Page 109 of Crown of Roses
“No.” Maeve snapped her spine into place, and from the corner of her eye, Casimir dropped his head.
Fearghal was on her without so much as an order. He twisted his meaty palm into her hair and yanked her head back. Fire sparked from the tips of Maeve’s fingers and her magic pulsed to life. But Fearghal was faster. He slammed his dagger into her shoulder, just below her collar bone, and dragged it across her flesh. A torturous scream erupted from Maeve. She’d been cut before, but this…this was different. Whatever weapon he wielded against her, it was not standard. It was spelled. Or charmed. Blood seeped from the wound, soaking her blouse, splattering the floor.
“Now look what you’ve done. You spilled blood on the stone, you spoiled little bitch.” Parisa swept toward her and jerked her chin up with the tip of her claw-like nail. “And I just had it cleaned.”
“Bullshit.”
Parisa’s hand collided with the side of Maeve’s face, and the thick, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. “Don’t you dare disrespect me, you filthy halfling.”
“Halfling?” Maeve smiled and blood leaked out through her teeth. Fearghal jerked her backward. “I’m not a halfling.”
Parisa faltered and cut a look to Casimir. “What is she talking about?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you? My father is not a human king.” Maeve spat and the disgusting mix of saliva and blood stained the murky floor. “My father is Dorian, High King of the Autumn Court. And my mother is Fianna, High Queen. Which makes me a High Princess, you spoiled little bitch.”
“Casimir!” Parisa’s furious cry shattered part of the walls and the faerie light lanterns swung violently. Her piercing gaze shot to Fearghal. “Again.”
Maeve sucked in a breath but it was too late. His dagger lanced her hip, and curved upward toward the underside of her breast. It cut through her blouse, shredding it. Glaring pain scorched her skin, ripped through her muscle, and a swell of dizziness took her knees out from under her. He tightened his hold on her hair, pulling her upward, and a pathetic whimper escaped through her lips.
“Do you want to know why it hurts so much? It’s been dipped in nightshade.” Parisa did a slow turn about the cell, her voice a callous whisper in the somber space. “Do you know what nightshade does to a body, Maeve? It’s lethal to a mortal. But you? Well, your magic is stronger than the poison it emits, so you will bleed and bleed, until the healing starts. Then you’ll be left with lovely, mutilated scars to show the world just how well you obeyed me.”
Maeve clenched her jaw. She would not submit. Not to Parisa. Not to Fearghal. And Casimir, the prick, didn’t even have the balls to look her in the eye while his beloved tortured her. No, she would stay strong. She would die before she ever became one of Parisa’s pets.
“Still nothing?” Parisa nodded to Fearghal and this time he hit her thigh, ripping her leggings and scouring her skin in a long, winding slice up her leg.
Maeve screamed again. The pain was too much. And though it weakened her resolve, and her cries echoed off the walls, she refused to give Parisa what she wanted.
“Can I let you in on a little secret, Maeve?” She gripped her chin again and squeezed until the prints from her fingertips bruised Maeve’s face. “I know how desperate you are to watch the Spring Court burn, and do you know what? I plan to set fire to it myself.”
Fearghal ripped into her again, a nasty curl along her back. Maeve was panting now. It was excruciating. Nightshade ravaged her skin, left it bloody and blistered. And the burning. Sun and sky, the burning from the healing was more than she could handle.
“You see,” Parisa continued, unsympathetic to Maeve’s stifled cries, “I’ve created a Dark Court. One comprised of nightmares and terrors. Of dark fae and the poorly neglected, terrifying creatures who skulk, and stalk, and prey. My own personal Sluagh. It’s exciting, really. And I plan on utilizing you, and your significant power, against everyone. Especially that prick, Tiernan.”
Tiernan.
And to think, at one point Maeve thought he was cruel.
“I will break you, Maeve. Just wait.”
Maeve offered her nothing but a bloody smile in return. “That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you.”
Casimir stormed forward. “Damn it, Maeve!”
“Don’t touch her,” Parisa commanded and he shrank back into place beside the Spring High Queen. But Maeve didn’t miss the way his eyes pleaded with her, a silent solicitation to obey. “Fearghal?”
He lifted his dagger, admired the streaks of blood running down its blade. “My lady?”
“Do your worst.”
“Parisa, I don’t think—” Casimir started but Parisa silenced him with a look.
“You’re right. Sometimes, you don’t think at all.”
“Take a good look, Cas.” Maeve lifted her chin, dared him to glance her way. “I want you to remember me like this. I want the guilt of what you’ve done to me to haunt your dreams for the rest of your miserable eternity.”
He swallowed, but said nothing.
“Come along.” Parisa looped her arm through his, and he led her out of the cell and into the tunnel. “Have fun, darlings.”
