Page 23 of Crown of Roses
You and me both, she thought.
“How did she capture you?” The question spilled out before she could stop it. “My mother, how was she able to hold you captive?”
He absently rubbed one hand over his chest, over the cavern of scars there. “Nightshade.”
“Nightshade?” Maeve bent down at the edge of the shoreline and ran her fingers through the cool water. Her reflection gazed back at her—Gray-green eyes, a perky, button of a nose, and full lips. She glanced back over at Rowan and stood up. “Isn’t that poisonous?”
“It can be, yes.”
Seconds of thick, humid silence passed between them while she struggled to find the words to say next.
“Saoirse told me what you did.” Maeve was the worst at apologizing. It was even more difficult when she owed someone gratitude as well. “Back in the forest. She said you—”
Without warning, Rowan was flush against her. One arm snaked around her waist and hauled her against his chest, held her so close, she could feel the erratic beating of his heart. He pressed one finger to her lips and silenced her.
“Don’t.” His voice was rough. Strangled.
Maeve frowned. “But—”
He jerked his head sharply. “Never thank me, Maeve.”
He’d used her name. Her actual name.
“Why…why not?” She was trying hard to ignore the way his fingers were lightly tapping against her waist, how his other hand had slid from her lips, to her cheek, to her neck.
“Think about it.”
He leaned in so close, she could see the stars dancing in his eyes. The scent of orange blossom and cedarwood pulsed in the air around them. A bold rhythm. A dark melody. One Maeve somehow knew, one she recognized in the deepest, loneliest part of her soul. Her fingers tingled, the cuffs against her skin burned, and her blood sang, a crescendo to the symphony of magic inside her.
Maeve tried to focus, but her mind was a muddled mess, and his fingers were so distracting. There had to be a reason he wanted nothing to do with her appreciation. Because…because…His palm slid higher now, and his fingertips followed the hard line of her corset, right to the sensitive area just beneath her breast.
“Oh.” The word fell from her on a sigh, and then understanding slammed into her, jarring her out of the moment. “I’d owe you a debt, wouldn’t I?”
“Perhaps.” His teeth grazed his bottom lip, and Maeve found herself wondering what he might taste like, if he would be rich and decadent like her favorite icing, or tempting and poisonous like forbidden fruit? “Are you afraid?”
His breath was cool across her cheek.
“Of Faeven? No.” She wasn’t afraid of anything, not even him. Part of her longed to reach up and brush a fallen lock of silky teal hair from his face. “Should I be?”
“No. As long as you remember to always keep your guard up.” He bent down, closer, until their mouths were barely a breath apart. If she rose up on her toes, she’d kiss him, and she knew with every fiber of her being, with every part of her cursed soul, she’d enjoy it. “And trust no one.”
Maeve swayed into him. “What about you?”
“Especially not me.” Rowan winked, then released her so quickly she almost fell face first into the sand.
Maeve thrust her arms out and caught her balance. Embarrassment bled into her cheeks while she grappled with her own composure. Sun and sky. She’d wanted to kiss him, she’d wanted to kiss a fae. It had to be a trick, a play against her mind to use her emotions against her. And she’d almost fallen for it. She’d been seconds away from wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers, and she would’ve brought down the moon for a taste of him.
She shoved her hair back from her face, inhaled deeply, and squeezed her eyes shut. She would have to be more careful. It would be careless to make a mistake like that again. She knew nothing of Rowan, nothing of his history, of his loyalty, or anything of his plans. For all she knew, he would get them into Faeven and then leave them to fend for themselves. Which, she had to admit, seemed rather plausible.
Maeve sucked in one more calming breath, inhaled the warm air and soft sea breeze, then opened her eyes.
Determination fueled her. She would not be so easily blinded again.
“Oh, look.” Rowan glanced back at her, then pointed out over the rocks. “Here comes our ride.”
Maeve climbed over some of the rocks for a better view. She peered out at the horizon, where the air seemed to waver and breathe, as though it was alive. Sustained by magic.
She saw the banners first, streamers of burnt orange emblazoned with the image of a glittering black creature she’d never seen before. It possessed three heads, each one with the golden beak of an eagle, and skinny, curved horns. The heads shared a body, like a dragon with a long tail and sharp talons. Glossy black scales covered it, and the wings were feathered, dark orange like the first start of a flame. The boat was long and narrow, made of a rich, polished wood, with a curved hull and scalloped railing. A canopy of goldenrod stretched across the open decks, a shield from the blinding sunlight. Despite having no sails, the boat propelled effortlessly across the sea, straight toward the shore.
