Page 18 of Crown of Roses
“Enough!” Saoirse’s voice was thunderous. Her beauty was rattled with a tinge of exasperation. “We’ll all be dead before we make it out of the Moors with this constant bullshit.”
Maeve swallowed her shame. Arguing and bickering like children wasn’t going to get them anywhere, and it definitely wouldn’t save their lives. “You’re right. If we don’t work together, we won’t come out of this alive. Our kingdom will fall. Our realms will fall.”
Casimir kicked the ground with his boot and gravel skittered across the path. “And you expect us to trust a fae without even questioning him?”
“No.” On this Maeve was firm. “I expect us to do whatever is required to survive.”
There was a slow murmur of agreement.
“As I was saying,” Rowan stated, but some of his arrogance diminished. “Crossing into Faeven will fall to me. It is not something easily accomplished by mortals. Sometimes, if conditions are favorable, the Dorai will ferry willing travelers.”
“The Dorai?” A line of worry cut across Saoirse’s forehead. “What are the Dorai? I’ve never heard of them.”
“I’ll explain more on the way.” Rowan’s lavender gaze lifted to the haze of clouds above. “But if we don’t set off soon, we won’t make it to the Moors before dark.”
He was right, though no one wanted to admit it. But instead of arguing, the group mounted their horses in amicable silence and set off down the Ridge toward Kells. There was no farewell party, no bidding of goodbye, and no backward glances. Only the quiet acknowledgment that there was a fairly good chance not all of them would come back alive.
They rode in silence for what seemed like an eternity, until the walls of Kells and the call of the Gaelsong Sea were behind them. Until The Scathing nothing more than an indistinct murmur of death. The Moors rose in the distance, their dense overhang of vine-covered trees and lush greenery offered a tempting reprieve from the sun. Sparkling streams glittered along either side of the worn dirt path, like ribbons of pale blue silk. Flowers of purple and red bloomed over hollowed-out logs, and furry little woodland creatures scampered across fallen branches and under berry bushes.
The Moors possessed an eerie sort of beauty. Traveling through it was like walking through the pages of a fairytale. A land of enchantment, hidden away from the rest of the world.
Maeve knew if they continued in this direction, they would eventually pass the lake where she found the Aurastone. She hoped Casimir didn’t stop, she hoped he didn’t even see it. The lake was a secret, something just for her. Her own sort of treasure.
Rowan rode up alongside her and kept pace.
She knew he was watching her, but she didn’t dare look over at him. Any conversation with him would only annoy her. She didn’t like how easily he’d been able to disarm her. She didn’t like how he acted as though he knew everything about her, or how he carefully crafted his words. But more than all those things, looking at him caused her blood to hum, because the beauty of him was damn near painful.
“I know why you refuse to look at me.” Rowan’s low baritone rolled over her and Maeve tried not to shiver.
She gripped the reins tight in her hands, kept her gaze on Saoirse and Casimir in front of her. “And does my aversion inflate your ego?”
“On the contrary, it infuriates me.”
Maeve looked up at him sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He wasn’t smiling. But he wasn’t scowling either. He looked…displeased. “You won’t look at me because you see too much of yourself in a creature you’ve been bred to hate.”
Maeve blew an errant curl out of her face. “I don’t hate you,” she muttered. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Such a pretty little liar.” Rowan steered his horse a bit closer, so close, their legs nearly touched. “The only thing stronger than your hate for me is your fear of the ocean.”
Her nails bit into the leather of the reins. Oh, but he was maddening. “It must be difficult for you.” She bit the words out.
His dark brows rose with interest. “What’s that?”
“To be unable to lie.” She offered him a smug smile, grateful to recall reading the rules of the fae so many times. They could deceive, or twist their words in such a way that fact was lost in confusion, but they would never be able to tell an untruth.
Rowan’s face registered surprise first, and she wished she hadn’t been looking at him because then he smiled, and she nearly toppled off her horse. His laughter rang out, rich and musical, and she couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open at the sound of it.
“Not everything you read in your books is true. A lot of it is made up, stories the fae told humans as a means to placate them, so they’d leave us alone.” He reached out and gently squeezed her thigh. “I assure you, I am perfectly capable of deceit.”
Maeve clamped her mouth closed to keep from gaping. She expected him to pull away or laugh at her expense. Maybe even chuckle and shake his head at her foolishness. But what she didn’t expect was for him to rub his thumb along her upper thigh.
Twice.
The humming of her blood grew louder and there was another sensation, something she didn’t recognize.
“Mind yourself, Princess.” His gaze followed the road to where Casimir led their group. They were leaving the Moors, the last of the brush and beauty falling behind them. The Fieann Forest was up ahead. “These woods are not safe.”
