Page 38 of Crown of Roses
Rowan lifted one shoulder in feigned nonchalance. “Here and there. Mostly there.”
The High King glanced at his sister, then again to Rowan. “You shouldn’t have come back here. It’s not safe.”
“Yeah, well.” Rowan’s arms spread wide. “I was running out of options, and it sure as hell isn’t safe where we came from either.”
The High King snatched Rowan’s arm and examined his wrist. The storm rolled in, hard and fast. It was fury unlike anything Maeve had ever seen. She was nearly crushed from the blow of wind. It whipped them, beat them, threatened to drown them in the sea as the waves rose higher up the sandstone staircase.
“What is the meaning of this? A slave?” the High King growled. “And the mortals think we’re cruel and merciless? You think we are the monsters?”
His gaze ravaged each of them, accusing them all of a crime.
Maeve tugged on the cotton sleeves of her blouse, and pulled them tight to hide her own cuffs.
Fury radiated from the Archfae. “Who dared enslave a fae?”
“Wow,” Merrick mused, smiling broadly. “Ballsy.”
“Merrick. Seriously.” The one female smacked him on the back of the head. “Shut the fuck up.”
Casimir stiffened. “The cuffs were put in place to ensure he didn’t use his magic against us.”
“Who?” The High King demanded.
Casimir kept his gaze steady and didn’t even flinch. “The cuffs were my idea.”
“No!” Maeve darted forward, determined to protect him from the High King’s wrath. There was no telling what the Archfae would do, and he would be more likely to kill a Captain of the Guard who was of no consequence, then a princess from the human lands of Veterra. She lifted her chin. “It was my mother who put Rowan in the cuffs.”
Saoirse yanked Maeve close to her, and tried to haul her to safety, but it was too late. The High King was in Maeve’s face, his bewitching eyes a hurricane of rage. He grabbed her by the throat, lifted her up until her feet dangled in the air, while his grip slowly crushed her windpipe.
“Put her down!” Saoirse’s scream pitched over the shouts of the others. Casimir was yelling something, but Maeve couldn’t understand his words. And Rowan kept saying the High King’s name, over and over.
Tiernan.
“He’s your slave?” The High King, Tiernan, kept his grip firm and dragged her face closer to him until she was barely a breath away. Wave after wave of disgust and magic slammed into her, and she frantically clawed at him. Her nails tore into his skin, desperate for release. She ripped a throwing star from her belt, arched her arm in one fell swoop, and slammed the tip of the star into his wrist. Blood spurted out from the wound and Tiernan hissed. The words were garbled, but she could’ve sworn someone laughed. He yanked the star from his flesh, and Maeve watched in horror as her throwing star turned to dust before disappearing into the wind. The pads of his fingers squeezed tighter, pinching off her air supply. Her lungs burned and dizziness swept in, while the sweet sensation of nothingness crawled up her back. Her vision swam and shifted, and the world tilted with her. Her hands closed around his but he was stone and she was sand. One useless against the other. Maeve’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
Then she heard it.
“Did you do this?” His voice slipped into her mind, and she heard his words as clear as her own. They scraped along the inside of her head and tore through her thoughts. She convulsed against the pain but she couldn’t answer. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
“Is he your slave?” He asked again, and the harsh words dug into her flesh, leaving behind wounds she couldn’t see.
“No.” The word fell from her lips on a gasp. She swung her feet once more, and wanted to scream her denial, but her throat wouldn’t open. She did not fear the god of death, but when he came to collect her, it would be on a battlefield, not at the hands of some infuriating fae lord. “Never.”
She meant it. She would never enslave another. Not even a fae. Once she could catch her breath, she’d kill the bastard.
“Tiernan, leave her alone!” Rowan shifted so he was in Maeve’s line of sight. His gaze darted to hers, desperate. “She was only a child.”
Tiernan dropped Maeve on the ground. She collapsed upon the verandah, braced herself on her hands and knees, all while sucking in greedy gulps of air. Her body sagged backward in an effort to keep from toppling over. Suddenly, curls of delicious heat wrapped around her, comforted her. The glowing warmth eased the ache in her throat, bathed her in light, and filled her with the sweet lullaby of calm. She was a child of the sun. Golden rays caressed her skin, soothed her soul, slowed her mind. She relished in it, in the euphoria of summer.
She sought the source of the unexpected serenity, but Saoirse and Rowan were by her side in a second.
“Maeve.” Worry filled Saoirse’s eyes and she cupped Maeve’s cheeks with both hands. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Maeve shook her head. “My throat is a little sore, but I’m okay.”
Saoirse’s face quickly morphed from concerned friend to cold-blooded killer. “That fucking—”
