Kingdom of Ash

Maeve brought Dorian to her meeting the next
morning.
In her cloak pocket, as a field mouse,
Dorian kept still and listened.
“After all that fuss last night,” Erawan was
saying, “you turned away what I sent you.”
Indeed, not fifteen minutes after they’d
returned to Maeve’s tower, a knock had
sounded. A blank-faced young man had stood
there, beautiful and cold. Not a prince—not
with the ring he wore. Just an enslaved
human. Maeve had sent him away, though not
from any kindness.
No, Dorian knew the man had been spared
his duties because of his presence, and
nothing more. Maeve had told him as much
before falling asleep.
“I had hoped for wine,” Maeve said
smoothly, “not watered-down ale.”