Page 39 of Crown of Roses
“Easy there.” Rowan grabbed her shoulder and held her back. “That’s an Archfae, and your sword won’t save you for long.”
Saoirse’s gaze snapped to him. “He attacked my princess. After The Scathing and the dark fae assaulted Kells, I swore I would defend my homeland against all fae who proved hostile against my kingdom. And that includes its heir.”
“Dark fae have attacked the human lands as well?” Ceridwen, the High King’s sister, glided forward, and the tension on the verandah melted away. “When?”
“Recently.” Saoirse stood and adjusted her daggers, placing herself between Tiernan and Maeve. Her thumbs tapped restlessly against the hilts. “Our kingdom is under siege from The Scathing.”
“And you think you’ll find the key to defeating it here?” Tiernan asked dryly.
“Yes,” Maeve snapped and clutched Rowan’s forearm for support as she hauled herself into a standing position. Tiernan towered a good foot above her, and she glared up at him. “You think we won’t?”
“That remains unseen.” Tiernan took one step closer, ensuring there was no space between them. A method of intimidation. “I will allow you and your party to stay here for as long as needed to devise a plan, on the strict condition I am made aware of every thought, every movement, and every decision. Do we have a deal?”
He offered Maeve his hand.
“Maeve…” Casimir’s voice was a warning in the background but she ignored it. They were in Faeven. They’d made it. And she was going to do whatever it took, no matter the cost, to save Kells.
“Fine.” She extended her hand and this time, a Strand of binding sapphire glittered in the air between them. It wove around their fingers and glowed beneath their skin, before settling into the shape of a sun against her palm. Already she’d been in Faeven for less than twenty-four hours, and twice she’d been marked. She certainly didn’t feel like she was off to a great start.
Tiernan spun around and stalked off. Ceridwen and the other three fae followed in his wake.
“Where are you going?” Casimir demanded.
“Home.” Tiernan didn’t bother to look back. “I have other things to do that don’t involve standing around and negotiating with mortals.”
For a moment, Maeve didn’t move. None of them did. It was a moment of truth. A test. They could stay at the edge of the sea, just out of Faeven’s luring reach, and fend for themselves. Or they could follow a High King further into his domain, into the depths of unknown territory, and hope they came out alive on the other side. Faith and luck had yet to prove they were reliable allies. But with the sun sinking further into the western sky, and bursts of deep orange, crimson, and magenta bleeding across streaks of gray clouds, Maeve was only certain of one thing.
She needed the anam ó Danua to save her people. And Tiernan, High King of the Summer Court, was the first step in finding her. It didn’t matter if she could still feel his grip around her throat, or how he slipped into her mind, like her thoughts belonged solely to him. None of it mattered because she’d made it. She was in Faeven.
They entered Niahvess’s summer palace through a side courtyard just as the sun sank below the horizon, and the reds and pinks of the sky bled into twilight.
It was a breathtaking structure, built from white stone with open-air archways, sweeping terracotta roofs, and inlaid knot-work details. Pristine corridors were brushed with soft pinks and golds, and sandstone paths led to turquoise pools surrounded by lush ferns and other greenery. Palm trees reached up, their swaying figures nothing more than shadows against the early evening sky. The air was warm and thick, dense with the fragrance of intoxicating florals, and somewhere in the distance, music was playing, accompanied by the calming whisper of water.
Maeve was deposited at her living quarters first, and Saoirse wasn’t too keen on the two of them being separated. But Ceridwen assured them no harm would come to them within the confines of the palace walls. Tiernan, on the other hand, made no such promises.
Though she had to admit, being surrounded by such a sumptuous bedchamber made it rather difficult to remember to remain on guard.
Double doors swung open to a balcony overlooking the city below that seemed to float above winding rivers. An inviting four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room, covered in silken sheets and piled with fluffy pillows. The white walls of the room curved upward to a domed glass ceiling where stars were just starting to dot the sky. The entire room was illuminated with the same glowing orbs like the lanterns from Aran’s ship, except these were contained in lamps shaped like crashing waves. The door to the bathroom was cracked open, and a stream of golden light spilled through. Gauzy curtains the color of the sea floated in the summer breeze, and ruffled the loose strands of Maeve’s braid, still plaited with flowers from Tiernan’s magic.
She stalked over to the mirror and plucked all of them out. One by one she watched the blooms fall to the wooden floor. While part of her wanted to crush them into the ground with the heel of her boot, the other, more sensitive side of her knew she simply couldn’t leave them. She scooped up the discarded flowers and placed them on the surface of the small vanity.
It was then she noticed the other door in her room. Made of sleek, gleaming wood, she trailed her fingers along the ornate roses carved into its surface and the swirls of tiny opals ingrained between each whorl.
She reached for the handle, but doubt caused her hand to hover. Maybe it was just a closet. Maybe it was another room. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge.
Or maybe it was locked.
A sudden knock sounded on her bedroom door and Maeve spun around right as it opened. A woman walked in with a bundle of clothing in her arms and a bright smile on her face. Her dark hair was streaked with threads of gray and pulled back into a tidy bun. She wore an off-white dress with a green apron wrapped around her waist, and she hummed an unfamiliar tune. The lines along her face were deep with age, and when she smiled, it was full and genuine.
That was when Maeve realized it.
This woman wasn’t fae. She was human.
“Hello, dear heart.” The woman shuffled over to the bed and laid out the bundle of fine fabric in her arms. “I’m Mrs. Tidewell, but everyone calls me Deirdre. I’ve brought you a gown to change into before dinner.”
Maeve stared at the woman. “You’re mortal.”
Deirdre’s eyes crinkled at the corners when her smile widened. “Yes, love. I am.”
