Page 88 of Crown of Roses
Maeve took a large gulp and instantly regretted it. The warm rum burned down the back of her throat and unbidden tears sprang to her eyes, but she refused to cough. She wouldn’t choke, but the next time she inhaled, it felt like she was breathing fire.
Tiernan paced, keeping his back to her. He propped his elbow up on the window frame and stared down at the city—his city—below. Absently, he swirled the rum in his glass. Once. Twice. When he spoke, his voice wrapped around her like lush silk. “I owe you no explanations.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say. If he didn’t want to talk about the obvious tension and fury between them, then fine. But if that was the case, he should’ve just left her alone so she could scream her heart out in peace.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. We’ve already established that you only care about your Court, and when it comes to anyone else suffering, you’re just a heartless bastard.” She took another, albeit smaller, sip of the rum, then set the glass down on his desk. “I appreciate the beverage, but I’m going to go and—”
He was on her with dizzying speed. She didn’t even have time to react. Her back slammed into the wall, her heart lodged in her throat, and he splayed his hands on either side of her head. His face was inches from her own. Chiseled. Beautiful, but painfully so. And his eyes, endless blue and purple with the gold of the sun, held her in place. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Dark power radiated off of him and his magic crackled through the air around them, sparking and spitting in rage. She didn’t dare cross him, even though there were any number of insults she could toss back at him. But right now, it was just the two of them. It would be too easy for him to kill her. He was quick. Powerful. Deadly. She was in possession of the same attributes, but with one startling difference. He was magical and immortal. She was human and cursed.
“Do you want to know why I have all of these tattoos?” His warm breath coasted over her lips and she detected the pungent smell of alcohol. Apparently, the nearly full glass of rum he poured wasn’t his only libation of the day. “I have them because I was tortured.”
The sound of ripping fabric filled her ears, and Tiernan tore his shirt off, tossed it aside like garbage.
Maeve tried to push herself further into the wall, away from him, but there was nowhere to go. No way to escape. He stood before her, pinning her body, wearing nothing but boots and a pair of gray pants that hung low on his waist. Golden tattoos crawled all over his sun-kissed skin in shimmering lines of waves, suns, and swirls. He looked crafted from the hands of a god with his broad shoulders, solid abdomen, and narrow waist. His muscles jumped with each ragged breath he took, and he raked a hand through his messy, windswept hair.
“During the Evernight War, my mother, father, and I were captured by trooping fae. They held no allegiance to any Court and to them, we were fair game. I was held captive, while my parents were tortured. I will never forget the sound of my mother’s screams.” He was so close, his forehead nearly pressed against hers. “They bound my parents to a tree, and dragged me out in front of them. My mother and father had to watch as they sliced my skin with blades dipped in nightshade. Over and over.”
Maeve gasped and clamped one hand over her mouth. She knew from one of her books that nightshade was a poisonous flower. On humans, it guaranteed a slow and painful death. And on fae, it was just as lethal. If not cured, it would drain them of their magic. Steal their life force. Over time, they would waste away to nothing, leaving their souls to rot.
“And Ceridwen?” When she spoke, it was a harsh whisper that barely filled the space between them.
“Spared. Her tattoos are of her own choosing, nothing more.” Tiernan squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were aflame with raging fire. “The trooping fae thought I was dead. There’s rumor it was my supposed demise that killed my mother. Some say she died of a broken heart and her magic passed to Ceridwen. My father, however, I think he knew better. They left me in the woods to die. But when they killed my father, his magic passed to me. It was his death that ultimately saved my life.”
Maeve opened her mouth, but Tiernan jerked his head.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare apologize to me.” He eased back, away from her. He grabbed his glass of rum from off of the desk and downed it in one gulp. “So you see, every tattoo covers a hideous scar. Every tattoo serves as a constant reminder of my Court’s suffering, of my greatest loss.”
She tried to swallow, but guilt coated her tongue like sand. Dry and gritty.
“Now tell me, Your Highness,” Tiernan spoke so softly, it reminded her of a lover’s caress against her cheek, “who deserves pity more?”
Maeve couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t fathom such loss, to have to experience such horror. She didn’t ask how old he was, because age was merely a number when you were an immortal Archfae. All her life, she’d read that faeries didn’t experience emotions the same way as mortals. They had no concept of grief, love, or fear. They were simply beings existing in a separate realm, mindful only of their personal wants, needs, and desires. Yet here was Tiernan, his torment unmistakable, and his suffering caused her gut to clench with sympathy.
“You’ll forgive me, Your Highness, for being so…heartless.” He looked upon her with cold disdain. With disgust. With repulsion. “My heart was carved out long ago.”
A crack of thunder exploded in the study. Maeve flinched and a moment later, Tiernan was gone, leaving her completely alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dawn simmered along the horizon of Niahvess. Pinks and corals set fire to the sky, burning back the fading plum of night. Humidity clung to Maeve’s hair and skin, already relentless with the rising sun. Beyond, the sea rolled lazily against the shore, and she could just make out some children running on the sandy beach. Fae children, she noted, were exceptionally fast, despite their lack of powerful magic. She leaned further out over the balcony, watched a few wisps of clouds unravel across the blue sky, and listened to the hushed murmurs behind her.
At the table where they usually dined, Casimir was speaking in low tones with Lir and Brynn. They were talking about possible routes north to Spring, and the inevitable details that would either make or break their journey. Like the fact that the mountains dividing both Courts were rumored to be exceptionally treacherous. The weather was unpredictable, sometimes the roads were impassable, and there was always the threat of dark fae lurking in caves, among other places. Ceridwen was in attendance as well, and Maeve noticed she looked none too pleased to be awake at such an hour. Her hair was a rumpled mess, her lips were lacking their signature ruby shade, and she stared blankly into a steaming cup of tea.
But Casimir was in agreement with Maeve. They needed to act, and quickly, otherwise Kells and the other Courts would continue to suffer. Tiernan’s scouts had returned, but when they arrived in Niahvess, Saoirse wasn’t with them. She’d asked to stay behind in Kells, and when Maeve heard the report, she understood why. The Scathing had spread, families and businesses were displaced, and her people were suffering. Already it had demolished the Gaelsong Port, and its decay was slowly devouring areas to the west of the sea as well, inching closer to the Moors. So, Casimir called a meeting early to discuss a necessary plan of attack. Their time was running out, as Maeve knew it would.
“Finally.” Ceridwen’s usually pleasant voice held a bite, and Maeve turned to see Tiernan stalk out onto the balcony with Merrick right behind him.
He wore black pants, a shirt the color of the darkest part of the sea, and the collar was popped, giving him the look of someone who blatantly did not give a fuck.
“Apologies, Cer.” Tiernan inclined his head. “I had more pressing matters I needed to see to first.”
“Not sure what could possibly be more pressing at this hour,” Maeve muttered, loud enough for him to hear. His gaze cut to her and she held it, daring him to look away first. Tension filled the space between them, enhanced only by their absolute loathing for one another. She leaned back against the railing, kicked one ankle over the other, and crossed her arms. The movement distracted him, just enough for his icy glare to drop to where her bodice displayed her ample cleavage.
All males are the same.
Rolling her eyes to the glow of dawn, she walked over to the table, knowing he watched her every move.
