Rowan didn't bother to warn the girl before he opened the door and spotted his queen sitting behind the desk, her mouth curving into a smirk as she spoke the words that made the princess stop dead.
"Hello, Aelin Galathynius."
Rowan's POV:
The moment the words left Maeve's lips, the girl was moving. She skittered backwards towards the door, shock spreading across her face at the sight of his queen leering at her from behind the desk.
It was a matter of seconds before Rowan intercepted her, the girl's body slamming into his as he slid into place behind her. Her fear was like a wave, washing over her and settling at the edges of his magic. He could almost taste it, sharp and biting as it consumed the girl and froze her where she stood. She didn't move, her body pressed so close to Rowan he felt every one of her muscles go taut when he shut the door behind them with a gust of wind.
The scent of her fear flooded the room, sinking into every corner and crevice until the princess was drowning in it.
Maeve was still seated behind the desk, amusement flickering in her cold, immortal gaze as she noted the girl's panic.
With her so close to him, Rowan felt the assassin try and fail to keep from trembling. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for another way out besides the door behind them. At least she had enough sense not to go for her weapons— or his. She had to know he'd cut her down the moment Maeve gave the order, or if she so much as moved in her direction. Then again, by the way the girl's hands were shaking he wasn't sure she could hold a dagger without dropping it.
Still, Rowan wasn't taking any chances. Aelin Galathynius wasn't some weak, spoiled princess. She was an assassin from Adarlan of all places, and likely one of some skill and notoriety if Maeve had chosen him to bring her in. It would be unwise to dismiss her as a threat based on his first impression of her— even if that impression had been, well, awful. Dangerous too, considering Maeve had asked him to remain here while she spoke with the princess. A conversation that was not going to go well if the hungry gleam in his queen's eyes was any indication. She tolerated disrespect even less than he did, and that was saying something. Even if the confidence and bravado the girl had presented in Wendlyn had gone out, easily doused by their journey and Maeve's presence, he had a feeling it wouldn't take much to awaken it.
Maeve didn't blink as she studied the girl. A queen in every sense of the word, one who didn't need a crown or a throne to demonstrate her power. Only a fool would mistake her for anything other than deadly. She was the true embodiment of power, of immortality. Nightmare and legend made flesh.
As if she had heard his thoughts, the girl stopped her trembling. Her fear didn't disappear, but it faded as she forced herself to take a single, shaky breath. A second one followed, then another. The scent of her fear still tugged at him, one of sweat and dying embers, biting at his ice and wind. Rowan ignored it, his attention entirely fixed on the girl in front of him. She had gone still, taking in his queen with empty eyes and an emotionless expression.
She cocked her head to the side, and for a moment Rowan was foolish enough to expect her to bow, to grovel at Maeve's feet. But her head remained raised, and her voice was steady as she addressed his queen. At the sound of the rage in her voice, Rowan reached for the knife at his side as she said, "Aelin Galathynius is dead."
The words themselves seemed to put a visible weight on the girl's shoulders. Aelin Galathynius, heir to a kingdom long since burned to ash, with an affinity for fire strong enough she could burn entire cities to the ground. Her gift had been powerful enough news of it had reached Doranelle, where the fear that Aelin Galathynius would one day take her magic beyond Terrasen's borders and across the sea to the city of water and stone. Where she might be powerful enough to pose a threat.
The assassin Rowan had found drunk and wasting away in Wendlyn had once been a princess, a queen born to rule a kingdom that had rivaled Maeve's lands for it's peace and prosperity. Unbelievable, except... he had sensed her magic in that alleyway. It was dormant, buried under years of disuse and fear, but it was there.
Rowan realized then why his queen had chosen him for this task. Not just to find Aelin Galathynius and bring the princess to her, but to train her as well. Maeve wanted him to teach this girl how to control her magic, how to use it as a weapon, so that she could involve the girl in the schemes already forming in that ancient, wicked mind of hers.
Maeve's mouth curved into a simpering smile, her blood red lips parting to reveal the pointed canines beneath. She spoke then, her black, soulless eyes never once straying from the princess's face.
"Let us not bother with lies."
The words rolled off her tongue with immortal grace, her voice a slick, honeyed croon. It was honestly impressive the girl didn't flinch at the tone, at the way Maeve was baiting her like a predator does prey. The smiles, the threats spoken in purrs and laden with pleasantries, were both part of the mask Maeve used to hide her true nature.
The girl took a single step forward, eyes wide and hands shaking. Rowan relaxed, leaning back against the door. The girl hesitated as she noted the movement, weighing the odds of her making it out of this room alive if she tried to make a run for it. When she realized they weren't in her favors, she finally sank into a bow.
Maeve's lips twitched at the sight of the girl kneeling at her feet, and for the first time since Rowan had entered the room he seriously wondered if the assassin was going to make it out of this encounter with her life. Maeve was enjoying this far too much for this to be a pleasant conversation.
"I suppose with a proper bath, you'll look a good deal like your mother." A cold, merciless remark.
The girl, surprisingly, didn't miss a beat. Her mouth curved into a smirk that was twin to Maeve's, backed by fire instead of his queen's malice. "Had I known who I would be meeting, I might have begged my escort for time to freshen up."
Maeve's eyes flicked in Rowan's direction, a touch of approval in her gaze. "I'm afraid I must bear the blame for the pressing pace. Though I suppose he could have bothered to at least find you a pool to bathe in along the way."
Maeve waved a hand in Rowan's direction. "Rowan is from my sister Mora's bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you."
If she thought anything of the information, the girl didn't it show. "You don't say," she drawled, eyebrows raising in an expression of complete indifference. Rowan had to grind his teeth together to keep from growling.
This princess, assassin, whatever she wanted to call herself, should be on her knees at his queen's feet, not tossing around smug, entitled responses. Rowan waited for the order, ready to show her how to properly speak to his queen, but Maeve just smiled. "You must be wondering why it is I asked Prince Rowan to bring you here."
The girl's temper flared to life at the words, at the tone, and Rowan's hand twitched towards his sword.
"I have been waiting a long, long while to meet you. And as I do not leave these lands, I could not see you. Not with my eyes, at least."
As Maeve spoke, the scent of fear seeped slowly back into the room. "They broke my laws, you know. Your parents disobeyed my commands when they eloped. The bloodlines were too volatile to be mixed, but your mother promised to let me see you after you were born. It would seem that in the eight years after your birth, she was always too busy to uphold her vow."
Maeve's eyes glittered with unconcealed malice. "But now you are here. And a grown woman at that. My eyes across the sea have brought me such strange, horrible stories of you. From your scars and steel, I wonder whether they are indeed true."
Rowan almost laughed. Whatever this girl had done, whatever she'd experienced, it was nothing compared to the horrors and atrocities he'd witnessed over the past centuries. He'd like to see what she would do if faced with even a fraction of his past, his history.
Maeve was still speaking, her eyes flicking in Rowan's direction as she said, "Like the tale I heard over a year ago, that an assassin with Ashryver eyes was spotted by the horned Lord of the North in a wagon bound for—"
"Enough," the girl snapped, nothing but cold fury in her gaze. "I know my own history."
She glanced at Rowan for only a second, but it was long enough to make him feel a hint of curiosity. He wasn't aware of whatever part of her past Maeve was using to try and provoke her, but it was clear she didn't want him to know. Rowan met her glare with cold indifference, ignoring the message in her eyes. Mind your own damn business.
"I'm an assassin," she said, turning back to Maeve, her temper once again concealed.
This time, Rowan couldn't stop a snort from passing his lips. Assassin she may be, but this princess wouldn't last a minute in the ring with him, or any other Fae for that matter.
"And your other talents? What has become of them?" Hunger crept in Maeve's voice, her nostrils flaring as she tried to scent a trace of the magic she sought.
"Like everyone else on my continent, I haven't been able to access them," the girl snapped, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.
"You're not on your continent anymore."
Maeve's voice had gone quiet, the same way the girl's had moments before. She, at least, seemed to remember who she was speaking with after his queen's sudden change of tone. Rowan shifted forward, ready to intervene in case the conversation turned violent.
"Show me," Maeve purred. Not a request, but an order.
The fire I had sensed hidden beneath the girl's skin in that alleyway flickered to life at the primal command in his queen's voice. Maeve leaned forward, her gaze sharp and probing, as if she was trying to coax the magic out of the girl herself. I waited for the girl to start shaking again, but instead she clenched her fists and hardened her gaze. Maeve was trying to force her way into the girl's thoughts, to force the magic out of her.
It didn't work.
After a few long, tense moments Maeve sank back into her chair with a low laugh. "Your mother hid you from me for years. She and your father always had a remarkable talent for knowing when my eyes were searching for you. Such a rare gift— the ability to summon and manipulate flame. So few exist who possess more than an ember of it, fewer still who can master it's wildness. And yet your mother wanted you to stifle your power-— though she knew I only wanted you to submit to it."
Maeve smirked before saying her final line. "Look how well that turned out for them."
The girl tensed, the scent of her rage creeping into the room like tendrils of smoke. When she looked at his queen, the look in her eyes was nothing short of feral. Rowan reached for his sword. If she so much as blinked at Maeve wrong...
But the girl managed to collect herself, her fists unclenching even as she said, "And where were you ten years ago?"
Maeve tilted her head to the side. "I do not take kindly to being lied to."
The girl's rage flickered out, replaced by horror.
That was why Maeve had refused to aid Terrasen all those years. Not because she lacked the resources or the ability, not because she wanted to protect her own kingdom, but because of a grudge against it's queen for denying her.
Maeve kept talking, ignoring the girl's obvious shock. "I have no more time to spare you. Let me be brief: my eyes have told me that you have questions. Questions that no mortal has the right to ask—about the keys."
That* was what the girl wanted from Maeve? Information about the wyrdkeys? Maeve hadn't mentioned it to him, but by the look on the girl's face it was true.
The assassin opened her mouth, but Maeve stopped her with a hand before she could speak. "I will give you those answers. You may come to me in Doranelle to receive them."
The girl's temper flared to life. "Why not—"
Rowan cut her off with a growl, fighting the urge to tear out her tongue for interrupting his queen.
Maeve didn't even glance at him, continuing on as if she hadn't been interrupted at all. "Because they are answers that require time, and answers you have not yet earned."
"Tell me what I can do to earn them and I will do it," the girl said, panic creeping into her voice.
A fool's response. Maeve could demand anything she wanted of the girl, and his queen never got the short side of a bargain.
"A dangerous thing to offer without hearing the price," Maeve purred, echoing his thoughts.
"You want me to show you my magic? I'll show it to you. But not here. Not—"
Maeve brushed her off with a wave of her hand. "I have no interest in seeing you drop your magic at my feet like a sack of grain. I want to see what you can do with it, Aelin Galathynius- which currently seems like not very much at all. I want to see what you will become under the right circumstances."
The girl had the nerve to interrupt her again. "I don't—"
"I do not permit mortals or half-breeds into Doranelle. For a half-breed to enter my realm she must prove herself both gifted and worthy. Mistward, this fortress, is one of several proving grounds. And a place where those who do not pass the test can spend their days."
"And what manner of test might I expect before I am deemed worthy?" It was clear she was exercising every ounce of control she possessed not to spit the words at Maeve's feet.
How long would it take the girl to meet Maeve's standards? Months? Years? Rowan couldn't remember the last time a half-breed had entered Doranelle from Mistward, and he seriously doubted the girl would be one of the few to do so.
Maeve's eyes met Rowan's from across the room, amusement dancing in her gaze. She was enjoying this. "You shall come to me once Prince Rowan decides that you have mastered your gifts. He shall train you here. And you shall not set foot in Doranelle until he deems your training complete."
Rowan looked at the girl, expecting her to protest, to refuse, but there was only anger in her gaze. A whole damn lot of it.
"What I need to know isn't something that can wait—"
"You want answers regarding the keys, heir of Terrasen? Then they shall be waiting for you in Doranelle. The rest is up to you."
The girl paused, any fight she had possessed fading. She tilted her head to the side, studying Maeve. "Truthfully. You will truthfully answer my questions about the keys."
"You haven't forgotten all our ways then," Maeve said, smirking.
The girl didn't even blink.
Maeve just smiled. "I will truthfully answer all your questions about the keys."
The girl opened her mouth, but Maeve cut her off. "Prince Rowan shall explain the specifics. For now, he will escort you to your chamber to rest."
The girl didn't move to leave , her eyes narrowing. "You swear you'll tell me what I need to know?"
"I do not break my promises. And I have the feeling that you are unlike your mother in that regard too."
The girl's anger flared to life for a moment, but was almost immediately replaced by that cold emptiness she'd had in her eyes before. "To what end? You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?"
Maeve smiled, and the world went still. "I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen."
UPDATED: 1/30/19