A familiar ache blossomed in her chest. A wish that things could be different. That Sebastian came for her after his coronation. That she spent the last fifteen years in the Realms, instead of here.
Maeve had made a comfortable life for herself, all things considered, but she paid for it with the pains of the past.
What Jen told her the day before flitted through her mind.
“You need to get out more,” her agent said. “You have a lot to offer people. You would be an amazing friend. I hope you see us as friends. Even if you don’t, I do. But I’m in Los Angeles, and you’re all the way up in the Sierras. You need to find some people you can talk to, connect with. Then you’d be able to shake off this writer’s block.”
Maeve made some noncommittal comment in response, but what Jen said hit home. There weren’t many friends in her life. Acquaintances, sure, and she waved to most of her neighbors, but when was the last time she went out with someone? Had someone over? Not since she bought her house and moved out into the wilderness. Not since the books started taking off.
Part of her wondered if someone she met now would foster a friendship based off a genuine feeling, or if they would want an association with her because she was a well-known author. Life taught her not to trust the intentions of others.
Buried in thought, Maeve did not hear the first knock.
It wasn’t until the knock rang out again that she started, setting down her mug of tea and dropping her feet back to the floor. She frowned as she checked behind her, glancing at the front door. Am I expecting a package? she wondered. I don’t think I ordered anything recently.
Jen sent her things sometimes. Mementos from the convention circuit. Fan mail.
Maeve checked that she wore proper clothes and padded barefoot to the reclaimed barn wood door. No window or peephole helped her see who was out there, so she cracked the door open to check.
She hesitated, and the hesitation cost her. Instead of being able to slam the door in his face, the man on the front porch placed a gloved hand on the door and swung it open, pushing her backward. He walked with purpose, brushing past her and trailing a scent of smoke and sandalwood that brought on a barrage of memories.
“Leave Sebastian,” the King said, grasping her shoulders. “He will never be loyal to you.”
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s a criminal and a traitor. He has no honor. Join me, and I will give you everything you desire.”
Heart pounding, Maeve whirled, back pressed against the door, which closed at the pressure. The sound of the slamming brought his head up, and mismatched eyes pierced her where she stood.
“Maeve,” he said. “It’s been a long time. How many years, for you?”
“Time moves differently between your world and mine,” Sebastian said, flashing a grin. “I suppose we’ll always be trying to play catch-up.”
“Y-you,” Maeve stammered. “What are you doing here?” It can’t be him, she thought, he had a mortal wound. He died.
“I’m here to find you,” he said in a smooth, rich baritone. “Isn’t that obvious?”
She shook her head. “You’re not King Rodan.”
“I am,” he countered. “Though I am no longer a king. You saw to that.”
“You’re insane. You’re some crazed fan.”
“Am I?” He arched his eyebrows and reached for the clasps on his leather vest. “Then why do I have this?”
Maeve stared, horrified and fascinated, as he unhooked half of his vest and then pulled the loose shirt beneath aside, exposing a terrible scar where his heart would rest.
“It takes more than one sword strike to kill a Fae, especially a Fae as old as I. Did you think me dead?” He laughed, and the sound sent chills down her back. “After I healed, I began to walk through the worlds, hoping to find yours. And here you are. At last.”
Maeve trembled, and could not seem to stop.
“So. Mortal. How long has it been?” He took a step forward, his gaze darkening. “You didn’t forget me, did you?”
How could I have forgotten him? she thought. Such a thing couldn’t be possible. She stood in the shadowed entryway and watched him, her heart skipping a rhythm that sang. Run, run, run! “F-fifteen years,” she said.
“Ah. Time has been kind to you. For me, it has been almost fifty. Fifty years of exile. Do you know how that felt, Maeve Almeida?” His other foot slid forward, closing the gap between them down to less than ten feet. “Then again, you know what it’s like to not have a home, don’t you?”
A flash of heat washed through her, and she took a step forward of her own, her fists clenched at her sides. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve read the books, of course. Poor Jessica Lambert.” His tone, light and mocking, lit a fire from the base of her spine. “A pathetic creature, unloved and unmoored. All too eager to drink up the lies of a clever man wanting what he never deserved. How does it feel, to be so thoroughly duped? What lies have you told yourself, to rationalize why Sebastian never came for you?”
The heat growing in her turned to ice, and her trembling worsened. How did he guess? Am I that easy to read? She lifted her chin, “What do you want?”
He moved closer, and his voice lowered to a seductive purr. “I want to take everything from you. To rip you from this life you have built and show you what it means to have everything you ever wanted torn from your grasp. I want you to feel the pain that I have felt, watching my Realms turn to chaos. I want to wrap my hands around Sebastian’s neck and watch the life fade from his eyes.” He took a deep breath. “But what I need is for you to come with me, back to the Realms, to help save my world from the destruction you wrought.”
Maeve’s breath hitched. “The Realms are safe. We made them safe, Sebastian and me.”
Rodan gave a short, fierce shake of his head. “No. No, you put a madman on my throne. If you thought I was evil, you never truly understood the man you slept beside. Do you have no concept of what he is capable of?”
“No,” she said. “It was you. You were the one the people feared. You were cruel.” She could no longer see him and deny what stood in front of her. The living, breathing Rodan, the King of the Five Realms who she helped depose. The man who made parts of her childhood into a living hell.
“You confuse justice with cruelty,” he argued. “And might with madness. I ruled my people with severity, but not with chaos.” He glided forward another step, and she could see his chest fall, could feel the breath of his voice, and could touch him if she just reached out a hand. A part of her wanted to. A slim part of her wanted to assure herself that he existed. A portion of the Realms. A walking memory.
She shook her head. “You’re lying. You never saw what I saw. You never met the people I met, who had been hurt and torn apart by your rule. What I did was true justice. I put a man of the people on the throne. Someone who would rule with impartiality and compassion.”
He gazed down at her, his black and green eyes hooded and shadowed. “A liar, am I?”
Maeve realized, a moment too late, her mistake.
She stood too close. Close enough that when Rodan’s arm moved with the speed of a striking snake, she could not react in time. One long, gloved hand closed on her upper arm, and she fell forward, flush against his chest. Closer than ever before, every instinct in her, save one, screamed to get away. To fight. To run.