Page 119 of Crown of Roses
His smile widened. “Trust me, you’ll know.”
“He saved me.” Her nose tingled, like she might cry, but she clenched her jaw tight. “Rowan,” she clarified, in case he didn’t understand. “You said he wouldn’t be the hero of my story…but he was. He saved my life.”
“I know.” His voice was soft and filled with a sympathy she didn’t deserve. “And I’m sorry for it.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.” He winked and Effie spread her magnificent wings, stretching them wide, before lifting off of the railing. “You look like her, you know.”
“Who?”
Aran grinned. “Our mother.”
Effie soared into a sea of mist, her wings cutting like fire into the late afternoon sky. Magic pulsed, the air shimmered, and then Aran was gone.
Maeve was fairly certain she knew where she was, so she decided to find her way back to her room. Even if Aran insisted she was safer in Summer than in Autumn, she would not be so foolish as to let down her guard. At some point, Garvan would come for her. And she already knew Parisa would stop at nothing to subjugate her; her infatuation with power and magic, and her desire to control all of Faeven made her the largest threat. All of which meant Maeve would trust no one. Ever. Save for Aran. Her Aurastone would remain strapped to her at all times, and she would need to arm herself with a sword as well.
She wandered through the maze of open-air corridors. The summer breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders. The tranquil scent of warm florals and palm leaves brought her a small sense of peace. A shimmer of magic settled over her, easing her thoughts and troubled mind, and though Maeve couldn’t see her, she knew Ceridwen must be close. The sparkling ivory stone was soft against her bare feet, and for a split second, Maeve debated on walking through one of the streams winding through the lush courtyard to cool herself. She paused beneath the shadow of a palm tree, the magic inside her suddenly pulsing with acute awareness. She inhaled, and knew someone was following her.
Maeve whipped around to see Lir standing a few yards behind her. He bowed slowly. “Lir, what are you doing out here?”
He didn’t smile. Just maintained his stoically calm presence. “The same thing as before, my lady.”
She arched a brow. “Following me?”
His head tilted to the side and his shoulders lifted in a feigned sort of shrug. “Protecting you. But also, yes.”
“So, you’re back on babysitting duty then?”
“I prefer to say I’m ensuring the will of my king.” He walked toward her, and she didn’t miss the way his sharp, silver eyes absorbed every detail about the space surrounding them. They darted to every tree, past the fountain, up to the terraced rooftops, then back down to her. He’d absolutely been tasked with protecting her.
Maeve sighed and looped her arm through his, liking the way their skin was a clash of color. Warm peach and jeweled umber. Light and dark, and lovely. “I suppose I could make it easy for you.”
His lips twitched into what could almost have been mistaken as a smile. “I would appreciate that.”
They strolled through the rest of the courtyard together. He told her stories of the different kinds of magic he’d seen throughout his lifetime, the most he’d ever spoken to her in one sitting. He explained the difference between sprites and pixies, merrows and sirens, and promised to take her to the library at least once a day so she could read about them, and all other fae creatures. She’d also be able to learn more about Old Laic, which brought to mind another question entirely.
“Lir?”
He glanced down at her.
“What does astora, mean?”
A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Astora. Now, that is a term I haven’t heard in a very long time.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
He stopped and grabbed her hand, placing it over his heart.
Her gaze snapped to his. “It means your heartbeat?”
“Almost.” Lir tucked her arm back into the crook of his elbow. “It’s a revered term of endearment. It means pulse of my heart.”
Color drained from Maeve’s face. Pulse of my heart. All this time, Tiernan addressed her with that painfully romantic phrase? Her heart slammed hard against her chest and she tried to keep her breathing calm and even, praying to the goddess the necklace she now wore wouldn’t set off any alarms about her emotions.
When they reached her quarters, Brynn and Merrick were lounging in the hall. Brynn dropped into a clumsy curtsy, but Merrick’s brows shot up in interest before he bowed before her. Then he let out a low, approving whistle.
“My lady,” they said in unison, and a distinctive heat bled into Maeve’s cheeks.
