Page 50 of Crown of Roses
Affronted, Maeve splayed her hands on the table and leaned toward him. “I can understand it if you speak it.”
“Oh, can you really?” His gaze glinted with humor and his tone was mocking, full of ridicule. He fiddled with one of the silver beads dangling from his pointed ears.
“Yes.” She snatched the book back. “I can.”
“Okay, let’s see just how clever you are.” He looked up to the ceiling, where the paintings moved with the stories they told, then back at her. “Na biogh kyolan ta na cohsh.”
Maeve closed her eyes and heard the words in her head. She played them over and over, noting the sounds, the ebb and flow of Lir’s pitch, and the inflection in his tone. “The little…the little bird sings. I know there’s another part, just give me a second.”
Her gaze flew open. “The little bird sings in the…cage.”
Lir grinned, his face nearly unrecognizable behind the emotion. “Fascinating.”
Maeve paled and dropped back down into the chair. There was no way Lir could’ve known about the giant cage, about all the times she’d cried and begged for her life while swinging back and forth in it like a songbird. He wouldn’t understand the terror that gripped her, or the way the wind rattled the cage so fiercely, it caused her body to quake. He wouldn’t realize such a seemingly harmless phrase would take her right back to the moment Carman decided to try and drown her.
Tiny drops of sweat slithered down Maeve’s spine and the heavily beaded gown clung to her skin.
“Are you alright?” Lir leaned over the table, and a ripple of concern marred his brow. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
Lir reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Maeve’s forehead. Despite everything, she flinched.
The doors to the library burst open, and the shelves shuddered. Two piles of books toppled off a ledge, and a hanging glass orb shattered to the ground. Curling shadows unfurled to reveal Rowan, except he wasn’t at all the same. It was the wonder of him, multiplied a thousand times over. Magic rolled off of him in thick, heady waves. It surrounded him, and encompassed her. His cloak of darkness stretched and swarmed around the edges of the library. He wore sleek black pants with shining boots and a pale blue shirt buttoned to the middle, revealing his mass of scars. A sword was positioned at his waist. His teal hair was brilliant, and shone like the purest of waves at the edge of the Gaelsong Sea. Lavender eyes, framed with thick lashes, locked onto her. He drank her in. Devoured her.
He sauntered forward. “Hello, Princess.”
“Rowan.” His name was a breath between her lips.
“You need to leave.” Lir was on his feet in a second with both of his blades drawn. He edged toward Rowan with cautious, intentional steps, ready to strike. “I’ve been sworn to protect her, and I will do so by any means necessary.”
Rowan’s gaze flicked to Lir and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Yeah. And you’re clearly doing a fantastic job of it.”
Lir looked over at Maeve and shrugged. “She wanted some language lessons and then got all…” He waved his sword in a circle. “Weird-looking.”
“What did he say?” Rowan was calm, but his body reverberated with a kind of energy, a terrifying sort of magic Maeve couldn’t name.
“It was nothing,” Maeve answered quickly, before Lir could dig himself into an even deeper hole.
“Yeah,” Lir agreed. “We just talked about birds and cages.”
“You son of a—” Rowan growled and his shadows thickened and grew, shrouding the library in a kind of eternal darkness.
“Rowan, stop!” Maeve leapt up from the table and launched herself between them. She catapulted herself into his arms and he snatched her by the waist, hauling her against him. “He didn’t know.”
She had no idea what sort of magic Rowan was capable of, and she didn’t want to find out. At least, not like this.
Rowan clutched Maeve to him like a possession and sneered down at Lir. “Get out.”
Lir laughed, but it was harsh and barking. “And leave you in here alone with her? Yeah, right.”
A cruel smile stretched across Rowan’s mouth. He looked downright savage. “Do you want to watch?”
Lir jerked back and his jaw hardened. His gaze cut to Maeve. “Scream if you need me.”
Rowan waited until Lir stalked out of the library and slammed both doors shut behind him. Then he grabbed Maeve’s chin, tilted her face up to him, and lowered his head so his mouth grazed across the flesh of her neck. Hot and tempting. Her body coiled into him, soft and pliable, desperate for whatever he was willing to give to her.
“I’ll make you scream. But it will not be his name.” His tongue ran a steaming trail from the base of her throat to her earlobe. “It will be mine.”
Before Maeve could blush, Rowan scooped her up off her feet and set her down on the table in front of him. He cupped her face with both hands, and his lavender gaze—wild and feral—absorbed and lingered over every inch of her.
