Blake
A maid sets a breakfast tray on the table in the corner of my office before bowing her head and scurrying out. Steam wafts from a carafe while the scent of coffee fills the room, and I rise, tucking my phone between my cheek and shoulder.
“It’s just something I’m considering, Liam.”
My brother sighs under his breath, his voice slightly filled with static when the connection buffers. “You’re serious? Why would you walk away from–”
“I wouldn’t be walking away from anything.” I pour myself a cup of coffee, ignoring the breakfast spread I rarely ever touch. I normally don’t eat until midday, but the kitchen begs to differ and keeps sending it anyway.
“You’d be abdicating, Blake. I mean, have you seriously thought this through?”
“That’s why I’m telling you about it. I have, thoroughly.”
“Do Mom and Dad know?”
“I haven’t broached the subject yet, but I’m sure they assume something is going on based on how often I’m in Eastonia.”
“You’re there full time,” he says, echoing a silent sentiment. Our parents know this is coming. They have to know by now.
“This would mean you would be Dad’s heir going forward. You and Charlotte would be Alpha King and Luna Queen of Crescent Falls.”
He pauses at the mention of Charlotte, his mate. Liam is only a year younger than me, born just after my first birthday. He and Charlotte met at Wellington a few years ago, and the bond just clicked. It was easy. Simple and uncomplicated. Maeve and Brie joked that he might’ve broken the family curse because neither of them got seriously injured or died, got kidnapped by an enemy, or started a war.
“Charlotte would be good at it,” I tell him.
“I know she would, but… It’s something we’d need to talk about.”
“You have time. It’s not like Mom and Dad are my next call, nor am I going to tell them today.” I lean against the wall near the window, sipping my coffee while scanning the forest and the neighborhood tucked next to the tall stone wall surrounding the castle grounds. Wisteria Way is my view from the office, of course. Of course, it is. The Goddess loves these games, doesn’t She?
“What exactly would you be?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you abdicate? What’s your title in Eastonia in Maeve’s court?”
“I’m her royal advisor as it stands. I serve as a second when she’s unable to do her duties, like now, while she’s on maternity leave.” I bring my coffee to my lips, wondering which pretty little townhouse Marianna chose.
“What about with the Mystics? Don’t they consider you their king?”
“I don’t know if that counts for anything.”
His soft laugh echoes down the line. “Mom thinks so. She says they call you High Lord.”
“They do.” I sigh, turning from the window when the door opens without a warning knock, and Maeve strides in like she owns the place, making a beeline with a glare toward the chair she tried to steal from my office a few weeks ago. “Think about it. Call me in a few days after you talk to Charlotte.”
“I will.”
I hang up without another word and turn to my cousin, now seated behind my desk, Fallon resting in her arms as she swivels from side to side. “Can I help you?”
Maeve says nothing but arches a dark, manicured brow. She’s dressed in a men’s button-down shirt and gray sweatpants and looks very undone, but I’m used to that, I guess. She’s always been surprisingly casual. She leans back in my chair and crosses her ankles on my desk, wiggling her bare toes.
My jaw tenses. Through gritted teeth, I ask, “Is Soren busy, and you’re here in hopes of harassing someone else instead of spending your day pestering your mate?”
“I don’t pester him,” she says with a soft laugh. “But… I may have heard some juicy gossip from the High Priestess, however. She mentioned the High Lord of the Mystics got into a screaming match with three acolytes four days ago. Care to elaborate on what it was about?”
“No.”
She levels a look in my direction. “Blake. What happened?”
“It’s nothing, really. I objected to their evaluating a seven-year-old girl who may have seer abilities. She was too young to be an acolyte, and I put an end to it before they separated her forever from her mother.”
Maeve purses her lips and looks down at Fallon, who’s blissfully sleeping. After a moment, she says, “I’ve never liked the way they go about their training. I don’t pretend to know the details… but….” Her eyes meet mine, searching. Scanning. Trying to look past my mental shields and see my memories of the time I spent there, a boy of fourteen.
“I’ve already begun the process of changing things, setting an age minimum for new acolytes.
Acolytes will have to be sixteen, at least.”
“Do you think that’s wise given some come into their powers far earlier than that? You did.”
“I’m not like the other Mystics. Someone of my caliber of power would be so rare, it’s practically impossible.”
“Unless they belonged to you. Your kids,” she says pointedly, obviously digging. I’m aware that Soren scoped her out, and she didn’t believe my situation could even be remotely possible, which is in my favor. Still, she’s prodding a bit. I can sense it. So, I give her what she wants to hear.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth. “Precisely.”
“Well, given that you seem keen on rotting in this office your entire life, and your progeny is destined to never happen, I guess I agree on the age minimum.”
“Everyone under the age of sixteen will be admitted into a program at the academy.”
Her brows raise practically to her hairline. “What? You really think you can convince those gnarled old witches who sit on the academy’s board to let Mystic children in? You know how witches feel about the Mystics.”
“Maeve, I have more money than the Moon Goddess,” I say on a breath. “They won’t need convincing when I give them a check for their troubles.”
“You filthy dog.” She laughs, not meaning it… I think. “They should name the program after you.”
“I hope not,” I mumble, turning to pour another cup of coffee, which is unlike me, but it’s been a… strange couple of days, to say the least. I haven’t been sleeping much. “But I will be paying for a new addition, a new wing to the school. A practice orrery. Something simple and meant for young learners.”
“That’s kind of you.” She rolls her eyes like she doesn’t believe I’m capable of caring about anything. She’s probably right. There’s only two things I care about, and currently, I’m wondering what they’re up to today.
“It would keep families together, and after what I witnessed…” That’s all I can think about. Marianna’s tears in that hallway, her panic and fear. “I was planning on running it by you when I had a solid plan.”
“Well, color me surprised. I didn’t realize you had such a soft spot for children, Blake.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but her attention is on Fallon, whose golden curls poke out of the swaddling she’s wrapped in. Fallon is beautiful. Everyone in the family agrees. Her eyes are already starting to show signs that she’ll carry Maeve and Ella’s bright sea-green shade. But I can tell Maeve is tired. I don’t think Fallon is the easiest baby.
Which makes me think of Skye and her shiny red shoes when she’d lifted on her tiptoes to toss a coin into the fountain. She’d lined up the coins by size and color, meticulously deciding which one to throw next, like every coin had a wish attached in varying degrees of significance.
I would have done the exact same thing.
“And she agreed, which is amazing given the short timing.”
“What did you say?” I zoned out, apparently, and claw back to the line of conversation I missed.
“Marianna Abbot,” she says with a smile, shaking her head. “Your old girlfriend, or whatever she was. Your secret.” She flutters her eyelashes at me, teasing.
“What about her?” My hackles raise, but she doesn’t seem to notice how tightly I’m gripping my coffee mug. The only person who knew about my relationship with Marianna, at least that I liked her… no, that I was desperately, stupidly obsessed with her, is Brie, and thankfully she’s the best at keeping secrets.
“She took a position here in the philharmonic! I knew the board was hiring a new first chair, but I had no idea she was the one they were chasing. You know how much money we give to the arts–”
“I’m aware. What about her?”
“Don’t get so defensive, weirdo,” she grumbles, sliding her feet off my desk. “She’s coming to the castle tonight to play for us, well, to play at the party we’re hosting to celebrate Patton and Jane getting engaged.”
I totally forgot about that. Not the engagement–that came fairly quickly after they found out they were mates, during the two weeks I was gone, but the party tonight. Fuck.
“It was so last minute, but I called the director of the symphony, and he said Marianna was in town, had just moved here, and offered to try to set it up. Brie keeps talking about how talented she is, but I’ve never even seen her, let alone heard her play–”
“And she accepted coming here?”
“Yeah, she did. I mean, I didn’t speak to her directly–”
“She wasn’t forced into it?”
“What is your problem?” Maeve guts out, scoffing.
“Nothing,” I say into my coffee mug, but her eyes are honed on my face, trying to pick apart the mask of indifference I keep trained around her–around everyone.
“It’s just a small gathering, Blake, if you’re worried about it. I didn’t think you still had feelings for her, or whatever–”
“I don’t. We were friends. That was all.”
She hums like she doesn’t necessarily believe it, and that’s fine with me. It’s none of her fucking business.
“Anyway, I did want to tell you that I’m taking Soren to Veiled Valley for a week or so. I’m not sure how long yet. He’s cooped up here. I think he could use some air without the risk of getting trampled by paparazzi, so you’ll have the castle to yourself. We’re leaving tomorrow morning so we don’t miss the party. And when we return, I think I’m going to take meetings again… slowly. The most important ones, at least.”
She rises, brushing past me on her way to the door. “You’ll still come to the party tonight, won’t you? Patton desperately wants to be your friend.”
“Even after I scrambled his brain?”
She frowns at me. “You can’t just stay in this office every waking hour, Blake.”
“Why not?”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds before turning with a huff, leaving my office door wide open in her wake.
I sink into my chair and drum my fingers on the desk before reaching for my laptop. Sunlight plays over the dark wood surface, casting a glare on the screen. For whatever reason, I search Marianna’s name for the first time, finally losing control enough to give myself a glimpse into, at least, her professional life.
And it’s… damning, to say the least.
She never went to Wellington, which was her dream, a dream I offered to pay for in full. She got a degree in music from the Crescent Falls College of the Arts, not a bad school, but not… Wellington. From there, she fell off the map for several years before showing up again in the Crescent Falls Philharmonic Orchestra, working her way from sixth to second chair over the course of two years.
An article from Crescent Falls dated only two weeks ago highlights her last performance and mentions her acceptance into the philharmonic in Moonrise. A video I hesitate to click on for several minutes plays her solo.
I quickly shut it off, rise, and close my office door, locking it tight before returning to my chair. I connect my headphones to my laptop and lean back before clicking the video again.
Her violin sounds like water–smooth and… at first, cold. The sound bleeds into heat that moves through my body in waves before washing through the incessant voices in my head, the pull toward the stars.
Her music takes up every space in my mind, just like before.