Maeve
Kieran, my two-year-old nephew, is a strange creature. I’m not sure if all toddlers are this way, or just him, but I find it hard to believe that any parent would live through this and decide to have another–and another. It must be hard having so much feral energy packed into such a tiny body, which explains a lot, honestly. His dark, curly hair bounces around his pointed ears as he races down another long corridor, screaming at the top of his lungs just to hear the sound of his own voice. I grimace when he trips on the carpet runner and falls face first, not even bothering to use his hands to save himself.
I stand perfectly still several feet behind him, waiting for the wail to begin, but he hops up, teary eyed, and turns to me. “Mama now?”
“Mama’s still in her meeting,” I tell him with a sigh. He pouts, those big, hazel eyes welling with alligator tears that slide from his impossibly long lashes. He’s a cute kid, I’ll give him that. Everyone says he’s Logan’s spitting image, but I beg to differ. He looks like Brie to me. He has her non-existent grace and flair for dramatics, at least. But he’s… funny, and soft, and kind, just like his mom.
Just like my big sister.
He’s also an ankle-biting little monster who I’ve been stuck with all afternoon. After the third time he nearly cracked his skull on the same coffee table in my apartment within the castle, I had a group of maids scour the palace for a bike helmet, which seems to be working in our favor now.
“Itchy,” he grumbles, scratching the chin strap.
“Keep it on, K.” I smile, motioning for him to continue following me through the dizzying hallways. I can tell he’s getting tired, but that’s the whole point. His next sudden burst of toddler energy is only a few minutes later, where he cuts a corner too sharply and collides with a column, knocking himself backward with a whoosh, but he jumps back up and runs off again, giggling and calling out, “Mabe! Mabe! MABE!!!”
I chase him up the stairs, which he loves. At just over two years old, he’s a spritely little demon but also the sweetest, squishiest thing I’ve ever seen. That cuteness has an off switch, however, and before I know it, he’s rubbing his eyes and whimpering, telling me he doesn’t want me anymore, that he doesn’t like me, that I look funny, and asking for his mom, again.
“You need a nap,” I tell him, crouching so we’re eye to eye.
“No! No nap!”
“Well, that’s your problem. You’re tired. That’s why you’re so fussy.”
“NO NAP!”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have the loudest voice in all of the Allied Kingdoms?”
He blinks, tilting his head, and yeah… there it is–Logan’s dominant genetics shining through those polished, imperfect emeralds he has for eyes. Kieran doesn’t like to be bossed around, and the only person he truly likes is his mom. Just like his dad.
Exhausted, Kieran howls, which turns into a pitched scream that's enough to make my ears ring. I do what any good aunt would do… I scream too, but louder.
He cuts off his scream immediately and blinks up at me, his little mouth hanging open in surprise.
When my scream cuts out, he grins, giggling, and his bad mood is all but forgotten. Of course, several maids come sprinting in our direction because it did, in fact, sound like we were being murdered, but I’m the baby of the family. My direct family, at least. I have no idea what to do with him. I never babysat any of Misty’s or Sarah’s kids–that was always Brie’s job, her pleasure, actually. I was often the one who needed babysitting, even in my teens.
Now look at me, trying to keep a two-year-old boy entertained while his mother meets with the Council of Elders–our parliament, essentially. Elders are voted in by the Alphas of the large territories, like the Roguelands, Tarsian, the Deadlands, and even Emberfyll, acting as liaisons for the Alpha Kings and lesser Alphas of those massive kingdoms while my grandmother rules over all of them. Those elders live here in Moonrise now, ensuring our king and queen continue to have their kingdoms' best interests in mind.
I had to meet with those old bastards earlier this morning in regard to the upcoming coronation, of course. That thing no one will shut up about? It’s happening in a little over a month, and the past week has been full of festivals and merriment in honor of me, the princess who hasn’t shown her face to the world for three years now.
Three days ago, I attended my first, and so far only, public event during what will be a month-long festival. It had been a masked ball, which I’d requested. I liked the idea of maybe being able to be anonymous, and that had worked for the most part. People remember me for being tall and spindly. They remember my dark brown hair and sea-green eyes, but I’ve changed a bit over the years. I finally went through puberty, for one, thank the Goddess. I got a little bit taller but not by much, which means Lexa is still, and forever will be, the tallest woman in our family, which was a tough pill to swallow, but I digress.
I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m a woman–a woman old enough to come into her wolf powers and find her mate, if I were a shifter.
I could have found my mate last year, but I just… can’t. I’m not like Brie, or Lexa, or any of my other cousins. I’m a witch… who terrifies everyone, even while wearing a mask and a beautiful gown.
No one other than my own family looked me in the eyes. No one asked me to dance. No one asked what my interests are, what I like to do in my free time, or my opinions on movies and books.
I don’t think my people see me as a person. I’m just a… being. A demigoddess trapped in human form.
When I was younger, I craved that. Especially after Brie and Logan disappeared for a minute and our lives crumpled, forever changed. I wanted people to fear me. I wanted them to stay away from me. I wanted to sit in my office and play the kingdoms like a game of chess…. So I’ve spent every waking minute over the last two years preparing and perfecting being queen. It was just easier that way.
Now I’m just… alone. Alone–and bored out of my fucking mind.
“Mabe, watch me,” Kieran says before raising his tiny hands in the air. He attempts a wobbly summersault, tipping to the side with a giggle that echoes down the corridor.
I clap dramatically as he bows, then opens his mouth wide, and I toss him a jellybean from the pile rolling around in the pocket of my sweatshirt.
This goes on for some time–me chasing my nephew through the castle, him doing little tricks and me feeding him candy. Eventually, we reach the empty ballroom, which is bathed in rich light from the sunset, casting the mosaic marble tiles in a blanket of gold. Kieran loves this room because it's big and wide and his voice sounds even louder here, so I sink to the floor and cross my legs, smiling as he darts around, asking me to watch how fast he can run from one side to the other, and I do.
But my mind wanders back to the masquerade ball, to the man, the man, in fact, who I hadn’t seen for nearly three years who suddenly appeared again.
At first, I thought he’d been a trick of my mind, a hallucination brought on by too much champagne, but the moment he raised his glass to me in greeting, I knew.
Those lips. That sharp jaw. That wry smirk. They belong to one man, and one man alone.
Tea shop guy.
Otherwise known as Gloves. At least, in my journals… not that I’ve been journaling about him or anything…. Not that much, at least.
“Mabe, look.” Kieran runs up to me and squats, clutching something between his hands.
“What do you got?” I extend my palm to him, not knowing any better, and feel every fine, downy hair on my neck stand on end when he drops a live spider into my hand. I swallow my discomfort and give him a wobbly smile, nodding as I choke out, “Wow. That’s really cool, Kieran.”
He darts away, and I viciously shake my hand free of the creeping, crawling sensation now taking over my body and causing my moonstone necklace to shine.
Smoothing my hand down my thigh, I watch my nephew skip from tile to tile. He’s so innocent. So perfect. It’s hard to believe that my brother Aris and cousin Blake were that young once. It’s impossible to think of Gloves as a toddler, as well. Did he wear masks as a kid, too? Did he sneak around in the dark, disappearing in the rain like a phantom spirit when he was still in diapers?
“Sorry about that,” Brie rushes out, her voice bouncing down the long ballroom.
Kieran’s light-up sneakers skid across the tiles before he tumbles to a halt. He hops up, breathlessly calling out, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” as he sprints in Brie’s direction.
She drops her briefcase and catches him when he launches toward her and smiles, swinging him into a tight squeeze. “Were you a good boy for your auntie?”
“No!” he giggles, wriggling while she kisses his cheeks.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you would be.”
“You just missed seeing our new pet,” I say with marked sarcasm as I lean my back against the gilded wall. Everything in this room is wrapped in gold, from the floor to the shimmering wallpaper, to the columns, trim, and delicately welded crystal chandeliers. Just a few days ago, this entire space was swarming with bodies dressed in their finest regalia. The air had been spiced with champagne as soft, classical music wafted through the air over the constant hum of haughty conversation.
I glance toward an archway on the far side of the room… the same archway I’d watched Gloves slip through. I’d followed him, of course. I figured he was just looking for a bathroom, or something, and I hate to admit that I felt like I needed to corner him even if just to confirm he’s the same man I’d seen twice in the course of a month and then never again.
But he hadn’t been looking for a bathroom. He slipped through a servants’ entrance into the narrow hallways that snake throughout the entire castle–a system the maids use to move from one wing to the next. Then, I watched him try to access the doors to the private wing used exclusively by my family–the wing where all the private apartments, suites, and informal offices and sitting rooms are located.
There was no reason for him to be there. None at all.
“Maeve?”
“Yeah?” I turn my attention to Brie, who has her hands resting on her hips. She’s wearing those trousers again–the beige, satin ones. A dark belt and casual, button down, white shirt compliments her curvy figure, and her sun-bleached brown hair is pulled back in a delicate, well put together bun at the nape of her neck.
I look down at my raggedy sweatshirt and athletic shorts wondering if the wrong sister is about to ascend the throne, and not for the first time.
“What pet? You better be joking.”
“He handed me a spider.” I laugh, hugging my knees.
She purses her lips, tilting her head to the side as she watches her son spin in dizzying circles several yards away. “Is that the worst thing that happened? Why is he wearing a helmet?”
“He was fine, really. We had a good time.”
She checks her watch, but I feel her gaze scanning my profile. “Did you… did something happen during your meeting with the Elder Council this morning?”
“Why?”
“They were in a horrible mood. Several of them made comments about your… lack of effort.”
“Lack of effort in what, exactly? Listening to them bicker over things that have nothing to do with the welfare of the people they were voted in to protect? What kind of lunch they could expect after a morning spent getting absolutely nothing on the agenda accomplished?”
“Maeve–”
“I’m getting rid of all of them when I become queen.”
Brie startles, her eyes going wide. “What? Really?”
“The Alphas and Alpha Kings will hold new elections in their kingdoms and territories. I told the council that this morning.”
“But they’re the Elder Council–”
“Of Grandma and Grandpa’s Eastonia,” I tell her bluntly, finishing the words with a soft smile. “Not mine.”
Brie sighs, leaning her weight against the wall beside me. “I can’t totally disagree with you, I guess. Fresh ideas are needed. Over half of them were against the new railway from Moonrise to Tarsian and now try to act like they had something to do with its success.”
I look up at my sister, but her eyes are on Kieran. She’s leaving for the Deadlands to visit Ryan and Aviva this evening, taking our parents with her. Logan will be joining her from Emberfyll later this month, and the whole group will make their way back to Moonrise for my coronation.
Grandma and Grandpa have already left for their three week long vacation in Maatua. I understand why they did. The next month is the calm before the storm. There’s nothing pressing to do. There are no summits to hold or conferences to attend. It’s been a peaceful spring and even more peaceful early summer.
So, for a month, I’m on my own. Getting a feel of things, so to speak. I think it’s like a final test from my grandfather, actually. I know he’s stressing over it.
“You should consider coming with me and Kieran to the Deadlands, Maeve. You haven’t been to Silverhide in ages,” Brie says as she slides down the wall to sit beside me.
“I have too much to do here. I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet.”
I think about Gloves and the horrible scars on his arm. I think about the silver bracelet and how he was bent over in pain when I padded up to him in my cat form.
“What are you thinking about?” Brie asks, her voice lifted in a laugh. “I’ve never seen you look so serious before.”
“Nothing,” I lie, but my powers simmer beneath my skin in a silent warning that the next month might not bring me the peace and quiet I’ve been looking forward to.
In fact, I have an odd, creeping feeling that something might happen… tonight.