Page 128 of Throne of Dreams
“Careful there, Tier.” Aran propped his elbows on the table and his smile vanished. “That’s my sister you’re attempting to seduce.”
Maeve flushed, then quickly recovered.
“Tier?” she repeated. “Did you just call himTier?”
Aran tapped the cleft in his chin, the one marked by a scar. “I did indeed.”
“But I thought you two hated each other because of…” Because of what happened during the Evernight War, but she kept those thoughts to herself.
Tiernan tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back. “A misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” Maeve blinked, dumbfounded. “Are you serious? You mean to tell me you banished my brother from his home and by default put Garvan in charge over amisunderstanding?”
“I think she’s angry,” Tethra whispered, though it wasn’t really a whisper at all.
Tiernan stood and strolled over to her. “I intend to exonerate him at once.” He cupped her cheek, kissed her lightly. “I’m glad you’re well.”
“Oh, no.” She drew back and planted her hands against his chest. “You are not getting off the hook that easily, my lord.”
“As it would happen,” Tiernan continued, wrapping his arms around her in a poor attempt to derail her train of thought, “it was Garvan who forged the letter from Autumn with the intent to ambush me and my parents.”
Maeve knew it. She knew Aran could never be responsible for such an atrocious plot. Her gaze landed on her brother. “Why?”
Aran blinked up at her. “Why what?”
“Why didn’t you deny it when Tiernan accused you of plotting against his family?” she demanded, turning in Tiernan’s arms. “Why didn’t you prove your innocence?”
A look passed over his face, one she couldn’t read. Shadows of the past darkened his emerald eyes. “Sometimes, little sister, we all do things we regret. Even if such actions are done out of love.”
“You protected him?” The words fell from her lips in a harsh whisper.
“I did what I thought was right at the time.” Aran lifted the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. “Unfortunately, it cost me more than I could ever imagine.”
Beats of weighted silence passed between them. Even the Furies pretended to take more interest in their shadows and drinks, refusing to look at her.
Maeve bit her bottom lip. “So, you get to come home?”
Aran nodded, pouring himself another drink. “Yes.”
“But Garvan will try and kill you.”
“Let him try,” he countered, his voice so cold it nearly burned her skin. He stared down into his drink, scowling.
“He wants power, Aran. The same as Parisa.” Apprehension needled its way down her spine, and she shuddered, scrubbing her suddenly damp palms against the velvet of her nightgown. “It’s too risky.”
Tiernan pulled her into his side, his twilight eyes focused on the necklace she wore. His hand coasted lazily up and down her waist. Calming her. Soothing her.
“It’s a risk I must take, dear sister.” Aran looked at her from over the rim of his glass. “Our Court is failing because of his greed.”
Our Court.
Her heart surged at the words.
“I’ve already agreed to help Aran take up his rightful position as heir, Maeve.” Tiernan placed an absentminded kiss on top of her head.
Heir. He’d said heir. Which meant they both must believe Dorian was still alive.
She looked up at him. “When?”
