WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 27

Mare

"Maven," I state his name with about as much indifference as I can muster.

"Get out of my head," he replies in a whisper with an edge.

I take a step toward him, only to notice that my shoes are gone. Barefoot with a pair of tight slacks and a long sleeve shirt that bleed into the air. He wears a similar ensemble, reminding me off how he dresses in real life. I don't have a bloody cape to offer him.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me, Your Majesty."

His iconic smirk flashes. "Get out. Now." There is something about this place that makes it harder for Maven to seem arrogant and highly. He looks younger, robbed of the stress that makes his cheeks hollow and the shadows under his eyes. The smirk is less wicked, more transparent. I see the fear in his eyes.

For a moment, I wonder if he doesn't know whether or not this is real. His mother undoubtedly played with his mind, made him see things that never happened, made him believe those things did indeed occur. If he still hears her, perhaps he still sees visions of her ability.

"No," I say, almost growling. The one time I want Maven to take interest in me, he commands me to leave. "This isn't some nightmare that witch you call a mother cooked up. I'm real, and I'm here."

"Where is here, exactly? And Mare, dear, I'd never mistake you for a hallucination of mine. My mother may have been talented, but she couldn't make a perfect impression of you. You're too..." he trails off, wordless.

"Good to hear," I say distractedly, kneeling down to rake my fingers through the black slime. Once again, it slips away when I draw my hand upward, as though it's attracted to the ground. "Where is here? This place doesn't exist."

Maven hums in response, and as I stand back to my full height, he's closer than he was before. The blackness of his tunic fabric floats around him in clouds, like a half-dried painting dipped in water. I notice mine mimics him.

"They're quite powerful, are they not?" Maven asks, and I blink. "The Whisper, I speak of. Powerful enough to reach from wherever you are and sneak into my mind. Or they're weak, and you're hiding in a room just a few doors over from mine. But that isn't the case, now is it?"

"No. I'm not stupid enough to go back there. After all, my sister is home and safe. Fifty guards protecting her from me and you couldn't win."

"I assume that was the work of your Newblood companion as well."

"Yes," I respond, walking in a curve to circle him. He doesn't allow it, copying my actions until we orbit one another, a binary system. "Maybe if you had used a few more guards, you would've gotten me." A smile arouses at the memory, remembering fighting through the blockage of Sentinels that separated me and my companions from the ballroom.

"But I did get you," he says and my confidence falters. Maven steps closer, too close for comfort, and I force myself to hold my ground. "Even the most capable newbloods, even Mare Barrow, has limits. Reviewing the footage, it appears that your friend is not well versed in their powers. A couple more seconds and you would've gotten away the first time. A couple more seconds, and you would owe me nothing."

I stare off into the oblivion, willing myself not to shiver. So many broken trusts and promises, and I hate to think that a forgotten dance with a traitor is included on the list.

"You owe me much more than dance, Maven. You stole months of my life a good amount of my sanity."

"Nonetheless, a promise is a promise," he says, brushing off a fake speck of dirt from his lapel.