Page 18 of Throne of Dreams
“Saoirse said she couldn’t leave Kells.” Merrick ran a hand through his hair. “Not until the Scathing was no longer a threat.”
Of course. Kells was still her home. She would stop at nothing to protect it, just as Maeve had done once before. Before everything she thought she knew ended up being a lie. Before everyone she cared for was taken from her.
“I have to go to her. She can’t stay there. Not on her own.” Maeve shook her head, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Especially since the Scathing is no longer just a chasm. If it’s a portal, if something comes through it and attacks again, Kells will fall. I can’t risk anything happening to her.”
“She said you might say that.” Merrick nudged their shoulders together. “And she warned me that if I let you get within a breath of Kells, she’d cut off my balls and feed them to the dark fae.”
Brynn snorted with laughter, and even Lir cracked a half of a smile.
Merrick threw up both hands. “She was being serious.”
Maeve’s heart softened. “I know.”
“Come on.” Brynn draped one arm around Maeve’s shoulders and the other around Merrick’s. “Tell us about your journey over a drink.”
* * *
Irritation ravagedTiernan from the inside. It was infuriating the way Maeve had so easily tossed his own words back at him, the way she attached herself to Lir’s arm, the way the tempting scent of her arousal lingered with every breath.
More than anything, he directed the rage at himself, for his treatment of her. He hated himself for it. Every time he disparaged her, every time he debased her, every time he was crude, ruthless, and vile…it was like taking a blade to his heart.
Hundreds of moons ago, in the depths of his despair, the greed for vengeance overtook him. He wanted to wreck those who had hurt him, destroy those who had ruined him and his family. He wanted their blood on his hands. He couldn’t shake his mother’s sobs from echoing in his mind. Nor could he forget the way the charmed rope had burned and sawed into his father’s flesh as he tried desperately, endlessly, to reach Tiernan. To save him from being tortured.
He remembered it clearly.
Vividly.
They’d been called to the Autumn Court by Aran during the Evernight War to open negotiations for an alliance. But the Four Courts were more dangerous than ever, with the promise of treason and deception lurking in every backhanded compliment and passive-aggressive exchange. Dark fae had slithered their way into the once-trusted ranks of each Court, whispering their dealings and pledges of power to each king and queen. Some had been foolish enough to fall for such deceit. Others, like his parents, were not so easily manipulated. Tiernan refused to be sent away, but Ceridwen was another story. Theyfadedher to another realm completely, where she remained until the end of the war.
After agreeing to meet on the outskirts of the Black Lake, close enough to Summer to escape if necessary, and far enough away from the heart of Autumn, Tiernan and his parents awaited the arrival of Aran. But the fae who ruled the reaping never showed up. Instead, Tiernan and his parents found trooping fae waiting for them.
They were Puca—shapeshifting fae who were neither inherently good nor evil, but who could be swayed to one side or the other if the deal was sweet enough. At first, Tiernan thought they were nothing more than a pack of wild foxes darting around the lake, until they shifted to their true forms, revealing themselves as grotesque beasts who looked as though they’d walked right out of a nightmare. They were towering monsters with curved horns sticking out on top of their heads. Covered in mangy black fur, they possessed both fangs and talons as sharp as any blade. When they attacked, they wielded both daggers and crossbows.
He was bound, gagged, and blindfolded—then forced to listen as the trooping fae tormented his mother and father. The Puca tied them to the trunks of trees with charmed rope that tightened with every struggle and burned the flesh with every twist. They carved Tiernan up with blades of nightshade, just as Fearghal had done to Maeve, while his parents were forced to watch. The agonizing burn of the serrated edges digging into his skin was ingrained in his memory. He vowed then to never forget their faces. When they finished with him, leaving him to bleed out and die, they dragged his parents away to be murdered. But by that time, his mother was already dead.
She died of a broken heart. For him.
He knew the moment her heart had shattered. He could recall the exact second her soul cried out in despair for him. When his father followed his mother into death, it nearly broke him. That sensation, that utter torment of loss, was followed quickly by an eruption of magic. It filled him all the way to his soul, breathed new life into him. The power of a High King, passed down to him through his father’s death, was the only thing that saved his life.
Alone by the lake, Tiernan gave in to the temptation of the dark. Wrath boiled beneath the surface of his skin, and he swore to the gods—any god that would listen—he would have his vengeance, that he would destroy all who harmed those he loved if given the power to do so. It was then, as he was wallowing in his grief and his mind was clouded by malevolence, that the god of death chose to answer him.
In his weakest of moments, Tiernan made a deal with Aed. Even now, the god of death’s words whispered through his mind.
I will give you what you ask—the power of destruction. In exchange, when the time comes, I will take everything from you.
Shoving the memory of his mistake back into the darkest corner of his mind, Tiernan retreated from the beach where Lir hadfadedaway with Maeve and returned to his own quarters. He knew she wasn’t in the room next to his, but that she was somewhere in the walls of his palace. Laughing. Smiling. Bestowing the full extent of her fire, grace, and beauty upon everyone but him. She probably didn’t even want him anymore, not after what he’d said to her. Not after he so casually dismissed her.
But fuck if his cock wasn’t stillachingfor her.
He let his anger guide him into his bathroom, where he turned on the shower. Curls of steam filled the space and he inhaled, groaning when the scent of her—cinnamon woods, bonfires, and toasted vanilla—still lingered on his skin. He waited until the temperature was hot enough to melt the skin from his bones, then he ripped off his clothes and climbed in. Scalding water pelted his chest and torso, but it didn’t matter, he was already aflame for her.
On the edge of agony, he grabbed his cock and pumped it over and over, picturing her furious little face. But it wasn’t enough. He wantedherfucking him, not his own hand. He gripped himself again, harder and faster, all the while imagining Maeve’s body beneath him. Skin like velvet. Rosy nipples. Flushed cheeks. Hair that fell around her like a damn waterfall of silk. He pictured her head thrown back in ecstasy, her body squirming and arching as he filled her, until the frustration of his own damned mistakes caused the orgasm to surge through him.
He splayed both hands on the shower wall.
Chest heaving, he opened his eyes.
The relief was fleeting. It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. Not so long as Maeve occupied every corner of his godsforsaken soul.
