Page 54 of Crown of Roses
A silky, rumbling laugh echoed in her mind. “Foolish girl,” Tiernan muttered.
Piercing bolts of violet lightning struck her, ricocheted through her, and forced her onto her knees. She gasped from the agonizing shock of bone grinding against marble, and rocked back and forth on the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut against it and blindly reached for her Aurastone. Her fingers grazed the rigid leather of the sheath, but her vision blurred, and her thoughts muddled.
“You are so wonderfully weak. A useless mortal in every sense of the word.” Then he bent down close to her—so close, she could smell the scent of him. Sun-drenched palm trees. Warm sandalwood. The scent of a flower she couldn’t name. He overwhelmed her senses. Her lungs ached and she couldn’t breathe.
“What do you say, mighty Princess of Kells?” His voice echoed in her mind and his words were like a balm to her despair. She hated herself for wanting to hear him, for needing to hear him, because with every word he spoke, the unbearable pain throbbing within the walls of her mind eased. Just slightly. “Would you let me kiss you like that? Until you quivered beneath my palms? Until I swallowed every delicious drop of you?”
“Get out of my head!” Maeve screamed. A torrent of tears plagued her eyesight and she clutched her head once more.
“Leave her alone!” Rowan roared as he fought the invisible bonds anchoring him to the wall. “Leave her!”
“No.” Tiernan stepped back and the agony receded. Maeve swiped hastily at the hot tears streaming down her face. He nodded once and Lir appeared beside her. He lifted her up off the ground by her arm, his grip firm, but gentle. Tiernan faced Rowan, then peeled him away from the wall. “It’s time for you to leave her.”
“Leave?” Maeve’s voice was scratchy. It pitched with panic.
Tiernan adjusted the rolled sleeves of his silk shirt. “I believe Rowan’s time with us has come to an end.”
“What? Why?” She sprang forward but Lir held her back, and kept his grasp ironclad around her upper arms.
Tiernan’s lip curled in disgust. “Rowan’s allegiance is not to the Summer Court. He pledged his loyalty to Spring. Years ago.”
“Enough,” Rowan snarled. “She knows I’m loyal to Spring, I already told her as much. I can explain the rest of it myself.”
Maeve staggered forward but Lir held firm, refusing to allow her to get any closer to Rowan. “Explain what?”
Darkness tore through the beautiful planes of Rowan’s face. “Part of the deal I made with Tiernan was to return to my Court after he removed my cuffs.”
“What? No!” Maeve angled and distorted her body. She tried to reach him, to convince him he was making a mistake. But Lir gave her no leniency. “You’re supposed to help us. You promised to help us find the anam ó Danua. You can’t just leave!”
He looked down at his shiny boots and didn’t meet her eye. “I’ll return to help.”
“With my permission,” Tiernan interjected and Rowan cut him a look.
“Rowan, you can’t be serious. We don’t even know where to start looking!” Panic bubbled up in the back of her throat and tried to choke her. “The whole reason we’re here is because you said you knew how to defeat The Scathing. You said you knew how to track the soul. And now you’re abandoning us? Here?”
“I’m sorry, Princess.” His apology was empty. Just like everything else he’d told her. Yet the sting was distinctly sharp. “My duty is to my Court. Always.”
“Rowan!” Maeve screamed, though she couldn’t tell if it was shock or anger that caused her tone to crack with despair. She blinked and he was gone, nothing more than a glimmer of sparkling dust.
White-hot fury ripped through her, and a sound so terrifying, so inhuman, tore from her throat. It was all the emotions she was never allowed to feel, to suffer, to absorb. Resentment. Anguish. Sorrow. Rejection. Loneliness. Her sobs were broken, a disturbing bout of hiccups, mumbled words, and ragged breaths. She screamed at nothing and everything. Emptied herself of wrath and trauma. But then there was warmth. The soft, comforting warmth of summer. It wrapped her in a cloak of calm, of serenity, and ease. She was lifted from the floor and carried, inhaling the delicate scent of ocean breezes, sweetened coconut, and endless sunshine.
At some point, she was aware of being carried back to her bedroom. And there she was left, as silent tears continued to slide down her cheeks. Rowan’s betrayal was the deepest of wounds. Her one source of hope, her only lifeline to save Kells, to rid her land of the Scathing, had vanished before her eyes. But there had to be a way to find the anam ó Danua without him, and she would do it. No matter the cost. She would not continue to cry. She wouldn’t grieve for her own humiliation. She wouldn’t dwell upon the deception she’d endured. No, she would overcome. As she always did.
Because her kingdom was worth it. Because she was a warrior first. Because she was a princess second.
And she would not break.
Chapter Seventeen
In the stillness of predawn, Maeve’s blood hummed. It was low at first, a gentle thrum, urging her to awaken. She ignored it. She didn’t want to open her swollen eyes. She didn’t want to remember Rowan had abandoned them in the Summer Court, or that he’d left her shouting his name and suffering from the sting of his betrayal. But tingles of awareness coasted up and down her spine, and the magic coursing through her veins throbbed with alarm. A warning. Her balcony doors had been open, and she’d grown accustomed to the warm summer breeze, yet now the air was cold like the touch of death upon her skin. The nauseating stench of rot permeated the air. Acidic breath. Her stomach heaved and she nearly gagged. Maeve slowly slid one hand under her pillow. Her palm encircled the hilt of her Aurastone.
In one swift movement, she flipped over and cut the air above her with her dagger. Her eyes flew open and she stared in horror.
Hovering above her was a grotesque creature the color of ash. Stringy, gray hair hung around its hideous face. Its eyes were white, the skin surrounding them had been blackened, and inky ooze slid from the corner of its mouth from where she’d cut it. It smiled, displaying a full set of razor-sharp teeth and spiders crawled out from the side of its mouth.
Maeve screamed and scrambled to a sitting position as its spindly arms reached for her. She slashed out with her blade again, satisfied when her dagger cut off both of its hands and they turned to dust. The dark fae screeched and its head jerked toward her, convoluted and unnatural. This beast was not as easy to kill as the ones in Kells.
She rolled off the bed, hit the ground, and jumped up.
