The Song Of The Wolf (Unedited)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Maebh was curled up in the tower room, legs tucked beneath her and a stack of books placed next to the armchair.

After the disastrous meeting with the messenger of the gods, she had fled from the room without granting the prince another glance. And upon arrival at the tower, she had demanded books that might aid in her quest for answers to be delivered –in spite of knowing her efforts would be fruitless.

Hailstones cascaded from the skies with war-like velocity, covering the landscape in a thin layer of ice that was soon melted by an interval of sunshine. It was the final hoorah before Zeus ceased his celebratory storms and the May weather reinstated its spring temperature, recovering from the divine interference.

It was far from cold and yet, Maebh could not stop shivering. The lavender depths of her eyes seemed a little too large in her pale face, her pearly tendrils dragged into a loose plait.

When a humming Olive bustled into the tower room with a tray of afternoon tea and biscuits, she took one look at the young woman and hurriedly lit a fire in the hearth –afraid she was coming down with the flu.

The smell of smoke comforted Maebh's senses as she watched the flames leap, hungrily consuming the wood and sending sparks flying up the chimney. Hypnotised by its ferocious appetite, the distraction made the book on her lap slip; but at the absence of a dull thud that indicated its collision with the floor, Maebh dragged her eyes from the inferno.

The person who had caught the book sat kneeled in front of her, staring at her in a way that could make gravity forget its purpose. There was an air of coiled prolepsis, like the deep inhale before the plunge.

It made her want to spill the beans: from the contents of her nightmares to everything her Mam had told her the night of the Introduction Ball –but she couldn't. Her inhibitions had pulled their restraints taut and sewed her mouth shut.

"I'm sorry," the apology seemed to physically hurt the prince as it tore itself out of his throat.

"You're sorry?"

"That is what I said," he replied, upset that he had to repeat himself.

The loud impact of flesh hitting flesh echoed throughout the room, leaving Fillin's face struck to the side and a red imprint on his cheek.

Maebh's head reeled as black dots covered her vision, like she had received a smack of her own. "Apologies don't mean anything if they're not sincere. I'm sorry I hit you and I actually mean it. I shouldn't have resorted to violence to express my feelings. See? Action, reaction, explanation. That was your first lesson in becoming a normally functioning being, thank you for coming to my Ted-talk."

Hands shaking and thoughts crowding her mind, mixed signals warred with self-loathing; each one jostling for attention as Fillin beheld her with a blank expression.

"If that is all, I'd like you to leave." She said, folding her arms over her chest and turning her gaze away from him.

A sigh of resignation could be heard from behind her. "I am sorry." He nudged her knee, as if it would support his claim.

Maebh dropped her head to the back of the chair, her eyes burning holes in the wooden ceiling beams. "You can't keep tossing me around like I'm a fecking yoyo. I thought after we—I thought last night would establish a deeper connection between us but I see now it was just a clever ploy to chain me to you."

The language of the gods flowed off his tongue like a litany. "You're wrong."

"Then prove me wrong, Fillin!"

His eyes were scrying mirrors of years and seasonal changes; autumnal leaves, falling snowflakes and blossoming flowers. The embodiment of the moon shifting from full to crescent and new until her whole world narrowed to just him.