assassin. So uncreative.” I sip my tea.
The stranger chuckles, then turns, walking into the downpour.
I follow his progress, noticing a silver glint around his wrist when he lifts his cup to his mouth again. It’s a bracelet of some kind, which is odd, because that’s actually silver, I’d bet my life on it, and if he’s a shifter, that would hurt like a son of a bitch–
He looks right at me, giving me a slow nod, and disappears into the night.
My powers surge then settle, and I’m left with an overwhelming feeling that I know him.
I sink into one of the plastic chairs and watch the man with the mask until he’s no more than a shadow disappearing through an alley on the opposite side of the street.