Page 85 of Throne of Dreams
He bowed deeply and handed his glass to her, his movements as smooth as ice. “Anything for you, my lady.”
She took a sip and fizzy bubbles flavored with sun-ripened berries danced across her tongue. She winked. “It’s a pity there’s no more music.”
As if on cue, the string quartet started back up and lively notes echoed in the outdoor space. Gradually, conversation picked up, laughter rang out, and the merriment from before continued. Except this time there was a distinctive undertone of inquisitive whispers and stolen glances.
“I’m Maeve Ruhdneah.” She held out her hand and he accepted, brushing the lightest of kisses across her knuckles. From somewhere in the distance, thunder cracked.
“Oh, I know exactly who you are, High Princess. Your name has been spoken like a prayer among the Spring fae and whispered as lore throughout the Autumn forest. So much so, the testament of your beauty and prominence has reached even the furthest corners of the Winter Court.” The Winter soldier’s eyes glinted with mischief. “My name is Malachy Brannon, Commander of the Winter Legion, General of the High Army of Ashdara.”
“My, how fancy.” Maeve allowed him to hold her hand for longer than was appropriate. “And should I address you as Commander or Malachy?”
He inclined his head and locks of jet-black hair tumbled forward. “For you, my lady, my name is Malachy.”
“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Malachy.”
His wide smile oozed charm. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Another rumble of thunder sounded overhead, louder this time, so the palm trees trembled and the lights hanging from them swung on the breeze. But Maeve didn’t bother sparing Tiernan a glance. She knew he watched her; she knew if she turned around, his gaze would be shooting violet-flamed daggers her way.
Around them, the string quartet’s upbeat melody gave way to a haunting ballad. Maeve’s gaze cut through the fae all dressed in masks and costumes of grandeur, and from the corner of her eye, she caught Garvan prowling toward her.
“You know, Malachy,” she drew his name out with layers of sultry innuendo. “This song is perfect for dancing, don’t you think?”
Amusement flickered in his slate eyes. “Is that a hint, my lady?”
She closed the distance between them, then whispered, “Only if it’s one you’re willing to accept.”
He laughed, deep and rumbling, and the sound was so seductive that more than one female looked their way. “Would you care to dance, High Princess?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Malachy took their finished glasses of sparkling wine, set them down on the fountain’s ledge, and led her out onto the center of the dance floor, just as Garvan came into view.
Other fae couples moved around them, unintentionally barricading her from his reach.
Malachy captured her hand while the other slid around her waist possessively, drawing her so close her breasts brushed against the fabric of his coat. She followed along effortlessly as he guided her around the ballroom in complex spins and turns, each one more intimate than the last. Whenever she twirled, he drew her in closer, so their bodies moved as one. Seamless and elegant. Whenever he spun her outward and pulled her back in, his hand slid lower. From the small of her back, to that sensitive area of flesh where her backside dipped then curved.
“Everyone is talking about you,” he murmured into her ear, his lips so close, they grazed her skin. “About the High Princess of Autumn who was hidden away in the human lands, only to return more powerful than any before her. They say you’re the Dawnbringer, for the likes of your magic is unrivaled.”
Maeve looked up at him from beneath her lashes and fluttered them shamelessly. “I’m sure not all have such nice things to say about me.”
“Perhaps, but I am not one of them. I can understand their obsession.” His lips moved near her cheek and the warmth of his breath skated across her skin. “You are exquisite.”
She leaned back in his arms, cleverly arching herself in his hold. “And you are incredibly charming.”
He spun her away, then drew her back in as the music pitched through the air around them. “I can be other things as well.”
Maeve played along with his game. “Such as?”
“Tempting. Wicked. Seductive.”
“All admirable qualities.” Her gaze drifted past him, to where Lir stood on the outskirts of the dance floor. He wasn’t scowling, but his silver eyes flashed once, warning her to be careful.
She glanced back up at Malachy and found him staring at her breasts. Or rather, her heart.
“You bear his mark.” An undercurrent of tension weighted his words.
Maeve jerked her chin upward, defiant. “And yet he still let your queen tempt him.”
