Page 90 of Crown of Roses
“Aww.” Merrick grinned, and his dimples appeared with a hint of mischief. “It’s like you and Maeve are twinsies.”
Brynn’s hand curled around the sleeve of his shirt, and in one swift move, she jerked him closer to her. “Merrick.” She ground his name out between clenched teeth. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Sheesh. Matching is cool.” He shrugged out of her grasp, and brushed his shirt where her fingers crumpled the fabric. “That’s all.”
No wonder the High King was curious about where Maeve found the Aurastone. He was the owner of its other half. Later, if he wasn’t tormenting her or inciting her will to kill him, maybe she would ask the same of him. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d be interested in learning the history of both daggers, especially since she’d found hers within the human lands, and it was obviously a fae weapon. Of course, she could always go to the library instead. Surely there would be a book, or some archive she could read. Anything to avoid actually having to have a conversation with him.
“We need to decide when,” Lir said, drawing her from her wandering thoughts. “The timing must be perfect.”
“We could send a scout.” Brynn flashed a ruthless smile in Merrick’s direction. “Surely, Parisa has patterns. A weakness, even. She’ll fall to complacency at some point. We all do.”
“Perhaps the Princess of Kells could ask her new boyfriend.” Tiernan sat back, and smugness settled into his painfully beautiful face. “Rowan must have information about the Spring Court and its High Queen. He is in her confidence, after all.”
The intentional jab struck true and Maeve’s confidence faltered. She despised how smoothly he could get under her skin.
“Yes.” Ceridwen nodded. The tea she sipped had seemingly done its job. Her eyes were as bright and compassionate as her demeanor. “I think that’s a rather splendid idea.”
Maeve opened her mouth to disagree, but Merrick spoke first.
“That’s right.” He lifted his cup in her general direction. “You can use your feminine wiles against him.”
“That’s not fair,” Maeve countered.
Lir admired the stonework of the balcony. “No one plays by the rules in Faeven, Your Highness.”
Casimir gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then released her. “Didn’t he say he wanted to help us?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” Tiernan taunted. “You don’t want to use him the same way he used you to get back to Faeven? Did you really think he’d help you? That he had any interest at all in saving a human kingdom when his own Court was responsible for its demise?”
Each word he spoke was a barb. A stab at her conviction. A wound to her hope. “I thought he…I mean, he acted like—”
“Like he was in love with you?” Tiernan snarled. He jerked himself upright, sent his chair crashing to the ground. “Is that what you truly think? That he loves you? Are you worried about breaking his heart?”
“He is a fae, astora.” Tiernan’s voice filled her mind, callous and wicked at once. “You are nothing to him.”
Maeve sucked in a ragged breath and stood. She refused to cower beneath Tiernan’s cold-hearted gaze. She didn’t care if he suffered loss. His past was no better or worse than her own. He lost family. She lost herself. As far as she was concerned, they were one and the same.
“My feelings are my own,” she snapped and kicked back her own chair out of spite. “I’ll do it. But not under false pretenses. I’ll make sure Rowan knows exactly what I want from him.” And then, because she was feeling particularly spiteful, “And I’ll ensure he understands exactly what I’ll give him in return.”
Fury ravaged the High King’s face. In a flurry of wind, thunder, and heat, he spun around and walked away.
Merrick’s brow arched. “I still think you two should do it,” he mumbled.
“Merrick!” Tiernan’s baritone cracked through the sky, and every glass on the table shattered into pieces.
Maeve didn’t wait for anyone else. She left the balcony, in the opposite direction of Tiernan. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible, just in case she had the sudden desire to puncture his heart with her Aurastone. Oh, but he was a bastard of the worst sort. Untrustworthy. Irrational. He was moody. Violent. Ill-tempered. He was all the things she hated in a male. And she would be thrilled when she never had to see him again.
Which would hopefully be sooner rather than later.
Maeve wound through the soothing corridors of the palace, and every step past swaying palms, blooming flowers, and trickling streams brought her a sense of peace. A breath of calm. The more distance she put between herself and the High King, the better. All she had to do was survive a few more days. Once she spoke to Rowan, once she uncovered when Parisa was her most vulnerable, then she would be free of the torment that was the fae realm.
Rowan.
She didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to think of the hurtful, antagonistic things Tiernan had said. And she certainly didn’t want to believe there was any truth in them. Of course she wasn’t foolish enough to think Rowan loved her. Those were the dreams and fantasies of a child. When she was a girl, she would’ve loved to have been carried off by a fae prince. But now, she knew better. She knew the faerie realm was far more dangerous than she ever imagined. And yet…and yet, she felt certain there was a flicker of affection between them. He protected her. He saved her life. Were those truly the actions of someone who thought nothing of her?
Who deemed her as less than worthy?
