Page 96 of Crown of Roses
“Hm.”
Rowan didn’t say anything else and she wondered if he could hear the erratic beating of her heart. With him beside her, she could sleep. She could breathe. She didn’t feel the need to be on guard, or sleep with a dagger under her pillow. Because she knew then, within the disquieted depths of her soul, that he would protect her.
Maybe not forever. Maybe for only so long as he chose. But for now, he would keep her safe. Which was why the leaden weight of guilt settled upon her heart, and caused her chest to cave, she roused up her courage to get what she needed from him. “Rowan, I have to ask you something.”
“You do love your questions,” he mused, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
“I need to know when Parisa is most vulnerable.” Behind her, he stiffened. Barely, but it was enough for her to notice. “I need to know when she’s weakest.”
“You plan to attack her.”
Again, it was a statement and not a question.
“Yes.”
“When?” he asked.
“Soon.” It wasn’t a lie, but in truth, the day they chose to undermine the Spring Court would very much depend on his answer.
“As with almost all fae, Parisa is most vulnerable when she bathes.”
Maeve started in his arms and he locked them tighter around her. “What? Is that a thing?”
“For most of us. For many, it’s a luxury.” Rowan moved her curls to the side and nuzzled her neck. “No weapons. No fighting. No thought-provoking, ground-breaking discoveries or realizations.”
“I see.” She supposed it made sense, but when she washed, she spent most of it in solitude. Thinking. Analyzing. Or worrying. Doing all of the things Rowan said Parisa didn’t do. “And um, when is that? I mean, how often does she bathe?”
“Often enough.” Rowan tucked her closer, so she was satiated with warmth. “But the best time would be right when the rain starts.”
Despite the urge to ask more questions, Maeve felt her eyes grow heavy with sleep. Maybe it was from all the swimming. Or maybe, it was simply because she’d spent an entire day with a fae who offered her comfort, respect, and…
No, she warned herself. Don’t even think it.
Love was off the table.
“Stop thinking, Princess.” Rowan stretched behind her and even though his still-hard erection prodded into her back, a yawn broke apart his words. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
His voice was groggy, tinged by exhaustion. Perhaps he was tired, too.
“Promise?” Maeve asked, and let her lashes flutter shut.
“I promise.” His hand slid over her belly to find hers, and he laced their fingers together.
Her foolish heart wanted to believe him. To trust him. But everything she read, everything she learned, warned her against it. Seven hells, even Rowan told her not to trust him. When his soft, even breathing settled in the air around them, and the arm and leg that covered hers grew heavy from the weight of sleep, Maeve stayed silent, and stared out into the darkening forest beyond.
It seemed Rowan made the right decision by refusing to take her innocence. Yes, it made him honorable. But it also made her wary. Because any male, mortal or immortal, who denied the pleasures of sex when it was offered up to him on a silver platter, was never one to be trusted.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cool air swept over Maeve’s bare skin. It coasted down her spine, across her shoulders, leaving her chilled with pinpricks of goosebumps pebbling all over. She curled closer to Rowan, sought the warmth of his body in her sleep, but when her arm stretched out, it collided with solid ground.
Maeve startled awake, and a jarring spike of adrenaline forced her upright. Instinctively, her hands went to cover herself, but she was alone. The forest was eerily still, and it seemed as though even the waterfall had quieted in the solitude of night. A gentle breeze sifted through the trees, rustled the leaves, and lifted the fallen flower petals around her in a swirl of muted color. Stars littered the sky, some twinkling, some shooting, and with the exception of an occasional flap of wings, Maeve heard nothing but the increasing beat of her heart.
Rowan had left her. Alone. Naked. In a forest.
What the fuck?
Had he seriously abandoned her again, and this time left without saying anything? The fucking fae. A tiny part of her supposed there was a chance he might come back, but the loud voice of doubt within her knew she was wrong. He’d left her. Again. Except this time she was in an unfamiliar forest without clothing and the High King of Summer would not be coming to rescue her. She jumped up and scrambled to the edge of the banks, her fingers clawing through the wettish grass in search of the dress he’d glamoured for her. But there was nothing, and that could only mean one thing. Either Rowan removed the glamour from her, or he was no longer close enough to keep it in place.
