Page 60 of Crown of Roses
“You were floating,” Tiernan repeated. “In a lake.” Disbelief tainted his tone.
“Yes. In Kells, there’s a place we call the Moors. It’s shady, and full of dense trees and…” And all kinds of wonders. Flowers that danced in the sunlight. Cute little woodland creatures that were anything but terrifying. Streams of turquoise where the current sang and hummed. “It was sweltering one day, and I was looking for a place to cool off. The Moors always offered respite. I came across a lake. The Aurastone was at the bottom of it, covered beneath some layers of sand and stone.”
“The Aurastone is quite magnificent, as I’m sure you’re aware. I doubt you understand the greatness of its power, or the significance of its existence, since you’re merely a mortal.” Tiernan rinsed the fragrant oil from her hair and Maeve ignored the subtle jab at her mortality. “But answer me one more thing. What do you remember about last week?”
Last week. Last week she was in Kells, traipsing through the city with Saoirse, and working on improving her sword fighting skills with Casimir. The dark fae didn’t exist. There was no Scathing, or Hagla, or creatures of night. Her city was safe and protected. “Last week, everything was as it should be.”
“No.” There was a slight shake of his head. “You were here. The attack against my Court was last week.”
“What? That’s impossible.” Maeve stood up and bubbles slid down her arms and abdomen. From his kneeling position on the floor, Tiernan dragged his gaze lazily across her naked body. By all rights, she should’ve been furious. Or mortified. Maybe even scared. But she was beginning to understand the High King, and she wouldn’t be a pawn in any of his games. She gripped the curved, pearl railing and refused to acknowledge the mischievous glint in his eye. The more she gave in to his arrogant, self-righteous bullshit, the more insufferable he became. She planted her hands on her hips, while water dripped from her hair, and stared him down. “How was I unconscious for a week?”
In her head, it was merely hours. No wonder she smelled so foul and felt like she hadn’t eaten in days.
“You were very sick. And your cursed magic struggled to keep you alive, to cure you of poison, to mend your pathetically broken bones.” He almost sounded bored, like her near-death experience was the last thing he wanted to discuss. He shoved up from the tile, grabbed a towel off one of the hooks, and tossed it to her. “Whatever is inside of you, its full strength is diminished by the cuffs you’re wearing.”
Maeve dried herself off, enjoying the soft fragrance lingering in her hair and on her body. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, your cuffs aren’t protecting everyone like you so foolishly believe. They’re hindering your magic. They weaken you. It’s why my world feels muted to you.” He raked a hand through his hair, then leaned against the door to the bathroom.
“But that doesn’t make any sense.” Maeve wrapped the towel around her by folding the fabric into itself. “My blood is cursed. It’s dangerous. I’m dangerous—to myself, and to everyone else.”
“No, Maeve.” He spoke her name and it rolled off his tongue with the sweetness of summer. “Your cuffs are dangerous. Eventually, they will suffocate your blood. They will destroy your magic. And then, they will destroy you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Maeve pulled the towel a little tighter around her. “What are you suggesting?”
Tiernan crossed his arms and let the door bear the brunt of his weight. “That you let me remove your cuffs.”
A terrifying but curious thought. If Tiernan removed the cuffs, there was no telling what would happen to her. There was no way to know how she would react. Or worse, what she would become. She understood it was a painful process, Rowan had confirmed as much, but other than suffering through more pain, she couldn’t see a clear advantage. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to release the monster lurking beneath her skin anymore. And it was a monster. Fae magic or not, it was a curse placed upon her, not a blessing. And those two things were not the same.
But…a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered.
But what?
But what if the magic inside her was enough to defeat Carman? What if it was enough to empower her with the strength she needed to overthrow her mother and take her crown? To save her kingdom and her people? To defeat Parisa?
“If I were to agree,” Maeve spoke slowly, keeping mindful of her words. “What would you want in return?”
“That depends,” Tiernan mused, then sauntered toward her. He captured her chin and tilted her face up towards his own. “What are you willing to give?”
Maeve jerked away from his touch. “That’s not the same thing.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” He walked out of the bathroom, back into her quarters. He glanced out the large glass doors leading to her balcony, then back to the bed. The linens were still soiled, and the room reeked of sweat and sickness. His jaw hardened. He flicked his hand toward the bed and the sullied bedsheets and pillows vanished, instantly replaced with fresh sets. The air was also purified, the lingering stench of disease gone. “I’ll send for Deirdre and have her bring you up some hot breakfast.”
“Okay, well then—” She caught herself. It wasn’t wise to offer her gratitude to a fae. Especially an Archfae like Tiernan. “I appreciate the clean sheets. And the bath.”
“Do you require anything else?”
“Ah, no.”
He nodded curtly and left her bedroom exactly how he’d entered—seething with anger. Maeve stared after him once he’d closed the door. What in the stars was that about? For a High King, he really needed to get his mood swings in check.
“Psycho fae,” she mumbled under her breath and discarded the towel on a bedpost. She pilfered through the wardrobe, looking for anything besides another excessive gown. Seriously, how was she supposed to breathe in these? Beautiful flowing dresses made of chiffon and other sheer materials were the last thing she wanted to wear when war was on the horizon. Perhaps she should’ve asked Tiernan for some clothing other than pretty gowns with pockets.
She was going to settle for a white chiffon dress with a lavender satin bow at the back, but a dull ache took form at the base of her neck and gradually reached her temples. Her shoulders were heavy, the right one worse than the left, and her eyelids began to throb. Exhaustion settled into her bones, and even though she was physically clean and looked well enough, she was not yet to her full strength. Weakness from poison was often intense, and sometimes it could take days to recover fully.
Maeve rummaged through a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe and pulled out another nightshirt. She tugged it on over her head, then crawled back into bed, just as Deirdre opened the door.
