Page 120 of Crown of Roses
“Oh, thank the gods!” Deirdre burst out of her room, clutching a handkerchief while she dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose. “You’re okay! We were so worried. When we found out what she’d done to you, I…I mean my heart…that is to say—”
Deirdre clutched one hand to her chest and her eyes brimmed with fresh tears when she took note of all the tattoos marking Maeve’s body. She rushed forward, pulling Maeve into a fierce hug. “Oh, my sweet child.”
Another clutch of emotion strangled Maeve, and she tried to keep the burning sensation of tears in check. Blinking them away only forced them to fall. Deirdre pulled back and wiped them away with her thumbs. “You’re home now. You’re safe here.”
Maeve nodded, unable to find her voice.
“Come along, dear.” Deirdre gestured to her room. “Everything is ready. I can run you a hot bath if you want one. I’ve stocked you with leggings, blouses, and corsets. Though you are Archfae, which means you will have to wear gowns on certain occasions.”
She ducked her head. “Of course, Deirdre.”
“Is there anything else you require?” she asked.
Maeve met Lir’s gaze over the top of Deirdre’s silver-streaked bun of hair. “I’ll need a sword.”
Lir nodded at once. “That can be arranged.”
“Go on in, dear heart, and get some rest.” Deirdre edged Lir out the door. “Your books are arranged by subject, and Lir will be just outside your room if you need anything at all.”
They filed out of her room and Deirdre quietly closed the door behind her.
Her books. The mere thought of them made her smile. She planned on reading every single one, especially the collection of fairytales filled with Aran’s paintings and the tome on interpreting Old Laic. She went straight to her bed and slipped her hand under the pillow. Her fingers instantly found her Aurastone. She tossed the pillow aside, hiked up her dress, and her breath caught. There were rose gold swirls all over her. They shifted and moved, shimmered like pink-dusted diamonds along her skin. Her stomach clenched. She hadn’t realized how badly Fearghal had ruined her. With her lips pressed together, she looked away, refusing to stare at them any longer. They were a part of her now, a message of her sacrifice, of her endurance, to all who saw her. She was capable of being tortured, of being betrayed, and her loyalty to those who needed it most would not waver.
And now she was alone.
She would finally be granted a moment of peace and quiet. Except, there was a strumming sound coming from somewhere nearby. The double doors to her balcony were open, the sheer curtains fluttering in the breeze, and she thought maybe the music was coming from outside. From somewhere within the city walls of Niahvess. But the sound didn’t appear to be carried on the wind. It seemed to float through the walls.
Maeve glanced around the room, and then she saw the door. The one that had always been locked was now cracked open. She tiptoed over, daring herself not to breathe. At first, there was nothing to see. It looked like an ordinary room. There was a bed just like hers, except bigger, and gauzy pieces of turquoise fabric drifted down from its four posters. There was a wardrobe almost identical to the one in her room. But then she saw him.
Astora. She rolled the pet name over in her mind. Pulse of my heart.
She blew out a soft breath and listened.
Tiernan was stretched out on a leather sofa, his ankles crossed and kicked up over the edge, with a guitar in his arms. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against one of the cushions. And his fingers were strumming a melody, one she recognized in her heart. His lips were barely moving, and over the steady beating of her heart, she heard him sing in a low, rumbling baritone with such a tempting accent, that shivers to ran over her skin.
“O’er the mountain and through the mist
Is the wild, the magic, and unseen
And none will ‘er be as bright
Nor the sun, nor starlight
As the once now and forever faerie queen.”
Maeve stepped fully into the room, and the door groaned open, announcing her arrival. Tiernan didn’t even open his eyes. “Hello, Your Highness.”
“My lord.”
He stood up then, decked in his usual attire of dark pants, a cuffed shirt, and wild dark hair. Painfully as beautiful as ever. He set his guitar on the bed and walked over to her. Each step was measured in time with her heartbeat. When he stopped before her, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Can I help you, my lady?”
She glanced into the room he was currently inhabiting, then back to hers, before finally meeting his curious gaze. “Your room is next to mine?”
He shrugged. Nonchalant. “It is now.”
“For how long?” She wasn’t too sure she wanted the High King of Summer to be sleeping in the room connected to hers.
“For as long as it takes.”
