MAEVE

"Do you believe it?"

I turned to the lady standing in line behind me. Daphne Davercher, Claire's best friend and Francis' cousin thrice removed, although I have to reiterate that she was never a princess, even though she looked like one. She had the perfect small face, the perfect blond hair, and eyes that seemed like they were tugged upward by her hair. She also had the best temperament; spoiled rotten, she had a delusion that everyone liked her and everyone disliked what she disliked: for one, yours truly.

"Are you talking to me?" I asked.

She did not answer. She just continued to stare up at me—did I mention she's also quite small?—her eyes puffy and red from all the crying. "I don't believe it was an accident."

"She killed herself?" I asked. "That's even more preposterous."

Her eyes glinted with anger. "Claire would never kill herself." Her nostrils, also red from crying, flared. "Someone killed her." The fury built behind her eyes as she glared at me with contempt. "You hated her, didn't you, Maeve?"

"I still do," I said, turning away as a few ladies giggled. They immediately fell silent as Claire flashed them a reprimanding look. Daphne never liked anyone who contradicted her, and for most, they found it better to simply just avoid irking her.

"You insolent bitch," she hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. Everyone else in line gasped, a little too excitedly, perhaps hoping for a physical fight. "You killed her. I know you did."

"Let go, Daphne," I warned.

"Or what?" Daphne asked. "You'll kill me next?"

"No, because it's my turn in the box," I said, tapping her hand lightly with my cane. "And I've told you once before to never lay a hand on me—or have you forgotten?"

She flinched at the memory of that one rainy night, but only for a fleeting second. "I'll prove to everyone you killed her." Her voice shook with rage and promise as she let me go. "They'll all see the true monster that you are, St. Vincent."

I opened the door of the phone box. Closing it, I smiled at Daphne through the glass. With the receiver against my ear, I dialed my cousin's number. The other ladies in line came around Daphne in consolation, some of them glaring at me with bafflement and ire, as if they could not understand how someone who was supposed to be their equal could be so heartless. The rest were smiling at me in a shared, silent hatred for Daphne. Leaning my shoulder against the wall of the box, I twisted my cane and the outer tube slipped off, revealing the compartments inside. I took out my pipe and lit it, to the horror of Daphne and her friends.

"Did you send a bloody prince to my office?" the voice on the other end spoke—calm but obviously irritated.

"Leo," I said, breaking into a genuine smile as I screwed my cane back in place. "I hope you did not break his skull. I know you've always wanted to study a royal's brain. Although I have to warn you that there's not much in it but fancy insults."

I heard footsteps, and I pictured him walking somewhere more private, perhaps in the dark corner of his office where he kept the jars of brains he collected throughout the years. "What's going on?" He asked in a whisper, more curious than concerned. "Why does a spare to the throne want me to open up a corpse?"

"She was murdered," I said in a low voice, smiling at a scowling Daphne. "And I know you already opened her up. Did you find anything?"

"The papers say it was an accident."

"I want to know what you say."

Leonard sighed. "Cause of death is a stab wound in the chest. It drowned her heart."

"Anything else?"

"There is evidence of blunt force trauma to the back of the head."

"Before or after the stabbing?"

"I can't say. There are other markings on her arms."

"Defensive marks," I murmured pensively. "So she fought back."

"Yes."

Daphne knocked on the door of the box and I blew smoke to cover the scowl on her face.

"Maeve, are you in trouble?"

"No," I lied. "Maybe," I added. "Is the insipid royal still there?"

"Tell me what happened."

"I can't. I don't have much time. There's a line of ogres in fancy dresses waiting outside the box. Let me talk to him."

More footsteps. The next voice I heard was his. "Claire's family has accepted the crown's explanation that it's an accident. But if what your cousin found here gets out, they'll demand answers."

"No one believes it's an accident. In fact, they all believe I did it."

Daphne banged her fist on the door, shouting from the other side that my time was up. "Stop banging the bloody door!" I shouted at her.

"Who is that?"

"Your cousin." Tamping my pipe with a finger. "By the by, have you seen William?"

"No. Nor the twins."

"That's odd," I said over the banging on the glass door. "Let's talk more tomorrow."

"But—"

I replaced the receiver and flung the door open, causing Daphne to stumble back with a gasp. Her friends dramatically coughed and fanned the air as smoke escaped the box.

"You are the worst, Maeve St. Vincent!" Daphne screamed behind me. I waved my cane as I walked away.

Blythe was in the library with Logan Earle, discussing something when I found them. Her hair was almost like flame with the yellow glow of the lamp, her ivory skin a stark contrast against her green dress. There were tables scattered around the room, small and round for private discussions. Very much the same as the one in Queens. Blythe looked up and asked, "How long is the line?"

"A mile, three if you count the amount of time those girls spend in that box." I stared at the paper between them. "What's that?"

"There will be a game in the labyrinth," Logan replied. "We're discussing strategies."

I just stared at Logan, wondering why he agreed to be here. He was a great business adviser, the best Blythe's father could have found, and the Ivory Game was too petty even for him. "The only trick you have to know is that in every game, someone has wagered their ivy for the Silver Favor."

"But that's the problem. We don't know who it will be or where the games will be. By this time, the ivies had already changed hands since the lake. I saw Marina Bailey crying this morning. Someone has already stolen her ivy."

Anyone with an ivy could come and meet the game master to wager their ivies for a chance to win the Silver Favor. And the Favor could be anything except the killing of another person—a villa, horses, or even a betrothal. Many join solely for the Silver Favor because it would always be granted as long as you complete the mission attached to it.

But as you do your mission, your ivy would also be put up as a reward in a game, which happens simultaneously with your mission, and are designed to last as long as the missions. The only way you could win your ivy back is to finish your mission before someone wins the game. That way, you get your Favor and win your ivy back. If you fail, or if someone wins the game before you complete your mission, you lose your Favor and your ivy.

For others who want to get an ivy, this is another way to win it fair and square. But the problem is that no one knows where the games would be held. Some would get clues thrown out by deputies, but even those could be misleading.

I sighed, dragging a chair. "Cousin," I said, sitting down. "The game master waits for the Silver Favor on the second to the fourth day, yes?" She nodded. I looked at her and Logan. "Then please tell me you have someone watching outside the Silver Room."

They frowned at each other, then at me.

I rolled my eyes. "If you know who is coming into the Silver Room, you'll know who came in for a Favor with an ivy."

Blythe blanched. "I have not thought of that."

Logan's frown deepened. "The missions happen simultaneously with the game, but they don't happen in the same place. There's no point knowing who went in for a Favor."

I groaned and massaged my leg. "It's not all about finding the games and playing them," I wryly said. "It's about knowing who is more capable of completing their mission where they win their ivy back along with their Favor."

"I don't understand."

"My last client got her ivy after we learned who went in for the Silver Favor. We made calculated guesses who could win their ivy back before anyone else could win them in a game. We went for Patricia Northcott. The game attached to her Favor, I believe, was a scavenger hunt in the woods. We waited until she completed her mission, won her Favor and got her ivy back." I smiled at Blythe.

"And you stole her ivy," Blythe finished with awe.

"She was happy nonetheless. She still got her Favor even though she failed to be a Swan."

"But our strategy is to win a game. Stealing is going to be tricky," Logan told Blythe.

"I cannot be deemed as a thief," Blythe said.

I sighed. "Well, do whatever you want. I'm going upstairs for a nap."

"Are you not attending the memorial mass for Claire? You have to attend, Maeve. People think you—"

I stood and twirled my cane twice in my hand. "I don't care what people think." I smiled at her and Logan. "If you want to play the labyrinth game, start to learn how to make a fire. And bring food."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone had to stay in the maze for two days last year." On my way to the door, I added, "There's always a game in the woods if you're up for that."

BLYTHE

The memorial mass was solemn and filled with quiet sobbing. I sat in the back, terribly alone and awkward. I knew I had at least a friend or two when I came here.

"Patricia's crying because her ivy was stolen last night. The same thing happened to her last year, you know." I turned and found Melanie Michaels smiling secretly. "It's unfair what they say about you and your cousin."

I blinked. "Me?"

"Everyone knows you both hated Claire," Melanie whispered, leaning closer. "But so does half of these pathetic fools."

I pursed my lips. "I didn't hate her—" I stopped and stared at the giant cross hanging in front of the chapel. "Well, not enough to want her dead."

Melanie scoffed, and I could not help but smile. I had always liked Melanie. We were not the best of friends, but she always had this innocence about her. She always had a smile on her face and it was always genuine. She was a big girl, but she was proud of it. Big girl with a big heart, she always said to anyone who told her she was getting fatter every season.

"Do you really think it was an accident?" she asked, worry in her eyes. "Could it be true that the Night Swan is real?"

"Night Swan?"

"That's what the other girls are calling the killer."

"I don't know, Melanie," I said, looking ahead. "Anyone could have done it. She had an ivy, but from what the princess told us this morning, all seventeen ivies are among us."

Melanie gasped. "You think she was killed for her ivy?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "People do terrible things when they're desperate."

"But murder is against the rules." When I did not respond, Melanie leaned closer. "It is my birthday tomorrow. The game has allowed for a little celebration. I've invited everyone and I'd like you to be there, too. I hope it will lighten the mood."

"Of course. I'll be there," I promised.

I parted ways with Melanie after the service. The other girls were already planning to venture into the woods hoping to find a clue for a game, if any. Others went to the other common rooms in the manor in search of similar clues that would point them to a game.

A part of me wanted to join them because what if they found a game and I'd miss it? But I had to find Logan. He might have gathered something from the other servants.

"There you are." I stopped, suddenly alert. His hand grabbed mine and pulled. "Did you miss me?" Thomas asked, grinning as he pulled me under the staircase and out of sight.

"Thomas, stop," I whispered when he kissed down my throat, hand gripping my waist. I squirmed against him, but God, the way his mouth trailed down my skin, how his hand pulled me against him, rendered me weak. And maybe hundreds of other women, too, I belatedly thought. Pushing away, this time with more strength than I could muster, I said, "Stop."

He looked even better than the last time I saw him. His short black hair brushed in perfection reminded me of my fingers cruising through them. His silver eyes, his tan skin and sexy smile... He was a god. And I was one of the stupid, gullible ladies caught in his web.

Once, I reminded myself. Just once.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his perfect brows dipping in a frown. "I've been trying to get you alone, but your stupid mentor is always around you." His breath was hot in my ears as he bent and whispered, "They've ordered all deputies to stay in Ivory House. Which means I have a room here now. What do you say? Hm?"

A delicious shiver ran through me, but I shook my head. "No—"

His mouth captured my protest, his tongue rendered me mute and weak. For a moment, I was lost again. Rational thoughts could wait. Just one more taste of this man. I gasped in surprise, then moaned in pleasure. My last ounce of sanity could not explain how his hand found me beneath my skirts. With what he was doing, I would have said yes.

He nipped my earlobe. "You miss me," he said without question as he slid his fingers along my center. "You're wet." I whimpered, my body betraying me. Had I been thinking of this? Yes. Had I woken up in the middle of the night after dreaming of him giving me pleasure? Yes.

His finger made another slide, and I gasped, eyes shut tight, my body growing restless with need. He chuckled as I muffled another gasp in his neck.

That same chuckle flashed a memory, and my eyes snapped open. I pushed away. My skirts fell, and I finally escaped, saying, "Don't come near me again."

"What in the bloody hell?" he said, catching my hand and whirling me around. "What's wrong?"

"I can't... I'm not one of your whores, Thomas. Leave me alone."

"My what? What do you mean—"

"Let us not pretend you're not who you are," I interjected, pulling my hand free. "What happened between us was a mistake," I said, almost in a whisper.

"Blythe, you cannot be bloody serious."

He looked hurt and offended. And he looked genuinely confused. But he should know his reputation. He was a rakehell through and through. He slept with probably half of Queens!

"Just stay away from me, Thomas."

He caught my arm. "Wait. You can't just walk away—"

"What's going on?" Logan's voice asked from behind. I looked over my shoulder and, for the first time since I met him, his face looked murderous. "Kindly let go of Miss Blythe, Mr. Erne."

Thomas looked equally furious, but he did as Logan requested and let me go. I rushed to Logan and said, "Let's take our meeting upstairs to my chamber." When he refused to move, just standing there in the middle of the corridor staring at Thomas, I gritted my teeth. "Logan. Upstairs."

He complied, finally tearing his gaze off Thomas. I did not look back, still shaken from my encounter, mostly at how I had let myself be vulnerable. With each step, I hated myself again. Logan was quiet behind me, thank God, but I could sense the question I knew he would never ask. And I hope he'd never ask.

When I reached my room, the door was ajar. I frowned. "Were you in my room?"

"No. I came looking for you in the library after the mass."

I pushed the door open, then stopped. There, lying on the center of the table by the window, was a note. I picked it up as Logan followed inside.

"What's wrong?" he asked, walking closer.

I read the note and my entire world collapsed.

The walls have eyes in Ivory House and they saw what you did, dear Blythe.

Author's note:

This story is currently on Chapter 15 with one Special Chapter on Patreon as to this posting. You can always wait for my weekly updates here. 

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