Page 49 of Realm of Nightmares
Not for his Court or his queen.
* * *
A knock soundedon the door to Maeve’s room.
The god of death had placed her in a lavish bedroom outfitted with a plush bed piled high with black silk pillows and her own bathing suite. The floor was onyx, with sparkling white veins cutting through it like a maze. Sleek black velvet curtains draped from ornate floor-to-ceiling windows. A mahogany armoire stood on the far wall, already stocked and filled with her belongings from the apartment above the library, not to mention a few newer pieces of clothing Aed had commissioned for her.
Like the black silk gown with the dainty straps hewn from diamonds and the bodice embroidered with silver leaves and pearls.
It was morning, at least she assumed as much given the soft, gray glow pouring in from the windows, and another knock split through the silence.
She held her breath.
Her injury had fully healed since the dire wolf attack, but she’d avoided everyone after she and Rowan arrived back at the House of Death.
It took nearly a full day for the tears to stop falling. It was as though a piece of her was missing, like she’d lost something. Some essential part of her soul, the very breath of her being, was gone.
“I know you’re awake, Princess.” Rowan’s baritone sounded through the other side of the door. “I can practically hear your mind working.”
Maeve shuffled over to the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open.
He wore a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing lightly tanned skin and the jagged tips of two scars. His pants were the color of smoke, and he wore his Astralstone strapped to his waist. Shoving a hand through his hair, he glanced down at her, his gaze skimming the short length of the cotton nightgown that barely covered her thighs. His teeth skated along his bottom lip and Maeve folded her arms across her chest.
Rowan tracked the movement, his eyes darkening.
“Did you need something?” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.
He looked at her then, his gaze narrowing, like he hadn’t just been thoroughly distracted by her body in an absurdly short nightgown. “Your presence is requested on the training grounds.”
“What?” Her brow furrowed, and she watched him for any kind of tell. “By who?”
“The god of death.”
Damn.
The answer was so simple, it sent a spark of irritation firing through her. It would be easy to refuse Rowan if he was the one demanding her attendance, but it was far more difficult to deny a god, not without hearing about it later.
“Fine, just let me get dressed first.”
Rowan leaned against the door with his arms crossed, one ankle kicked over the other. The corner of a wicked, teasing smile curved along his lips, tilting his mouth up.
Maeve huffed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She stalked into the closet, just out of his view, and yanked off her nightgown. Opting for a pair of leather leggings, boots that laced up to her knees, and a black blouse that fell off her shoulders, Maeve sorted through the number of bodices at her disposal. Selecting a silver corset etched with flowers and leaves, she sucked in a breath and pulled it taut around her waist and breasts. She slipped into the bathing suite, washed her face and brushed her teeth, then plaited her hair. If she was going to have to train, she wanted to be fully prepared.
“Let’s go, Dawnbringer,” Rowan called, his voice carrying to her. She stomped out of the closet, finishing off the ends of her braid. “You’re taking for—”
“I’m coming!” she snapped, then stumbled to a stop when she saw the way he was looking at her. “What?”
His lavender eyes flashed with a heat she recognized, then quickly went cold. There was rage there now, a kind of fury she didn’t understand.
“Rowan?” She took a hesitant step toward him, and he stiffened. “What is it?”
He blinked and the rush of emotion melted away. “It’s nothing.”
With a faint sense of disappointment, Maeve grabbed her Aurastone from under her pillow, sheathed it, then followed him out the door.
They passed through the arching, cavernous halls of the House of Death. Mosaic vases overflowing with navy roses and silver ferns were perched on slate pedestals, and vaulted windows displayed the extensive outdoor courtyards. The walkways were dark, illuminated only by the soft bluish glow of faerie light that bounced in sconces made from swirling pieces of metal and crystal.
Navigating their way through the vast corridors, they walked past a handful of servants, one or two death soldiers, and four rather voluptuous females who gawked over Rowan. One of them looped their arms around his waist, tangling herself around him like she was a vine. A bundle of lilacs was pinned in her long black hair, and when he offered her a polite smile then carefully unraveled himself from her hold, her eyes locked onto Maeve.
