Page 97 of Throne of Dreams
Like the numbers of Parisa’s Dark Army.
He raised his sword to Garvan’s throat, to where his veins throbbed, to where the killing blow would take very little effort at all. “Count your blessings that I don’t destroy you right now. That I don’t rip your limbs from your body and feed your intestines to the creatures of the sea, and then skin you alive…just as you’ve done to the merrows.”
Garvan’s face leached of color, but hardened determination lined the sharp angles of his face. “I don’t know why you care so much,” he spat. “She doesn’t love you.”
Tiernan faltered. It was brief, hardly noticeable, but Garvan pounced.
“She told me so, right before you came flying in to rescue her.” He grinned, bloody and bruised. “You will never earn her love. You tricked her into a mating dance, marked her against her will. She deserves better. She deserves someone worthy of her. Someone willing todiefor her…someone like Rowan.”
All he saw was red. An unruly swath of rage and wrath. He was on the High Prince so fast he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. His hand wrapped around Garvan’s throat and squeezed until his eyes bulged and his face turned as purple as his vest. Unable to defend himself against Tiernan’s magic, he laughed, but it was garbled and choking.
“Go ahead and kill me, High King,” he sputtered. “Put me out of my lifetime of misery.”
Tiernan’s wings beat against the storm, and the wind howled around them. Garvan’s words raked under his skin, chilled him to the bone, and he swallowed hard.
“Stay the fuck away from her.”
Garvan’s hoarse whisper scraped from his throat. “She’ll never stop. She’ll never quit until she has Maeve in her clutches.”
Tiernan released his hold on Garvan’s body, tossing him down, and he stuttered in the sky, falling. His wings twitched and thrashed as he clawed his way back up into the air.
“Leave. Now.” Tiernan aimed his blade at the High Prince’s heart. “Before I carve you from the tip of your dick to your tongue.”
Garvan’s lip curled in disgust, but without another word, hefadedfrom sight.
The storm ebbed but Tiernan remained sky-bound. Chest heaving, he hovered in the cover of his clouds, aching for something he couldn’t name. It was as though his heart had been ripped out by the claws of death, and there was nothing but a gaping hole, a sucking chest wound. He stole a glance down at the ground, to the courtyard. The remnants of the storm shielded him from view as he sought out a fae with hot pink hair.
There.
There was Merrick, striding down a corridor with Maeve in his arms. Brynn was tending to the female fae Garvan had attacked. Ceridwen and Lir were busy intercepting the guests who’d thought it smart to leave the ballroom. As if they heard him speak their names, they both looked up at once.
“Party’s over.”
Lir nodded sharply and took charge, ushering guests out of the courtyard while Ceridwen politely smiled and bade everyone a good night.
Tiernan could’ve returned to help assist, but instead he soared to the rooftops. There was a harrowing pain splitting through him and it had nothing to do with the gash along his cheek, or his split lip that was still bleeding, or the cut searing across his forehead. No. This was not that kind of pain.
It was agony.
Pure, raw agony.
Because Garvan was right.
Maeve did not love him.
He’d heard her scream the words, and the second before he plowed into Garvan, his heart—the one he thought he’d carved out long ago—had broken.
* * *
“Are you alright, High Princess?”
Maeve glanced to her right and saw Lir; he stood in the doorway of the balcony where they usually dined, his silver eyes as sharp as ever, roving over her and looking for any other physical wounds or injuries. She sat in a chair, still wearing her painfully revealing gown, with a blanket draped around her. Brynn had healed her with some sort of crystal device after she finished treating the female fae Garvan had used as a plaything. She used a tool Maeve had never seen before to draw out the “dark magic venom,” as Brynn had so thoughtfully dubbed it. Though it had taken some time and was more than a little uncomfortable, feeling was finally returning to her fingers and toes. In the meantime, Brynn studied the magic used on the seemingly harmless blade to figure out how it had rendered her motionless.
“I’ll be okay, Lir.” She sent him a confident smile, something that was easier to do since Merrick returned her Aurastone to her. “I appreciate you asking.”
Ceridwen stepped out from around behind him with a mug in her hands. “I brought you some coffee. With two lumps of sugar.”
“You’re a goddess.” Maeve gratefully accepted the steaming cup of dark deliciousness. “How’s the female?”
