mavka [d.m]

03.

mavka
———

Mavka supposes she should've expected it.

She's always had a bad record when it comes to luck — and tonight doesn't seem to be an exception to that rule, much to her dismay.

"Where are your manners?" His voice is rough and sends shivers dancing down her spine. "It's rude to keep your guests waiting."

She's heard all about the Shadow King, of course — ruthless, evil, powerful Draco Malfoy — but she's never seen him up close. Barely seen him from afar.

But now that he's here, all she can focus on is the grey of his eyes. They look far too much like the deadly depths of the Serra as the river winds out of the city and disappears into the pass between the Andovian Mountains — and Mavka finds her pulse picking up.

A terrible reaction, of course, when dealing with Fae. He can sense it — and the half-grin on his face grows wider, edged like a blade.

"I wasn't expecting guests," she says, coolly. His hair is far too pale, she thinks. It shines even in the dim, flickering light of the hallway. "I'm afraid I haven't made any tea."

His eyebrows raise as if he's impressed with her nonchalance. He pushes off the wall and strides towards her, his gaze piercing. She resists the urge to shrink back as he towers over her. She can see the pure muscle corded in his body, all Fae strength and agility.

It makes her stomach knot. He can kill her before she even takes her next breath.

But Mavka has always had to think on her feet — and her brain doesn't stop whirring, doesn't stop trying to put the pieces together. The Shadow King is at her door, obviously waiting for her. He wouldn't show up here just because she evaded taxes. He has enough goons at his service for that.

So she's done something bigger. Something important enough to warrant for the most powerful being in all of the lands to show up at her front door. Something terrible—

"How in the world," he murmurs, almost speaking to himself, still looking down at her, "did you stab him?"

Oh. Right. She'd stabbed one of the Royal Guard in the marketplace. "I did no such thing."

He scoffs then — and pure power radiates off him. Like she's annoyed him with her denial. "Don't lie to me, Nymph. A dozen different people saw you."

Mavka's heart leaps into her throat as she shuffles back a small step. She can't reach for her dagger with him so close. With his Fae reflexes, he'd snap her good wrist in half before she even got to it.

"I'm only a seller," she lies through her teeth, trying to formulate an escape plan. It's futile. In every situation, he'll catch up to her before she can get to the stairs. "You must be looking for my roommate—"

"No." He steps forward, following her and his predatory gaze burns into her skin. He's pure, unadulterated power. "It's you I've been looking for."

She opens her mouth to respond but he beats her to it, his voice low and deadly.

"Mavka."

It's a jolt to hear her name from his mouth and she doesn't know why. Doesn't know why everything within her freezes at the sound of it rolling off his tongue, perfectly pronounced. Doesn't know why panic tears through her a second later — so wild she cannot think.

Her hand goes for her dagger, just a blur. She may not be Fae but she's still fast. Her fingers only brush the hilt when his hand shackles her wrist and yanks it away.