Page 94 of Throne of Dreams
He spared her a glance. “Send word. We call a meeting in the morning. Away from prying eyes and listening ears.”
“Yes,moh Rí.” She dipped her head.
Tiernan rapped his knuckles against the hardwood of his throne. He longed to reach out to her, but he knew that doing so would only drive her further away from him. Instead, he let his head fall back against his throne. All he could do was wait.
Where was she?
ChapterTwenty-Six
Maeve didn’tfadeinto her bedroom as expected. But she did make it back to the Summer Court. The balmy air warmed her chilled flesh, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms to rid herself of goosebumps. She took in her surroundings and realized she was standing in the eastern courtyard where she used to train with Casimir and Saoirse. Off to her left was the battered palm tree she’d shredded after getting into an argument with Tiernan.
She supposed she should go to him, to let him know she’d returned and that she was safe. But she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for the confrontation that would ensue when he discovered she’d gone to the Autumn Court and Casimir had found her.
Maeve plucked a leaf from her hair. She was debating on whether she should return to the Sunatalis celebration or just go back to her room and wait for Tiernan to come to her when she heard someone crying.
Choking, broken sobs fill her ears, the sounds ofpain.
“Shut the fuck up, you filthy whore.” A rough and slurred masculine voice came from the furthest corner of the courtyard, near one of the gurgling fountains. “Or I’ll slit your pretty little throat.”
Oh, hell no.
No one was going to threaten another, not while she was around.
Maeve pulled her Aurastone from its sheath and listened, following the crying. She crept across the courtyard, clinging to the shadows of the towering palms overhead. She spied the vulgar male crouched behind one of the flowering plumeria trees, its branches and blooms so thick they could hide anyone from view.
Except it wasn’t some random, drunken dickhead.
It was Garvan.
He had pinned a female beneath him, her skirts hiked up around her waist. Tears and dirt stained her cheeks, and there were healing scratch marks along the side of his face, like she’d tried to fight him off. He held her down, one large hand clamped around her throat, while the other fumbled with the button on his pants.
Maeve raised her dagger. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Garvan’s head snapped up, and he whipped around to face her, eyes glazed with the sheen of too much alcohol. He smirked and sat back on his heels, swaying.
“Well, well. If it isn’t our little wild one.”
“Get away from her.” Maeve twirled her dagger, flipping the blade and hilt between the tips of her fingers. “Now.”
He snarled and looked down where the female fae continued to whimper, trying in vain to pull down the layers of her skirts. Without warning, he heaved his elbow back and slammed his fist into her face. Her head lolled back, the blow knocking her unconscious. Blood sputtered from her nose and lip and the crunch of his knuckles against her skin set fire to Maeve’s magic.
“You fucking prick!”
He grinned, flecks of the female’s blood scattered across his cheek. “Can’t have any witnesses for when I snatch my little sister and hand her over to the Dark Queen.”
Maeve laughed, but it was harsh against her own ears. Grating. “You’ll never get your hands on me.”
“Is that so?” He stood abruptly and his wings burst from his back as he took a menacing step toward her. “Shall we play another game, sister?”
This time, Maeve spread her own wings, letting them unfurl and beat, ready to match him. She kept her Aurastone aimed for his heart. “What kind of game did you have in mind?”
He was impressed. There was no mistaking the gleam of astonishment in his eyes, but he hid it well.
The female groaned in pain, rolling over onto her side, and his gaze slid to her again. “I’ve got the perfect idea.”
Garvan grabbed her wrist, wrenching her arm behind her so she yelped, and shot into the night sky.
Damn it. Maeve was left with no choice but to follow. She darted into the air behind him as he soared with the female dangling in his grip. He dove and spun, tossing her around like a child’s doll. Her cries carried on the wind, but Garvan didn’t care. To him, she was nothing but a toy. A means to an end. He flew carelessly, dragging her through the air, flying higher and flinging her about so her body jerked back and forth like it was caught in the tangled strings of a marionette.
