Page 84 of Throne of Dreams
Deirdre flicked her gaze to the glass doors, where night had already fallen upon Niahvess and the stars danced in the sky. She made a clucking type of noise. “You’re going to be late, dear heart.”
Maeve smiled while applying a light gloss to her lips. “That’s the plan.”
Deirdre snickered. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my High King. But I must admit, every now and then it is rather fun to watch him be bested. Especially by you.”
She opened the bedroom door, allowing Maeve to pass through first, and there was Lir, waiting for her. He was painfully handsome in his uniform of cobalt and gold, with rows of medals glinting upon his chest, proudly displaying all his achievements. Even though it was a masquerade, he wore no mask, and it was then she noticed the way his armor had been fashioned to resemble more formal attire. He was prepared for an attack, for battle, as always.
“Your Highness.”
“Commander.” She took his arm and even though she’d planned for this, even though she knew her intent was to hurt Tiernan as much as he hurt her, a stab of nervous energy pierced her.
“I should warn you.” Lir leaned down conspiratorially as he escorted her through the courtyard. “Garvan is here.”
Her steps stuttered.
“I will not leave your side.”
“I appreciate that.” Maeve looked up at him. “I should warn you I have every intention of making the High King realize he made a grave mistake by insulting me.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Lir shared one of his rare smiles with her.
The doors to the open-air ballroom stood before them. Maeve’s heart raced with the speed of a thousand wild horses. Her blood rushed, her magic sang, and anticipation wound its way through her. She released a ragged breath, then held her chin high.
She was Archfae. A High Princess born to the Autumn Court. She submitted to no one.
Beneath her hand, Lir’s forearm tensed. He peered down at her. “Are you ready?”
Maeve nodded. She would always be ready.
“Very well.”
Lir shoved the doors open with enough force to rattle them on their hinges. The resounding boom silenced every voice, the music halted, and all eyes in the ballroom latched onto her. Gasps and murmurs echoed in her ears and filled the night sky. Everyone stared at her. Some with admiration. Some with desire. And even some with envy. She was the epitome of Autumn, a queen in her own right, though she ruled over no Court.
And they all knew it.
Off to her right, Merrick loosed a low, approving whistle.
Her lip curved into a seductive smile, and she scanned the room, intentionally avoiding the dais where she knew Tiernan stood, watching her. She could feel his eyes upon her, the way his cool, stormy gaze lingered on the exposed flesh of her tattoos and then some.
Good,let him watch.
Mingling with the crowd, she spied Shay, his grin an exact match to her own. He dripped with excess but wore it well. His burnished gold hair was smoothed back and swept over the left side of his chiseled face. He lifted his hand in a small wave and Maeve smiled in return. But it fell the moment she saw who was standing next to him.
Garvan.
He was only a few inches taller than Shay. His auburn hair tumbled to his shoulders and his eyes—a deeper, emerald green—were cold and empty. His face remained impassive, and he ran a hand over his smooth jaw, as though he still couldn’t quite believe she existed. As much as she despised it, the same familiar bond she experienced with Aran and Shay pulled on her heartstrings. She wanted to refuse it. To deny any kind of relation to him. The corners of his mouth turned up, cruel and intentional, and she knew he experienced the same awareness binding them as family.
She dipped her chin, glowering at him, challenging him.
With an air of flippant indifference, Maeve rolled her eyes to the open sky as she looked away from him and sought the perfect victim.
She found him standing by one of the gurgling fountains. From the looks of it, he was a Winter fae. Decked in silver and white, his uniform shimmered like freshly fallen snow. The mask he wore was made of gray fur and followed the shape of his pointed ears, so he resembled a snow wolf. He was decidedly handsome, with winning dimples and eyes that reminded her of barren, misty mountains. A few other Winter fae soldiers stood nearby, but this particular male…he held a glass of sparkling wine in his hand, swirling it absently, and was damn near drooling at the sight of her.
Yes. He would do perfectly.
Maeve sauntered over to him, and the throng of bodies parted for her, giving her a clear and direct path. As she approached, the Winter male’s brows lifted in surprise and he pressed his lips together, drinking her in. His lascivious gaze dipped to her breasts, then further still, before slowly returning to her face. She stopped right next to him and stood closer than necessary, ensuring her shoulder grazed his uniform. He smelled of frosted pine and juniper berries and for a moment her heart ached for the harsh winters of Kells, when snowflakes fell from the sky like lace and the wind howled through the frozen trees.
She shut the memory away and focused on the task at hand. Her gaze flitted to the glass of sparkling wine in his hand. “I don’t suppose you have another one, do you?”
