Soren
Maeve’s room is painted in sunlight that reflects off the pale pink wallpaper inlaid with what I believe are real rose petals. This room smells like her–warm and rich with that underlying, unmistakable magnolia blossom scent that makes my mouth water despite my best efforts to remain neutral and calm throughout this entire ordeal.
If anyone had asked me what I was actually planning on doing when I reached Moonrise two days ago, I wouldn’t have had an answer. I broke into the castle–shattered a fucking window knowing how easily I could have been overtaken by guards–but at that point, nothing mattered. I had to get to her, but when I did, and I saw her… fuck.
Everything has changed.
I watch Patton cross the room, taking several cautious steps toward Jane, who’s clutching a spiral bound planner like her life depends on it. Jane’s light brown hair is neatly pulled away from her softly beautiful face as she looks up at him, her cheeks burning a deep crimson.
“Jane, would you give Patton a tour of the castle, please? Take your time with it,” Maeve says from the foot of the bed.
The maid blinks, startled back into reality, and nods. But Patton glances at me, raising a brow. I shrug, unsure how the bastard got so lucky, and watch as my closest friend follows his fated mate out of the bedroom and closes the door behind them with the softest click.
Maeve and I look at each other.
“Is that what it felt like?” she asks, clutching the fourposter and leaning her weight against it.
“What do you mean?” I slide my legs out of bed and make a fist with my freshly healed hand. I haven’t seen my skin unmarred by scars in a very long time–since I was a teenager, actually.
“When you felt the mate bond snap into place?” Her cheeks are dusted pink, but her eyes are heavy with fatigue as she stands only a few feet away, a vision in butter yellow as she rests her arm over the swell of her stomach.
Seeing her like this is… hard to describe. She’s stunning. A work of art. Something created by a master hand, but also… I did this to her. I’m normally so careful. I’m not a fucking saint, and I can readily admit it, but with her, it was different. I wanted this deep down, I think. I wanted her. I wanted a piece of us in the world as a reminder of what happened and what we could have been.
I did this to her, and she’s been alone, hiding it, for months. I feel awful about it.
“Does your family know?” I ask, already forgetting what she asked before. Oh, right, the mate bond. I stand, smoothing the fabric of a shirt that doesn’t belong to me over my stomach before turning to her, taking her in, watching her thick, dark hair falling in soft, bouncy waves over her shoulders and back. “It feels like a snap in your chest,” I explain, “like someone’s plucking the strings of a violin. It doesn’t hurt.”
I walk to the windows and look out over a view of the lake and the city beyond. The lake is frozen, glowing in the sunlight. Spring is only a few weeks away, I hope.
“My family knows,” she says under her breath. “They were made aware recently, and it didn’t go well.”
“Are you… feeling well, though?”
It shouldn’t be this hard to speak to her, but it is. It hurts. Nine months have passed since we sat on that train platform and let fate snatch us apart. It feels like an entire lifetime. And then, in the days that I’ve been here, too much has happened. This… wasn’t the plan. I didn’t think past the need to get her to safety. I didn’t think about what it would feel like to see her again after so long. I didn’t think about what would happen after.
“I am,” she replies softly, likely sensing something’s off. A glimmer of skepticism flashes behind her eyes before they turn sharp again. “You’re not leaving me again, Soren. I’m not talking about it again.”
“I know.”
She takes an audible breath then winces, and I notice the fabric of her dress loosening as her belly tightens, and she bends ever so slightly over the rush of pain I feel in my own chest. Pressure. An enormous amount of pressure. Even her scent changes, turning from that sharp floral to something much sharper that sends warning bells skittering through my skull.
I’ve never liked seeing her in pain. My spine locks as my mind spins over what needs to be done. I don’t know what our future looks like. I don’t know if we’ll have a moment of peace or even an easy life together. I don’t know how to be with her or to be what she needs me to be because I truthfully don’t know what that is. I’ve never been in a… relationship. It was never an option. It was never something I desired until the thought of being separated from Maeve made me feel like I’d be better off dead.
I don’t know how to be with her while she rules as Queen of Eastonia, but there are things I can handle… like all of this. Her bastard cousin. Hannibal and Andrea. Her family.
I can take that off her plate.
“Please lie down.”
“There’s too much to talk about,” she says through gritted teeth. “You, Blake–”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll handle that.”
“Blake is the Architect? How–why would he do this? He was undermining me. Lying to my face!”
“I realize that, Maeve, and I’m going to handle it. You need to rest.”
“I don’t want to–”
“I need you to.”
“Misty pulled something out of your arm. What was it?”
“Maeve, it doesn’t matter now. Not right now. Will you let me take over for a moment so you can just… lie here in peace? Please.”
She sniffles but slowly straightens as the pain subsides. With a curt nod, she resigns herself to her mattress and curls around the baby resting in her belly while I close the heavy curtains against the spray of sunlight.
“Where can I find Blake?”
“His office is on the fifth floor,” she says with a tight yawn, her eyes already fluttering as the room descends into darkness. She hasn’t eaten since I arrived, either, and I make a mental note to find a way to have food sent up for her.
Maeve falls asleep before I’ve even walked out of the bedroom. My pants are bloodstained and coated in dust, but the empty hallways of the sixth floor greet me as a total contrast to my current disheveledness. Everything is spotless and shiny. Every mirror I pass is free of prints and streaks of dust. I take a familiar stairwell to the fifth floor, which is also empty of maids. I trek to the eastern wing, following Blake’s icy scent, like a snowstorm on the coldest day of the deepest point of winter.
I don’t bother knocking when I enter his office. Cole, Misty’s mate, is bracing his hands on the surface of Blake’s desk. He’s a tall, stern man in his mid to late forties or so, and he looks over his shoulder at me, pale gray eyes narrowing before he sees that I’m not here as a threat.
I suppose running into a royal in-law is better than, well, practically any of the other men in this family.
Blake watches my progress toward his desk, however, but I stop short of it, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m under the impression he doesn’t want me saying a word to Cole about why we tussled in Maeve’s suite, and I’m not in the mood to discuss it, either. Not with a crowd.
Then I see the silver ball on Blake’s desk. “Oh, that,” I murmur.
Cole straightens, and Blake narrows his eyes to slits.
“It’s a tracking device,” I tell them with a shrug. “In case the bands come loose. We all have them. I’d totally forgotten about mine.”
“How long was this in your arm?” Cole asks. “Years, I assume? You had massive amounts of scar tissue around it–”
“I was sixteen, I think.”
Cole blinks then glances at Blake like he has all the answers to several silent questions, and Blake clears his throat, saying, “Cole, your discretion is appreciated–”
“You’re going to Ryatt with this,” Cole cuts in, shaking his head.
“In due time,” Blake bites out.
“Actually, I’d like to speak to Alpha King Ryatt and Commander Evander as soon as possible. This morning. Now.” I widen my stance. Both men glance at me like I’m the unwanted guest in whatever conversation they were having, which is probably true. I’m beyond giving a shit.
“Why?” Blake growls.
He thinks I’m going to snitch, doesn’t he? What a pussy.
I turn to Cole, saying, “Maeve was in some pain. I understand you’re a physician. I didn’t like the look of her and came down here to find you. Would you mind checking on her? I think she’d like her mom here.”
He’s a smart enough man to read between the lines and sense the lie, but I know my way around healers and physicians. I’ve seen both–dozens over the years–and know for a fact that their first priority is always their patients. Plus, Maeve is his family.
Cole grinds his teeth before asking, “What do you mean?”
“I think the baby is coming, possibly within the next two days or so. I can sense it. Her scent is different. I caught the change while upstairs with her just now.” My eyes slide to Blake, who’s watching with a predator's intent, waiting to make a move. I ignore him and look back at Cole. “She’s tired. I just want to make sure she’s as comfortable as possible.”
Cole runs his tongue along his lower lip. “I’ll be back shortly in the event I need to stitch the two of you idiots up after this,” he says with a soft growl, then leaves, the door closing on a phantom wind.
Blake rises, but I slump into a very fancy armchair, twisting back and forth to get comfortable. His glare deepens. “Do you mind? You’re filthy, and that’s Tarsian leather.”
I make a point of kicking my dirty boots together on his pristine, black and silver rug before sitting still and resting my arms on the armrests, arching a brow. “Tell me everything, you fucking bastard.”
“There’s nothing to say–”
“I beg to differ.”
Blake sinks into his desk chair, grimacing as he adjusts the chair, which doesn’t match his office whatsoever. He picks up the ball of silver and twists it between his fingers before pinching it, and it warps, falling in on itself. His eyes burn violet as his powers turn the ball to a pile of ash, which he dusts off the surface of his shiny black desk, and looks at me. “You shouldn’t have been able to shift with that in your shoulder. It was a backup plan to keep your abilities at bay, wasn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“You’re so nonchalant about this–”
“The Viper gave me a final mark before I came here,” I tell him, cutting him off. “Which was to kill my own child. That’s why I’m here. To protect Maeve. To get her to safety, but she won’t leave.”
“Where exactly did you think you could take her where she’d be safer than here?”
“I broke into the castle so easily it would have been hilarious if I wasn’t so fucking enraged at how much of a cake-walk it was,” I growl. “Her security is lacking. She isn’t safe, and she’s nearing labor. She can’t stay here. I want her in Veiled Valley with her family.”
“She’s burnt a bridge or two because of the child you left her with.”
“I had no idea she was pregnant until the Viper had her men hold me down while she gave me a new band.”
“And if you’d known earlier, you would have come back? I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t care what you think, Blake. Maeve is mine. I will decide what's best for both of them.”
He arches his brows, laughing dryly, “She’s yours? You think the Queen of Eastonia belongs–”
“She is my mate, and what you’ve done to her–to us? You owe her the truth. I asked you once who you worked for, and you told me you worked for your best interests. What interest is that?”
“How dare you come in here–”
I rise and stare him down. He doesn’t flinch, but the look behind his eyes–the expression he’s trying to hide? He’s not used to this. Someone looking at him–an all-powerful being–like he’s just another man. Like he’s not a threat. Yeah, that throws him off, for sure.
“The Viper said Hannibal is going to make a move. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what he plans to do, but whatever you’ve been up to–whatever you’ve been using me to accomplish–its pushing him to the edge–”
“Good.”
“No,” I snarl, “Not good. Not when my mate and our daughter are the next intended targets for his grand plan. I have a feeling you know what that is, don’t you?”
“I don’t.” He rises from his chair. “And you’re not welcome here, Soren. You’re leaving. I’ll force you out myself.”
“And Maeve will never forgive you.”
“You act like you can waltz in and out of her life as you please.” He growls, rising slowly, bracing his hands on the desk. “She is the queen!”
“I’m well aware.”
“And what are you, Soren? Filth. Murderous scum with no place to call your own? No family, no connections–”
“I separated myself from my mate.” My voice takes on a brutal edge, sharper than the finest knife. “I spent the last nine months in a personal hell thinking it was the only way to keep her safe, the only way to keep her out of this while you’ve been playing with my life and hers. This whole time you’ve been here, with her, using me as a puppet and keeping her in the dark. I’m not going anywhere. I will fucking kill you before I leave her again. That’s a promise. You’ve put her in danger, Blake.”
“It’s Prince Blake to you–”
“Fuck off,” I chuckle darkly, rolling my eyes to the vaulted ceiling. Everything about this room is cold and modern–like him. Lacking all color, all creativity. A cold, dark box. A cage. “You know,” I smile, sucking my teeth, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think your best interests align with Hannibal–”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then fucking enlighten me before I do something Maeve will never forgive me for.” My wolf claws to the surface, begging for release.
Blake stares at me. I stare back, refusing to so much as blink. Whatever kind of being he is… he’s unnerving. Those purple eyes make my skin crawl, but I hold steady.
The door to the office opens, and Cole steps inside, sighing against the tension. “Maeve is asking for you,” he says, and Blake steps around his desk.
“He’s talking to me,” I smile and turn to leave.