Page 120 of Throne of Dreams
Fearghal withdrew his blade, the same one he’d used to torture her. “I didn’t think you had it in you, High Princess.”
“That’s High Queen to you,” she corrected coolly, sheathing her Aurastone and twirling her sword of sunlight. Sparks flickered from its edge, skittering and bouncing off the stone walls surrounding them.
From her left, Dian stepped forward, his hollow face carved with malice.
“No,” Maeve hissed and flung her arm out, halting him. “He’s mine.” She looked back at the Furies, at the trio who would not only kill Fearghal if she asked, but who would ensure he suffered a gruesome and painful end. “Only when my death is imminent, then you may intervene. But not a moment sooner.”
They bowed, their fiery eyes never leaving the trooping fae who sauntered her direction.
“Don’t forget, Your Grace,” said Tethra. “Fearghal is a Puca.”
A Puca, meaning he could shape shift at any moment, and she would have to be prepared. She nodded, lifting her sword, when Tiernan appeared by her side.
He grabbed her chin, and his twilight eyes reflected an emotion she’d never seen before.
“You were born to rule, it’s in your heart.” She faltered and his thumb grazed her bottom lip. “It’s in your soul. And you show mercy tono one.”
Tiernan released her and she nodded sharply, indebted to this male who somehow saw the truth of her beneath all the layers of misdeeds and regret. This male who held her heart in the palm of his hand, willing it to beat. She sucked in a breath of foul air and whipped around to face Fearghal. She stalked toward him, predator to prey.
“Bedding the High King of Summer now, are we?” Fearghal drawled and his lascivious gaze raked her up and down.
She smiled cruelly. “Who I fuck is none of your concern.”
“My, my. Such language.” He planted a hand over his heart in feigned astonishment. “Though I wonder what Rowan would think about your current affair. That is, of course, if he was still alive.”
Maeve ground her teeth together until her temples ached. She refused to falter, and she would not have Rowan used against her. “If you ever speak his name again, I’ll cut you open from your throat to your cock, then hang you off the Cliffs of Morrigan by your intestines.”
Fearghal’s grin stretched across a row of sharp teeth. “I rather like you when you’re feisty.”
Maeve launched herself at him, and their swords met in a deafening crash of power. It was nothing more than a dance, just as he’d requested. Except this time, her partner was her enemy. She recalled all those grueling days spent on the training field with Casimir, all the positions he’d drilled into her, until her weapon was merely an extension of her body. She cut across the room like she walked on air, feigning and attacking, driving him back with each clang of their swords. But Fearghal was no fool. He was not some worthless soldier made to do Parisa’s bidding. He was highly trained, and his skill matched her every move.
Her muscles burned from exertion. Her body ached and beads of sweat slid down her neck and back. Blood rushed through her veins, and her heart raced, emboldened by the surge of fury coursing through her.
She slammed into him again, her breath hitching, catching the gleam of nightshade on his blade. He laughed, shoving her back and swinging his sword down, barely missing her neck.
“You won’t get away this time, Princess.” He attacked again and she stumbled backward.
“Queen,” she spat.
He swung once more and she ducked, the threat of his sword cutting through the air above her head. “When you’re back in Spring’s dungeon, and locked away with no one to save you, I will not be so kind. I will ruin your body in every way possible, and I will fuck you so hard, you’ll beg for my blade instead.”
Thunder cracked, ear-splitting, and Tiernan plunged into the fray, vehemence roiling around him like a vengeful storm.
“No!” Maeve spun on her heel to force him back, realizing her mistake all too late.
Fearghal kicked one leg out, sweeping her feet out from under her. She landed hard on the freezing ground and pain streaked up her spine, the ache deep in her bones. He hovered above her, plunging his sword downward, a feral smile stretched across his lips.
But his blade never met its mark.
Her bubble, her shimmering shield of protection, encased her. Saved her.
Anger boiled on his face, contorting his cruel features. “Cheater.” He spewed and spittle clung to his chin.
“You’ve cheated your whole life, Fearghal.” Maeve rolled away from him and popped up, gripping her sword with both hands. “And despite your best efforts, you’re still just someone else’s bitch.”
Rage exploded from him in dense waves. His chest heaved, his breathing uneven. He was angry. Furious. Such a turbulent emotion only led to one thing.
Mistakes.
