Page 96 of Throne of Dreams
“No!” Maeve cried out. “No, I don’t love him.”
The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them, and her voice cracked. She didn’t know, she didn’t know how she truly felt about Tiernan. But she’d be damned if she admitted her love for him to Garvan first.
Her brother paused his torture, eyeing her suspiciously. “I think you’re lying.”
Rivers of black oozed their way from his hand into the female’s veins and her scream was so harrowing, Maeve’s blood turned to ice.
“Stop, stop it! I’m not lying!” Maeve’s voice pitched with frantic urgency. “I don’t love him!”
“Hm.” His gaze dipped to the ground that was so, so far below them. “Very well.”
Then he dropped the female.
“No!” Maeve made to dive after the falling fae, but Garvan slammed into her in a blow of brute force and wings. The air pulled from her lungs as he collided into her midair, sending her tumbling. Her wings sought purchase on the wind but suddenly he was behind her, his rough hands clamping down upon her arms, forcing them to her sides and binding her wings behind her. She cried out in pain, struggling and straining against him. Power rose inside of her, the lifeblood of magic. There would be time to fight him, but she could not let the female die. She reached, desperate to save the falling faerie.
As the fae’s body plummeted from the sky, leaves of burgundy and citron circled around her in a whirlwind. They layered and multiplied, stretching out above the courtyard like a canopy, and Maeve’s breath hitched as she watched the girl topple into the pile of leaves.
Garvan’s hold on her arms loosened, stunned by what she’d done. It was the only opening Maeve needed, and she never wasted an opportunity. Rearing back, she jabbed her elbow into his face.
“You bitch,” he hissed and yanked her around to face him.
Wings thrashing, Maeve glared up at her brother. “Fuck you, Garvan.”
Blood poured from his nose and stained his teeth red. She raised her Aurastone, prepared to plunge it into his blackened heart, but he was faster. He pulled something from his pocket, a small blade, and stabbed it into her shoulder.
Maeve screamed.
Searing hot pain scorched her skin, branding her like a sword whose blade was still glowing with the heat from a forge.
She was losing feeling in her body. Numbness spread from her fingers, across her chest, and down her legs to her toes. Her wings drooped; they were failing her. The Aurastone slipped from her grip, and she yelped, helpless to stop it from falling to the ground. Her wings vanished, the warmth along her spine dissipating. She grasped at her magic, her only means of defense. And though her heart continued to beat and her blood thrummed with the pulse of power, it did not answer her call. With every breath, she became more limp. More lifeless. For one terrifying second, she thought he’d poisoned her just as the dark fae had done the night they attacked the Summer Court. But this wasn’t poison. It was something else entirely. She was aware, alert, but her body was unresponsive.
“Dark magic is a powerful thing,” Garvan murmured as his grip on her tightened, bruising her flesh. He clutched her to him. “You should learn to accept it.”
“Never,” Maeve spat.
The dense scent of orange blossom and cedarwood overwhelmed her, and a jolt of hysteria bubbled up in the back of her throat. He was going to steal her away. He was going tofadeand if he handed her over to Parisa, she wouldn’t be able to escape. At least not alive. Even the fates weren’t so kind when it came to granting second chances.
“Let me go!” she shouted.
His laughter was mocking. “Not a chance.”
A streak of violet, cobalt, and gold careened into them. The last thing Maeve heard was an eruption of thunder so tumultuous, the mountains trembled, the sea floor shuddered, and skies split open as the tempest of Summer, the essence of destruction, rained down upon them.
Then Maeve was falling, just like before, except this time there was no one to catch her.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Tiernan barreled into Garvan with all of his strength. The brunt force of his shoulder slammed the Autumn High Prince in his torso, hurtling them through the air. He hauled himself backward, wings beating, pummeling the prick with every shred of power inside him. The sky roiled, pitched black with the storm he had unleashed. Violet bolts of lightning tore from him and struck their mark, slashing across the Archfae’s body in vicious streaks.
Garvan snarled, red hair whipping in front of his face, and shot toward him. He swung violently, knuckles just grazing Tiernan’s jaw. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and slid down his chin. Tiernan slammed his fist into Garvan’s face, and the ring he wore cut across his skin, ripping the flesh. Blood dripped from his nose. Fists collided with faces and the heavens roiled, pitched with the storm he unleashed upon them. Rain slashed into them. Darkened clouds billowed around them, magnifying the sound of chaos as they brawled against the night sky in a clash of wings and power.
When the stirring of destruction took a breath inside him, when the absolute ruination he could inflict upon Garvan began to rise, Tiernan locked it away. He shoved it back down into the recesses of his soul and seized the High Prince’s body with his venomous coils of magic.
Garvan jerked and his muscles spasmed in a poor attempt to fight off the intrusion, but Tiernan held firm, immobilizing the bastard until Garvan bared his teeth and sneered, “You’ll pay for this.”
“Maybe.” Tiernan glided toward him and plucked the small dagger—the one he’s used to prick Maeve’s skin—from the breast pocket of his coat. “But not today.”
He could kill him right now. It would be so easy to watch the life fade from his eyes, to watch him gasp and beg as he took his final breath. But if he did, Parisa would come for them, and they needed more time to prepare. He still needed to warn Queen Ciara about the impending attack on Winter. He needed to find a way for Maeve to ask the Wild Hunt for assistance before the upcoming war. Right now, he needed Garvan alive and would have to glean as much information as possible from him because there were too many unknowns.
