Page 115 of Crown of Roses
The brush slid over both of her breasts, under and around, and when the tip of it skimmed her nipple, a single tear slid down her cheek.
Tiernan hissed, then painted what felt like a small circle over her heart, with tiny lines spiraling out on all sides. She didn’t remember getting cut there, but then again, she’d barely been conscious. He dropped the paintbrush and stood abruptly. Maeve pressed her lips together, biting down to keep the tears from falling. Tiernan reached out, cupped her cheek with one hand, and gently wiped away the fallen tear. Dark, midnight hair fell into his face, and his stormy eyes hovered over every inch of her.
“I swear to the goddess, I will make Parisa beg for her life beneath my blade.”
Maeve carefully sat up and peeked at the rosy gold ink shimmering all over her naked body.
I will not yield. I will not break.
“I’d rather kill her myself.” Resolved burned bright inside her.
Tiernan met her fierce gaze with one of his own.
“Then we’ll do it together.” He picked up one of the finer brushes and collected some more ink. “Don’t move. Just a few more to go.”
Maeve took slow, steady breaths and tried to remain still while he applied the ink to her throat, and then finally, to her ear and cheek. But it was difficult to find something else to focus on when she was so naked and he was far too close for comfort. He gently gripped her chin and tilted her head to the right, then angled the brush along her cheekbone. He was so intent. So serious. Golden flecks of captured sunlight surrounded by the stormy swirls of twilight reflected in his eyes, and they were so lovely, she had to hold back her sigh. His lips were full and parted while he worked, and up close, she could see the faint hint of scruff along his jaw, like he’d forgotten to shave. Sun and sky, he was so pretty. It almost hurt to look at him.
The corner of Tiernan’s mouth ticked up in a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Her mouth fell open. She’d all but forgotten he was capable of hearing her thoughts. Her eyes rolled to the dark wooden beams outlining the glass ceiling above them. “I’m too exhausted to fight you.”
His smile faded. “I know.”
Then he leaned back. “There. All done.”
“Does it have to dry?”
“No.” He lifted her up off the desk and cautiously lowered her to her feet. He snapped his fingers and a gown of aubergine appeared, draped over his arm.
“Magic,” he said with a wink at her stunned silence. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all of my tricks.” Then he held out the gown. “I know it’s a dress, but I figured it would be more comfortable while you heal, as opposed to leggings and a corset.”
Maeve accepted the beautiful gown. It was softly spun cotton, loose-fitting, with thicker straps instead of sleeves. “It’s lovely.”
He shrugged and stepped back. “It has pockets.”
Three simple words, but they released all the tears she thought she’d already cried. “Thank you.”
Tiernan draped his arm around her shoulder. Carefully. Mindful. “Don’t cry, astora. Please.”
Astora. It was one Old Laic term she couldn’t figure out. The way he said it with an accent made it difficult to discern the meaning and she was too drained, too lost, to try and figure it out. She didn’t want to cry. She was tired of it, exhausted from expelling all of the emotions she’d drowned inside of herself for so long. “She wrecked me.”
“She freed you.” He smoothed an errant strand of hair back from her face. He turned her so she faced the floor-length mirror propped in the corner of the room. “Look beyond the scars, Maeve. What do you see?”
She stared at herself. Long ears were accentuated by defiant curls. Now that her hair had dried, she could see it was a beautiful strawberry blonde, an almost pink shade. Pale, green-gray eyes gazed back at her, and tattoos of ink covered her scars, hiding them in plain sight. “I see someone who learned the hard way that nothing is ever as it seems. A princess who lost her kingdom, her mother, her best friend, and…” She didn’t know what to call Rowan. “And the shell of a soul who once believed a great many things, but who no longer knows where to put her trust, because her entire life has been a lie.”
“I never lied to you.”
“You’ve said some pretty awful things.” Maeve met his gaze in the reflection. “So, I’m not entirely sure that’s the kind of thing you should readily admit.”
“Fair enough.” A flare of amusement flickered in his eyes. “Do you want to know what I see?”
“I don’t know,” Maeve muttered.
“I see an Archfae, a High Princess of the Autumn Court, whose mother was stolen away from her. Who was held captive in the human lands, who was brainwashed into thinking she was cursed. I see a warrior who is willing to stop at nothing to save her kingdom, and who would show her new realm the same loyalty and devotion, no matter the cost.” He gave her cheek a gentle pat. “Get it together, my lady. You’re a fucking fae.”
Maeve almost smiled. Almost. She was fae. A faerie. An immortal. And she would ultimately have an entire lifetime to suffer a hundred more mistakes and a thousand more opportunities. And maybe later, when she was alone in her room, she would wallow in her grief once more. She would mourn her losses, and then she would move on. “What do we do now?”
Shadows fell across his face. “There’s someone who wants to see you.”
