Page 76 of Crown of Roses
“You bastard.”
He bowed regally. “At your service.”
She launched her wooden cup at him, but he faded before the projectile even made impact. She was on her own again, like he’d never even existed. Except this time, she was on the outskirts of a savage social event, completely alone, and with no sign of Rowan anywhere.
Maeve debated on returning to the party, hoping she could find the exact spot where Rowan left her. But she knew if she wandered any closer, she would only draw attention to herself. Even if she was glamoured, it was painfully obvious she wasn’t fae. And a mortal female, all alone in the wilds of the Autumn Court, well, she’d heard stories about what happened to them.
But from the corner of her eye, she saw the palest glow along the ground. Leading away from the foray, was a sequence of dancing lights. Soft, iridescent orbs seemed to move and bounce further into the forest.
Faerie lights.
Maeve recognized them at once. And only one fae—one solitary, rare fae—had ever left a trail of faerie lights in their wake.
The will ó wisp.
Maeve wasn’t sure how long she followed the faerie lights before they vanished. But one moment they were there, and the next they were gone, leaving her alone in the autumn woods. The sounds of merriment and music were far behind her, shrouded beyond the dense expanse of trees. Ribbons of silver mist crawled along the forest floor, and though she tried to walk quietly, every footfall landed upon something startlingly loud.
The crunch of leaves.
The snap of a twig.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and drew in a shallow breath. The forest pulsed around her, alive with wild magic. Its song beckoned her, urged her deeper into the woods, but she turned away from the pull. Away from the draw of its mystique. She couldn’t risk losing herself here. There were too many unknowns. Too many dangers. More than anything, she needed to make her way back to the party. At least once she got there, she could find a place to hide and wait for Rowan to find her.
But the sounds from the celebration were muffled, and they echoed everywhere at once. The path she followed was barren. There were no markings signaling direction and no way to tell where she was going. Hoping she wasn’t venturing further into the woods, she turned back the way she came and prayed to the goddess she chose correctly.
She heard them before she sensed them. The cut of feathers through the wind, the beating of strong, majestic wings. Instinctively, her hand went to her thigh for her dagger. But she came up empty. Rowan glamoured her, but doing so had left her without a weapon.
“Hello, little wild one.” A soft, masculine voice cut through the air around her.
Maeve turned, dug her heels into the soft earth, and came face to face with two fae. Both were exceptionally tall, excruciatingly handsome, and bore an eerie resemblance to Aran, but with one major difference. These fae had wings.
Beautiful, feathered, crimson and gold wings. They were grand and majestic, and the the expanse was wider than any bird she’d ever seen. One fae had hair the color of burnt gold, and the other’s was a deep, rich mahogany. Their faces were similar—hard jawlines, high cheekbones, aristocratic noses, and shining, green eyes. Everything they wore was jewel-toned. Topaz pants. Onyx boots. Ruby shirts. Jade coats. They were well-dressed and reeked of class and elegance. They weren’t at all similar to the trooping fae she watched earlier, the ones that partook in particular activities. No, these were not the same fae she’d left dancing around a bonfire in wild abandon.
They were well bred. They were excess. They were Archfae. They had to be. Which could only mean one thing…they were Aran’s brothers.
She pretended to ignore the scimitars strapped at their waists and the way tendrils of shadows curled from the tips of their fingers.
“Look at what we have here, Shay.” The one with the mahogany hair sauntered forward. “A pretty faerie.”
“You seem to have lost your way, little wild one.” Shay, Aran’s youngest brother, chuckled. “What do you suppose a faerie like this is doing all the way out here, Garvan? Lost deep in the woods of autumn and with no one around to help her?”
Garvan. Her throat worked. He was the one blamed for Autumn’s fall. He utilized his magic in unjust ways. Rowan told her as much. And without saying so, she knew she should be afraid of him.
“I’m not lost.” Maeve lifted her chin and blamed the chattering of her teeth on the autumn chill. It shivered over her skin like a blanket of frost.
“Aren’t you though?” Garvan circled her. Stalked her.
“No.” She pressed her lips together and locked her spine into place. She wouldn’t show weakness. She wouldn’t show fear. “I’m here with someone.”
In her heart, she meant Rowan. After all, he was the one who’d brought her to the Autumn Court. But he was not a High King, and as much as Maeve hated to even associate herself with him, Tiernan was possibly her only saving throw. And she was desperate.
“Hm.” Garvan sniffed the air, then coiled his finger through one of her curls and gave it a little tug. Not harsh. But a warning. “Shay, she has Tiernan’s scent all over her.”
“And where is your High King, little wild one?” Shay eyed her with disgust, his green gaze glinting in the night. A snarl curled along his upper lip. “It’s not like him to be so careless with one of his conquests.”
The insult burned through Maeve’s core. “I am not a conquest.”
She would rather die.
