Page 42 of Crown of Roses
“Are you calling me a pushover?”
“You know you are.” Saoirse grinned then pecked her cheek with a kiss. “But really, that dress on you is something else. It makes your eyes sparkle brighter than all the stars in the sky.”
Maeve matched her friend, smile for smile. “Poetic heart.”
“Shameless flirt,” Saoirse corrected. “To both men and women.”
Within the next moment, the intense scent of orange blossom and cedarwood filled Maeve’s lungs, and a spread of food appeared before them. There were platters of roasted meat and succulent vegetables, bowls of fresh fruits drizzled in a shiny glaze, and baskets overflowing with rolls and muffins. Carafes brimming with sparkling wine were topped with fizzing red berries, and glasses of water spiked with slices of lemons and plump raspberries were waiting to be enjoyed. Maeve’s stomach growled in protest, but she refused to touch any of the food. This was not like on Aran’s boat, the Amshir, where the food had been brought into the dining area by two servants. No, this dinner display simply appeared. Only Rowan, Ceridwen, and Tiernan started to eat.
“Let me guess.” Tiernan lifted his glass of sparkling wine in a faux toast. “You don’t like it.”
Ceridwen scooped a spoonful of glazed berries onto her plate. “They think it’s harmful.”
Rowan laughed, then quickly coughed in a poor attempt to cover it up when Maeve shot a glare in his direction. He sobered and straightened in his seat. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” The scent of buttery rolls and sugared fruit caused Maeve’s mouth to water. “In all the books I’ve read about Faeven and faeries, the food here is dangerous to mortals. We can be drugged, tricked, confused, tormented. The Amshir was different. It wasn’t made from magic.”
“So, you intend to starve to death while you’re here?” Brynn asked, watching them expectantly.
Maeve opened her mouth, then clamped it shut.
Tiernan propped his chin on his fist and feigned interest. “I’m afraid your education has failed you.”
“Just because it’s not enchanted doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous,” Casimir countered.
Tiernan leaned back far enough so the chair rocked onto two legs, and he propped his feet up on the table. He kicked one ankle over the other, his boots terribly close to Maeve’s empty plate. For a High King, he was incredibly callous and crude. She shifted away from him.
“Well then. I suppose we’ll have to find out if the stories in your books are true or not.” He propped his hands behind his head and his muscles flexed. Maeve tried not to stare. “After all, we can’t have you starving while you’re in Faeven. At least not on my watch.”
He gave the barest incline of his head.
“Tiernan,” Ceridwen warned.
Lir and Merrick appeared by Casimir and grabbed him. He struggled against them, but two versus one was an unfair fight. There was a satisfying crunch of knuckle bone meeting flesh, and unfortunately it was Casimir’s head that rocked backward. Blood dribbled from his nose onto his lips. He coughed and spit until they forced his mouth open and shoved food down his throat.
“Stop!” Maeve screamed. She tried to jump up from her chair, to reach for her dagger, but her body was immobile. She was pinned against some invisible force, frozen by something she couldn’t see to fight. Beside her, Saoirse thrashed in her seat, unable to break free. “Stop it, now!”
“Let him go!” Saoirse jerked left and right, her body stiff as she tried to wrench her arms free from whatever power held them down. “You’re going to kill him!”
Casimir choked and his face distorted as they forced forkfuls of the food down his throat. The veins along his neck bulged, and his eyes were wild and watering.
Maeve tore her gaze from him to Ceridwen. “Please,” she begged. “Please make him stop.”
“Tiernan.” Ceridwen’s voice was as smooth as silk, as calm as the summer before a storm. “Enough.”
Tiernan flicked his hand and they finally released Casimir. He slumped over the table, choking. His hands gripped the edge, knuckles white while he struggled to catch his breath. Rowan shoved a glass of the lemon-filled water toward him, and he chugged it down in five gulps. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were trembling, whether from fear or fury, Maeve couldn’t be sure.
“There, you see? Nothing wrong with the food.” Tiernan dumped a slab of roasted meat onto Maeve’s plate and stabbed the fork into its flesh. He slammed it down with such force, her plate rattled, and she jumped in her seat. “Now, we’re going to eat. You’re going to stop believing in all this fairytale bullshit you think you know about my world, and you’re going to tell me why you’re really here.”
“Maybe she should utilize the library, then.” Ceridwen offered a thin smile and sipped her sparkling wine. “You can’t fault her for what she’s read. It’s all she knows.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I can give her some lessons.” Rowan tossed an apple in the air, caught it with one hand, then took a bite. “She’s got all kinds of fanciful faerie misconceptions.”
Maeve stuck up her middle finger and he winked.
“And as for you.” Tiernan’s voice deepened to such a low baritone, it caused tremors of terror to race down Maeve’s spine. “You have something that belongs to me, and I want it back.”
“I’m willing to negotiate.” Rowan tossed a careless glance around the table. “Later.”
