Page 58 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“Danu prevails.”
What does that even mean? Is this just another of her sayings or some genuinely helpful advice?
My confusion must be written into the set of my brows because she smiles softly. “Faerie belongs to whom?”
“Danu. But magic can’t work around iron either.”
“Have faith.”
Before I can tell her how unhelpful that statement is, Lore returns, looking a little singed as he perches on the edge of the bed.
I raise one brow at his appearance. “Did you happen to run into Drystan?”
“Apparently, Daddy D was not impressed by my actions.” Lore shrugs. “He’d appreciate it if I returned you to your brother’s bedside?—”
“Florian.” I burst out of the bathwater, sloshing it everywhere. “I need clothes.”
Lore’s eyes are fixed on my breasts again as he shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Lorcan.” I use his full name and inject as much steel into my tone as I’m capable of when he’s still looking at me likethat. “I need some clothes, and then we need to go back.”
Snatching a towel from the bed, I wrap it around myself to the sound of his groan. Goddess, he’s pouting like I’ve taken his favourite toy.
“If you insist, pet, but they’re not going anywhere. There’s a lot of posturing to be done now that the minor royals are all within two leagues of one another.”
I’d give anything to avoid getting in the middle of that, and I try to calculate my chances of avoiding Cressida, Aiyana, and Ashton, only to dismiss the idea.
They won’t leave without some kind of acknowledgement. Not a thank you—because expressing gratitude to any of them is a terrible idea—but something to soothe their egos at being summoned.
Lore ends up handing me a short, beaded dress with straps that crisscross over my shoulders and down past my wings, revealing all of my marks, including the one on my inner thigh, whenever I move. It feels like another claiming, but I know it’s also a show of strength.
There is nothing in this realm as powerful as a Nicnevin bonded properly to her Guard. The minor royals could do with being reminded of that at every opportunity.
But first, Florian.
When we arrive in the communal area between my Guards’ rooms, he’s half-conscious and battling Jaro’s, Prae’s, and Gryffin’s attempts to force him to sit in the plush chair by the bar. His eyes are concealed behind a crooked bandage, and it’s clear he can’t yet see.
“I’m fine!”
He’s not. His wounds are slathered in green paste, and his veins are still grey beneath his skin as he sluggishly fights against Gryffin and Jaro. His wings strain, adding extra impetus to his blind struggles.
Lore disappears with a kiss to my nape, and I don’t see Drystan either, so I assume he’s downstairs somewhere putting out fires with Kitarni.
“Stay back, Rosie,” Jaro warns, as Florian tries to throw a punch at his jaw that almost connects.
I have no problem staying out of reach, but I’m not about to let him earn any more bruises.
“Maeve?” I ask, shoving power at my grandmother.
She appears, cracking her knuckles. “Thought you’d never ask, kid. Step aside, boys.”
Gryffin and Jaro move, and the bronze-haired Nicnevin has no trouble grabbing both of Florian’s hands and restraining him.
Titania’s already beside me as we approach my struggling brother. Her hand is cold in mine, but Florian’s skin is colder still and slick with sweat as I grab his shoulder and allow her to get to work. As with all iron poisoning, it takes its toll, but I breathe through it, providing as much of Danu’s magic as she needs until my brother slumps, and she nods at me.
“He needs rest.”
Florian lurches forward, ripping free the bandage over his eyes with one hand. As he struggles to his feet unimpeded, I realise I’ve accidentally let go of Maeve.
