Page 31 of Crown of Roses
She stepped closer, enraptured by the notion. She knew some of the more powerful fae were capable of fading, a movement which had been likened to teleportation according to her books, however, she never heard of a single faerie with wings. “What did they look like?”
Aran studied her. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Keep your enemies close.”
“What makes you think I’m your enemy?”
“All fae are the enemy.”
He watched her. Carefully. “But why?”
Maeve opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She didn’t have an answer. As far as she knew, no faerie had ever personally affronted her. She’d been born to hate them, bred to hate them. And she’d never known anything else. She’d never questioned it, either.
“Fine.” Maeve crossed arms, annoyed with him for outsmarting her. “All dark fae are the enemy.”
“Agreed.” Aran stepped aside and allowed her entrance to the stairwell first.
She climbed up the small spiral staircase and struggled to contain her surprise when she discovered where it led. Before her was an outdoor seating area on a patio, and one of the crimson banners swept across the space for shade. Casimir and Saoirse were seated at a large round table, surrounded by platters and trays steaming with bacon, chopped potatoes, grilled vegetables, and any breakfast food Maeve could imagine. There were bottomless mimosas, cranberry and orange juice, and a dark liquid that smelled faintly of hazelnuts and cinnamon.
“Coffee.” Maeve caught the drool before it fell from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at Aran. “How?”
He winked. “I, too, prefer the finer things in life.”
She filled up a plate, poured the largest cup of coffee she could find, and sat down at the table. Saoirse was busy drenching her pancakes in a gallon of syrup, while Casimir picked at the pile of eggs and peppers on his plate. From the corner of her eye, Maeve saw Rowan slip across the deck without being overly obvious. He grabbed a glass of straight champagne and lounged against the railing at the far side of the patio.
Aran seated himself beside Maeve, and she figured that was as close as she’d get to uncovering more about him.
“So, Aran.” Maeve blew on her coffee and sipped. It was sweet and spicy and liquid perfection. “Where are you from?”
He added one lump of sugar to his coffee. “You know where I’m from.”
Rowan edged forward, away from the railing.
“Yes, Faeven. I know.” She propped her elbows on the table and looked at him from over the rim of her cup. “But did you have a Court…before?”
“Before I was exiled, you mean?”
She couldn’t read him. The planes of his face were smooth and impassive. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t look away from her either. There was no sternness or edge in his voice, but more of a vague transparency.
“Yes.” She struggled to keep her voice from wavering.
Aran gave her the side eye. “My home is the Autumn Court.”
“Was,” Rowan interjected, downing the rest of his champagne.
Aran’s face darkened with malice.
Rowan tipped the empty glass toward him. “Your home was the Autumn Court, before you—”
It happened so fast, Maeve didn’t even have time to react. One minute, Aran was beside her and Rowan was smirking at them from across the patio. In the next, Aran had his hand around Rowan’s throat. Fury radiated off of Aran and his eyes darkened to a deep forest green. Where Aran’s hand touched, the veins beneath Rowan’s skin turned black. Like he was dying.
Maeve pulled her dagger and Saoirse raised her sword. Casimir lurched across the patio, his blade at the ready.
“Aran.” Casimir kept his tone cool and collected, but he maintained his aim. “Stand down.”
“Careful, Aran.” Rowan’s voice sounded garbled, like he was speaking underwater. “Wouldn’t want to show your hand too quickly.”
“My mistakes are my own.” Aran ground the words out, then released his hold on Rowan and let him drop to the hardwood.
