Soren
Moonrise has officially descended into hell.
I can readily admit I’m not one for crowds. I like being alone. I enjoy peace and quiet. I dislike being pushed and shoved, and I sure as hell hate seeing every street swarmed with people, most of them sloppy drunk after a day of festivities, all of them clamoring for a view of the woman who just appeared on the wide, regal balcony of white marble overlooking the city center.
Giant screens project close up shots of Maeve as she walks into view, her face set in an expression so sharp it pierces right through my chest, which warms with pride.
Patton’s unable to stand still beside me and begins pacing the rooftop we’ve been lounging on for what feels like hours. My skin prickles from the insane heat of the day, even now that the sun has set, but I don’t pay the sunburn on my cheeks any mind.
No, I just look at her. Watch her. Watch the way her shoulders tighten and that impeccable posture lengthens as she strides to the edge of the balcony, those eyes bright as a flame.
“Do it,” I murmur to myself, low and soft enough that Patton can’t hear the words over the shuffling of his sneakers. “Do it, Maeve. Come on. Show them who you are.”
The gems falling from the band on her forehead look like liquid, bloody rain. The crown atop her head sparkles as it catches the moonlight and soft glow of the scones all along the balcony. I didn’t get to see her like this. I saw her at her rawest, dressed in just her skin. Before that, in borrowed clothes that didn’t fit, dancing on a table in a bar with the widest, brightest, most sincere smile on that devastatingly stunning face.
But this… this is her, down to the marrow of her bones. The queen. The witch. A goddess reincarnated. The promise of death by fire.
I lean forward, folding my arms over a rooftop AC unit, and drink her in.
“What do you think she’s going to say?” Patton asks excitedly, coming to a stop beside me. We both smell like cheap beer and the narrow cigars we’ve been smoking since this afternoon, taking in the reverie, forcing myself to ignore the plucking, burning sensation in my chest anytime a glimpse of her would appear on the screens hung from the tallest buildings in the city, her image projected for everyone to see.
I’d watched the coronation, of course, like the rest of the city although none of us common folk were allowed within the sanctuary of the temple. I was glued to the scene as she ascended those steps, took her vows, and knelt. She hadn’t smiled. Not once. No, her face had been set in that trained expression of conviction, just like I expected, and honestly, I was thankful for it.
That smile is mine. There’s no way around it, no way to erase the feeling of possessiveness even though it’s over before it ever truly began.
“She’s not going to say anything,” I reply after a beat, watching as she continues to scan the crowd. I catch a single flicker of emotion barely visible to the naked eye. It’s something I’ve seen before, something now branded in my mind.
Disappointment.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth and straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do it, Maeve. Just do it.”
“What did you say?” Patton asks, his voice lifted in nervous excitement.
“Nothing,” I murmur, but my eyes remain locked on Maeve, blocks away, as she raises her hands.
I can feel the light of the full moon whispering over my skin, calling to my wolf, just like it’s calling to those powers I pray she let recover over the past weeks. I drum my fingers against my arms, waiting impatiently, for her to just… unburden herself, to dig past the barriers she’s built to keep her magic in check because she’s terrified of it and what people will think when they witness it, witness her.
Her eyes glow, turning from that bright sea-green to a sharp, unfiltered amber. A hush whispers through the crowd gathered on the street below, huddled around one of the screens.
I catch the faint golden glow rippling through her skin before she lifts her hands. A tremor washes through Moonrise, the three-story building we’re perched atop rattling as that golden glow ignites.
“More,” I hiss under my breath, unable to stand still. I brace my hands on the AC unit, bowing my head for a second before watching her again, this time peering past the screen, between buildings, to the balcony several blocks away. “Come on, girl. Give it more.”
The lights in the city shudder out, flickering as the hum of electricity dies. Even the power her grandfather still supplies using his magic whispers away, and a wave of darkness washes through Moonrise before Maeve stretches her hands above her head, her brow pinched in concentration.
Shouts of awe spiced with sudden fear echo through the crowd below.
“Maeve,” I growl, my eyes back on the screen, on the trembling close-up shot still lighting up the street below. A flicker of hesitation passes behind her eyes, and I… gods, I nearly lose my nerve. I could run to her, parting the crowd, screaming her name and telling her to just do it, to show them, show them who you are.
A crackle of energy explodes, followed by a shockwave that tears through the city. A dizzying, damn near unsettling light expands overhead as Maeve splits the sky in half, sending her light over Moonrise in a cascade of fireworks in hues of bright red, deep crimson, and the brightest, star filled purple. Screams of fear quickly turn to shouts of awe, and then the rolling, thunderous applause and shouts of excitement begin, drowning out the blood racing through my ears.
Most people are looking up.
I’m looking at her.
“Good girl,” I whisper, my entire body on edge as my chest convulses, making it damn near impossible to fill my lungs. “More.”
“How is she doing this?” Patton shouts nearby, his eyes wide and mouth gaping in astonishment.
I ignore him, watching as she strains against her magic to paint the sky with her powers again like she’s taking a brush to the stars, creating a masterpiece I can’t even begin to put into words. I can taste her magic. It’s everywhere, touching everything, coating the city in stardust as it begins to settle on every rooftop and crowded street.
The lights return, flickering back into existence as her fireworks settle, and the roar of the crowd expands, drowning out my thundering heart and Patton’s excited laughter.
I’m not laughing.
I watch as Maeve lowers her hands and opens her eyes, her expression tight, and her skin going a ghostly pale beneath the layer of makeup that makes her look like a completely different person–older and harder.
She takes a single stumbling step away from the railing. My body jerks, but I rein myself back in when her sister appears in the background, reaching for her, her hand gripping Maeve’s forearm as she slowly moves out of sight.
And that’s it.
It’s over.
Maeve is now the Queen of Eastonia like she was always meant to be.
The city below breaks into song and dance as minutes rush by. A candle-lit procession weaves through the streets as a dozen Mystics in their silver-white robes guide the couple chosen for the Sacred Rite through the crowd. I stay on the roof with Patton for another twenty minutes before we make our way down to the street, cutting through the crowds toward the lake where a huge party is taking place all along the shore with bonfires and music.
Patton has some friends in Moonrise, people he met during his days as a prostitute, I suppose. A client of his, in fact, is the reason we’re here today with a roof over our heads tonight. I don’t like it, but I’m keeping my mouth shut about it because I know this means the world to Patton and I just… after seeing the crowds and the look on King Ryatt’s face, the beat of unease… I had to come.
While Patton makes the rounds at the beach, I sit on the rocky shore, enjoying the cool night air as I watch the stars reflect on the glassy surface. Across the lake, against the mountain, the ancient temple’s gates are open, and the candlelit procession comes to a stop.
I leave forward over my knees, watching as a cloaked figure stands before the couple, her hand moving in a motion like she’s blessing them.
The corner of my mouth tugs into a half smile as I watch Maeve turn, returning to the six or so guards who followed her every move to the temple gates to bless the couple, to bless the Rite that marks the beginning of what I know will be a long, prosperous rule.
She has no idea I’m here, and that’s probably a good thing. I couldn’t handle it otherwise. I thought it would be easier than this. We had a week together, most of that spent fighting, bickering, mouthing off, but…
I scrub my hand down my face, turning away from the lake as I rise but pause when a man dressed in black starts walking in my direction away from the bonfires.
My spine straightens vertebrae by vertebrae as the familiar posture, the broad shoulders, and black gloves, come into the view. The dark mask covers his entire face, like usual. He’s not wearing his black beanie, though, and his hair is dark, neatly slicked back as he gains ground, every step he takes dripping with determination.
“For fuck’s sake,” I growl, giving the Architect an exasperated scoff. “Here? Really, man? There’s thousands of people gathered on the beach alone. I thought we were done with this.”
He grabs my arm and yanks me closer to the shore, into the shadows of a crop of trees. I rip my arm from his grasp and give him a sharp shove. “Don’t ever touch me again. That isn’t how this works.”
He stares at me for a moment before reaching into the inside pocket of what I realize is a finely tailored tuxedo jacket. I narrow my eyes, watching every move he makes as he pulls a stack of envelopes from the pocket and hands them to me.
I fan through the envelopes, reading the vague notes for each one, everything written neatly in that strange handwriting on graph paper.
“Everyone needs to be moved into hiding,” he says in a deep, clear voice. “Their families, too.”
I’m not wearing a jacket since it’s eighty degrees, even during a full eclipse, but I slide the envelopes into the waistband of my jeans, tucking them behind the cover of my shirt. “Why?”
“You don’t ask questions.”
“I feel like I’m entitled to know at this point. You’re telling me to move three Betas, a commander of the King of Crescent Fall’s army, and an Alpha’s son into hiding with their families? That could easily be over fifty people–”
“And you’ve just been paid accordingly–”
“Who do you work for?” I ask sharply, cutting him off.
He stares at me, really looks at me from behind that thick mask. I catch the faintest tilt of his head, like he’s considering something, before he says, “I work for my own best interests.”
“And to whom do those interests align?” I grit out, arching a brow.
“What are you asking?”
I step into him, and he doesn’t back away. “Where,” I rasp into his ear, “does your loyalty lie?”
Now he backs up, his shoulders rigid as he stares at me, his hands balling into fists.
We’re the same height–both tall and equally built. I’ve never once felt intimidated by him, but there’s something strange about the man that I can’t put my finger on.
He’s dangerous. He knows it. I know it.
The thing is, I’m not afraid of him, and I think he knows that, too.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies dryly.
“It matters to me.”
A low chuckle echoes from behind the mask. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to fall into Hannibal’s web–”
“I am loyal to my queen,” I snarl. “Does this benefit her? That’s all I want to know.”
The Architect flinches like the admission startled him. He starts to turn away then stops, slowly looking over his shoulder to scan me from head to toe and back again. “You need to be more careful,” he says, his tone tight and serious. “Move them by next month. I’ll find you once it’s done.” He disappears in a shimmer of black mist that sparkles like purple-hued starlight.
I stand on the shore for a few more minutes, just staring–staring at the place where the man turned to stardust. He’s like Maeve in a way that makes me uneasy. Somewhere on the shore, in the distance, I hear Patton’s laugh over the chaos of music and excitement, and feel… the urge to get somewhere quiet, even if just for a moment.
My feet carry me back into town with no set direction or end point. Within minutes, I find myself on a quiet street with flickering lights, just outside of the festival’s reach. Yellow walls suck me in, and the smell of herbs settles my senses, slowly bringing me back to reality as a young, dark haired woman blinks up at me expectantly over the glare of two wide, but very old, TVs playing chopped up footage of Maeve’s light show.
I pick up the pen she uses to scribble orders, clicking it as I slide a large hot-to-go cup from a sleeve on the counter. “Do you deliver to the castle?” I ask.
She shrugs one shoulder. “I suppose.”
I pause, the pen tip pressed against the cup. “This is for someone named Jane. She’ll know what to do with it,” I say under my breath and write the only thing that comes to mind, handing the cup to the young woman. “Double chamomile with enough honey to drown out the taste.”