“Once all this business with Parisa is settled. Once we win.” The corners of Tiernan’s mouth lifted in a smile. A promise. A vow. “Sooner if we can.”
She rose and kissed the underside of his chin, then looked over at Aran, who was watching them with brows raised. “Will you come stay with us in the Summer Court? Until then?”
Aran’s gaze shifted between her and Tiernan, and uncertainty passed over his handsome features.
“Your presence in my Court would be most welcome, High Prince.” Tiernan clasped Maeve’s hand in his own, then lifted it to his mouth, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “And I have a feeling it would make someone we both care for extremely happy.”
Aran downed the rest of his drink and his emerald green eyes, flecked with bursts of gold, focused on her. “Is that your wish?”
Maeve nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
He stood, stretching, and laughed. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”
A squeal pealed from her lips, and she launched herself at him. He caught her midair and swung her around, knocking over the empty bottles of alcohol. From somewhere behind her, she could’ve sworn she heard the Furies laugh. Aran twirled her around once more, and she glimpsed Tiernan standing there, with his hands shoved into his pockets. The beautiful smile he gave her left her heart bursting. For once, everything was right.
Aran was coming home.
Tiernan was fated to her, and even though he had never told her the words, she knew he loved her. Though worshiped her was likely a far better term.
In that moment, she relished the joy she’d longed for her entire life. She wouldn’t think of what lingered on the horizon, just out of sight. She wouldn’t dwell on the trepidation surrounding their future. Right now, on this night, she was happy.
But a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind softly reminded her of one thing.
The stars made no promises.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Tiernan sat on the deck of the Amshir, sipping his glass of whiskey, watching Maeve converse with the Furies. Whatever story she was telling them must’ve been entertaining, because all three were captivated by her. He studied her while he tried to shove away the cloud of concern harboring in his thoughts. She shouldn’t be awake, not yet. For her to expend that kind of power, to use that well of magic coursing through her to revive Kells, she should still be asleep. Any normal Archfae would need at least twelve hours to recover after such an occurrence, maybe even a full day or two. But Maeve had only slept a handful of hours. Barely four. Now her eyes were bright, and she was practically glowing while talking with the Furies.
It left him apprehensive, so an air of disquiet settled around him.
He sensed Aran approach before he saw him. The High Prince stood just within his line of sight, swirling the glass in his hand so the ice clinked and sloshed in what remained of the amber liquid. He knocked back the last of its contents, his gaze never leaving Maeve.
“She’s fated to you.”
It was a statement, not a question. Tiernan took another slow pull of his whiskey. “She is.”
Aran glanced down at the empty glass, nodding slowly.
The alcohol burned down the back of Tiernan’s throat. He wasn’t afraid of the High Prince of Autumn. In fact, he knew he could challenge him, and they’d be squarely matched. But he had been hoping to avoid this conversation.
Aran ran his thumb along his chin, mulling the information over in his mind. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that if you hurt her, if you give her cause to shed a single tear, that I will hunt you down and kill you from the inside out.”
“I assumed as much.” The corner of Tiernan’s mouth ticked up in a knowing smile. “Shay, too, has already made his sentiments on the matter quite clear.”
“Has he?” Aran turned toward him then and distress harbored in the lines of his face. “How can you be sure he means her no harm?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at her, Aran. The bond between siblings is strong, you know this as much as I do. He treasures her and wishes to spend more time with her.” Tiernan finished off his drink. “He even gifted her your mother’s wardrobe.”
A flicker of emotion flashed in Aran’s eyes. “He did?”
Tiernan nodded, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles over one another. “Shay would lay down his life if it meant saving hers. Of that I have no doubt.”
“Well, then.” Aran clamped his shoulder with one hand. “That makes three of us.”
Maeve looked over at them then, and the look on her face was enough to make Tiernan’s heart stop in his chest. Ribbons of silver moonlight cascaded around her, washing her in an ethereal glow worthy of a goddess. Her smile was so pure, her eyes so bright with delight, that if he hadn’t done so already, he would’ve fallen in love with her all over again.
Aran spoke, tugging him out of his entranced state. “I’m going to turn in for the night. I already know I’ll regret my indulgence in the morning.”