Page 34 of Crown of Roses
Aran cleared his throat and rolled up the map of Faeven, then tied the black ribbon around it. He handed it over to Casimir and turned his attention to her. “Since you’re here, Maeve, I feel I must warn you away from Rowan.”
Maeve scoffed and flipped open the book in her hands. “We’re not dating or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Casimir coughed, but it sounded more like a strangled choke.
Aran’s face remained impassive, but humor danced in his eyes. “Uh, good. That’s good. But you must know that in Faeven, nothing is as it seems.”
“I figured as much.” Maeve didn’t even look at him. She was too mesmerized by the book of fairytales in her hands. Every letter, inked by hand. Every picture, painted by hand. The work was exquisite, so detailed, and so painstakingly beautiful. It was a work of art and she wondered if Aran had been the one to create it.
“Maeve.” Aran’s voice was firm. He closed the book in her hands, forcing her gaze to him. “Rowan is not what he seems.”
She hugged the book to her chest. “He seems pretty intent on getting under my skin.”
“Or getting in your pants,” Casimir muttered.
A flush scalded Maeve’s cheeks. “My sex life is none of your concern.”
Aran pinched the bridge of his nose. “He can’t be trusted.”
“Funny, he said the same thing about you.” Undercurrents of frustration flared to life inside her. Vexed, she clamped her jaw until her temples ached. What in the stars was this anyway? The sex talk? What and who she did, if anything or anyone, in her spare time was none of their damned business. “And if we’re being brutally honest here, which I assume we are, he already told me not to trust him.”
Aran shared a look with Casimir, who shrugged and held up his hands in innocence.
“Are we done here?” she demanded.
“He won’t be the hero in your story, Maeve.” Aran’s tone was lower. Colder.
She stalked toward the carved doors of mahogany and yanked one open. She propped her ankle up against it and tossed one glance at both of them, over her shoulder. “I don’t need a hero. I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m not a princess in need of saving. If it comes down to it, which I’m sure it probably will, I’ll save myself.”
Aran crossed his arms, muscles rippling. “We’ll see about that.”
“Indeed, we will,” she snapped.
“Maeve?” When Aran said her name, he was right behind her. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “You’re forgetting something.”
She spun around on one boot. “What now?”
He held out his hand and nodded to the tome clutched against her chest. “I believe that belongs to me.”
Maeve held the book out, but was gripped with a desire to keep it. She wanted to pore over the colorful pages and translate the words she couldn’t quite understand. She wanted to hear the fairytales from before, and the legends of after. Willing herself a smidge of humility, she looked up into Aran’s eyes. And so what if she fluttered her lashes a little bit? A girl could try.
“Might I keep it?”
“You…you want this book?” His mouth was slightly parted, like he had more to say, but couldn’t find the words.
“I do.” Maeve nodded. “Very much.”
“You realize,” he spoke slowly. Carefully.
“I’ll owe you something. Of course.” Maeve searched the pocket of her leggings and pulled out the piece of sea glass she’d found at the beach right before Aran arrived. It was like holding a bundle of summer roses in her hand.
“This.” She held it out to him. “You can have this. I found it along the Shores while we were waiting for you. Maybe it can be a piece of land you can carry with you. At least until you’re allowed to return.”
She placed the sea glass in his hand and closed his fingers around it.
Aran ran his thumb over its smooth surface, never taking his eyes off it. “You’re very optimistic.”
His gaze locked on hers and she smiled. “Usually.”
