Crown of Roses, page 24
His twilight gaze devoured her, lingering on the slit at her thighs and the expanse of her rather indecently exposed breasts. “I can think of plenty I’d do to you with chains involved.”
Maeve paled.
Hells, he was vicious.
“So,” he drawled and lumbered toward her, as though he had all the time in the world. “Rowan left you defenseless in a throng of trooping fae. How thoughtful of him.”
She jutted her chin up in defiance. “I am never defenseless.”
His low laugh drowned out the thrum of music. He stepped closer, crowding her, overwhelming her. But she refused to cower and step back. “It’s dangerous here.”
“Your palace isn’t much safer.”
Storms clouded his face. “Then I suggest you dance with me.”
Maeve drew back and crossed her arms. “Why would I do something like that?”
“To avoid being snatched by the fae over there who is watching you like…” Tiernan cracked his knuckles. “Like he wants to eat you whole.”
She glanced over to the fae in question, and a shudder snaked down her spine. For once, Tiernan was not taunting her. Sure enough, a solitary male fae sat upon a hollowed-out log. Curved horns protruded above his pointed ears, and his body was rippled with corded veins of black. His elbows rested upon his knees, his fingers were steepled, and his fierce, otherworldly gaze was focused on her every move.
A tremor of trepidation had her stepping closer to Tiernan.
“Fine.” She gave him her hand. “But I’m not a very good dancer.”
“Don’t worry,” he purred, and his whisper caressed her cheek. “I’ll make you look like you’re the only one who knows what you’re doing.”
Cocky prick.
Tiernan chuckled. “You have no idea.”
Maeve snapped her head up and glared at him. “Get out of my head.”
Another smile. “But it’s so amusing.”
Before she could respond, he whisked her away toward a bonfire. Sparks crackled and threads of smoke curled up into the air. The low beating of drums sounded, a rhythmic melody that sent her blood racing. She watched the other females around her, the ones who seemed to understand the dance was sensual in nature, and it was then she foolishly realized she wasn’t dancing with Tiernan.
She was dancing for him.
The tempo began and Maeve stumbled once, unsure of the movements. Then her hips began to sway of their own accord. Startled, she looked up at Tiernan. He stared back, his hands tucked behind his back, his mask of gold giving nothing away. There was no smirk. No smile. But she could feel him. His magic overtook her, overwhelmed her, and suddenly she was dancing. She moved around the fire, following the other female fae, mimicking their motions with perfect accuracy. Her mind tried to fight, to battle against the strength of his power, but she was lost to him. At that moment, he owned her. And it was terrifying. She twirled, alight with the rush of heat coursing through her. Her arms reached over her head, her fingers played the air like a musical instrument. Each step was light and graceful. Every spin was like being wrapped in ribbons of silk. Decadent and sultry. The drumming pounded, and when Maeve whipped around, she was in front of Tiernan again. Her heart thundered and mortification burned her cheeks while she dragged her hands over her thighs, hips, and breasts before him.
He said nothing. But his hand captured her waist and he guided her closer, so she was flush against him. She drew in a ragged breath, and tiny beads of sweat slid down her back. His magic carried her up on her toes, and she stepped back. Once. Twice. And when her body whirled away, shame dug its claws along her back when she was forced to rub herself upon him like a cat in heat. It was brief, but she felt him then. The hard press of his erection nudged against her backside. Anger clogged her throat. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She could only dance around the fiery flames once more. Except now the air was pungent and the curls of smoke caused her eyes to water.
Or maybe it was tears.
Maeve swallowed, choked on a sob. But she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t be weak. She couldn’t be vulnerable. She was a princess. A warrior. And she had to act like one. Her life depended on it.
The drumming slowed and Maeve sauntered over to Tiernan for what she hoped would be the final time. He held one hand to her lower back, while the other slid to cup the back of her knee. Gradually, he lifted her leg to his hip. She held her breath when his palm moved along her thigh for a better grip, and her body unwillingly arched back, granting him full access to her. Her muscles were aching, shivers overtook her, and she hastily stole a glance at the couple to her left.
They were basically mating. The female’s legs were wrapped around her male’s waist, and he was thrusting without a care, taking her in the firelight for all to see. Inwardly, she cringed. This is not what she wanted. She didn’t want Tiernan. He was awful. Cruel. Punishing.
Maeve squeezed her eyes shut. The warmth of Tiernan’s breath lingered on her breasts, on her neck. Her blood curse surged, and her wrists pulsed against the binding of her cuffs. His presence coasted along her skin like the kiss of a summer storm. Cool and pressing. Foreboding and dangerous. Then he planted the lightest of kisses just below her ear, and the drumming stopped. His magic released her on a rush, causing her head to spin. Her knees gave out, softening beneath the weight of her entranced body, and she crumpled against him. She clung to him, not trusting herself to stand on her own.
Tiernan kept his grip around her waist firm and steady. He glanced down at her, studied her, and his eyes sparkled like endless pools of blue and purple. The golden flecks within them glowed like stars in the night sky. He reached up, and gently brushed away a single tear from her cheek.
Proof of her own betrayal.
He cupped her elbow and steered her away from the bonfire blazing around them.
“What was that?” Maeve hissed, even though her chest ached.
He didn’t even look at her. “A mating dance.”
She staggered back. “A what?”
Tiernan adjusted the red fur cape at his neck so it fell around his bare shoulders. Away from the fires, the air held a distinctive chill, and Maeve burrowed into the fur cape Rowan had glamoured for her. “Don’t worry. Like I said, I don’t enjoy fucking mortals. They’re too…easy.”
Maeve snorted. “Your erection said otherwise.”
His brows shot up and the look of surprise, perhaps even intrigue, vanished a moment later. “Either way, my scent is on you now. So no other males will bother you.”
Maeve didn’t know if she was supposed to be grateful or disgusted. It seemed like a terribly primitive and barbaric way to establish…a relationship.
“Not a relationship,” Tiernan corrected.
“Would you get out of my—“ The words died on her lips as the full reality of what just transpired slammed into her. It stole her breath, left her body cold with dread. She took another, deliberate step away from him. “You…you were controlling my body.”
It wasn’t a question. And they both knew it.
Tiernan dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I was.”
“How?”
He spread his muscled arms wide and Maeve struggled not to stare at the sight of him. Then he winked. “Magic.”
“You can control others.” Her tone was accusatory, but she couldn’t help it. “It’s not just the mind reading.”
“I can’t read your mind,” he interrupted smoothly. “It’s more like I can hear your thoughts, and interject my own when I feel like it.”
She threw her hands up. “That is beside the point. You can make other people do what you want by controlling them.”
“I can.”
He grabbed two brown wooden cups off a passing fae with a tray in her hands and handed one to Maeve. She hesitated.
His eyes rolled to the star-filled sky. “It’s just water.”
She accepted the drink and swallowed it down. Her throat and her body were completely parched. The cool rush of water soothed her, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the High King. She didn’t trust him.
“Sometimes, I make it so they have no idea I’ve taken control of their bodies. Usually they’re merely a pawn. A tool, if you will.” He walked toward the edge of the celebration, where the music was a low hum that resonated in her soul, and where the sounds of pleasure were no longer so blatantly obvious. A breeze siphoned through the trees, cold and brisk, and Maeve shuddered in spite of herself. “Sometimes, though, I prefer my victims know exactly who controls them. The battle between body and mind is a marvelous thing.”
That was what he’d done to her. He’d left her fully aware of everything he made her do. He’d taken complete control of her. He’d made her suffer at his hands, like the dancing strings of a marionette.
“You bastard.”
He bowed regally. “At your service.”
She launched her wooden cup at him, but he faded before the projectile even made impact. She was on her own again, like he’d never even existed. Except this time, she was on the outskirts of a savage social event, completely alone, and with no sign of Rowan anywhere.
Maeve debated on returning to the party, hoping she could find the exact spot where Rowan left her. But she knew if she wandered any closer, she would only draw attention to herself. Even if she was glamoured, it was painfully obvious she wasn’t fae. And a mortal female, all alone in the wilds of the Autumn Court, well, she’d heard stories about what happened to them.
But from the corner of her eye, she saw the palest glow along the ground. Leading away from the foray, was a sequence of dancing lights. Soft, iridescent orbs seemed to move and bounce further into the forest.
Faerie lights.
Maeve recognized them at once. And only one fae—one solitary, rare fae—had ever left a trail of faerie lights in their wake.
The will ó wisp.
Maeve wasn’t sure how long she followed the faerie lights before they vanished. But one moment they were there, and the next they were gone, leaving her alone in the autumn woods. The sounds of merriment and music were far behind her, shrouded beyond the dense expanse of trees. Ribbons of silver mist crawled along the forest floor, and though she tried to walk quietly, every footfall landed upon something startlingly loud.
The crunch of leaves.
The snap of a twig.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and drew in a shallow breath. The forest pulsed around her, alive with wild magic. Its song beckoned her, urged her deeper into the woods, but she turned away from the pull. Away from the draw of its mystique. She couldn’t risk losing herself here. There were too many unknowns. Too many dangers. More than anything, she needed to make her way back to the party. At least once she got there, she could find a place to hide and wait for Rowan to find her.
But the sounds from the celebration were muffled, and they echoed everywhere at once. The path she followed was barren. There were no markings signaling direction and no way to tell where she was going. Hoping she wasn’t venturing further into the woods, she turned back the way she came and prayed to the goddess she chose correctly.
She heard them before she sensed them. The cut of feathers through the wind, the beating of strong, majestic wings. Instinctively, her hand went to her thigh for her dagger. But she came up empty. Rowan glamoured her, but doing so had left her without a weapon.
“Hello, little wild one.” A soft, masculine voice cut through the air around her.
Maeve turned, dug her heels into the soft earth, and came face to face with two fae. Both were exceptionally tall, excruciatingly handsome, and bore an eerie resemblance to Aran, but with one major difference. These fae had wings.
Beautiful, feathered, crimson and gold wings. They were grand and majestic, and the the expanse was wider than any bird she’d ever seen. One fae had hair the color of burnt gold, and the other’s was a deep, rich mahogany. Their faces were similar—hard jawlines, high cheekbones, aristocratic noses, and shining, green eyes. Everything they wore was jewel-toned. Topaz pants. Onyx boots. Ruby shirts. Jade coats. They were well-dressed and reeked of class and elegance. They weren’t at all similar to the trooping fae she watched earlier, the ones that partook in particular activities. No, these were not the same fae she’d left dancing around a bonfire in wild abandon.
They were well bred. They were excess. They were Archfae. They had to be. Which could only mean one thing…they were Aran’s brothers.
She pretended to ignore the scimitars strapped at their waists and the way tendrils of shadows curled from the tips of their fingers.
“Look at what we have here, Shay.” The one with the mahogany hair sauntered forward. “A pretty faerie.”
“You seem to have lost your way, little wild one.” Shay, Aran’s youngest brother, chuckled. “What do you suppose a faerie like this is doing all the way out here, Garvan? Lost deep in the woods of autumn and with no one around to help her?”
Garvan. Her throat worked. He was the one blamed for Autumn’s fall. He utilized his magic in unjust ways. Rowan told her as much. And without saying so, she knew she should be afraid of him.
“I’m not lost.” Maeve lifted her chin and blamed the chattering of her teeth on the autumn chill. It shivered over her skin like a blanket of frost.
“Aren’t you though?” Garvan circled her. Stalked her.
“No.” She pressed her lips together and locked her spine into place. She wouldn’t show weakness. She wouldn’t show fear. “I’m here with someone.”
In her heart, she meant Rowan. After all, he was the one who’d brought her to the Autumn Court. But he was not a High King, and as much as Maeve hated to even associate herself with him, Tiernan was possibly her only saving throw. And she was desperate.
“Hm.” Garvan sniffed the air, then coiled his finger through one of her curls and gave it a little tug. Not harsh. But a warning. “Shay, she has Tiernan’s scent all over her.”
“And where is your High King, little wild one?” Shay eyed her with disgust, his green gaze glinting in the night. A snarl curled along his upper lip. “It’s not like him to be so careless with one of his conquests.”
The insult burned through Maeve’s core. “I am not a conquest.”
She would rather die.
“No?” Garvan crooned. “What are you then? A puppet?”
Maeve snapped her mouth shut, remembering the way Tiernan wielded his magic against her, how he’d taken complete control of her body while leaving her mind untouched.
“A plaything, then?” Shay suggested.
Garvan stretched his wings and they flickered like flames doused with starlight. He rolled his shoulders back and Maeve winced. “What sort of games do you like to play?”
Maeve took a cautious step back and unsuccessfully tried to disguise it as a shifting of her weight. “I don’t play games.”
Shay sighed, a hint of boredom to his tone. “They never do.”
Garvan’s dark green gaze coasted over her. Studied her. A line formed across his brow. “She’s not a sirra either, otherwise she would bear his mark.”
Sirra? She recognized it as an Old Laic term, but didn’t have the time to decipher the meaning. Perhaps once she was back in Niahvess, she would go to the library and look it up. Assuming she ever returned to Summer. Assuming she survived the night.
Garvan’s wings flexed once more, and Maeve’s gaze betrayed her. They were rapturous. Glorious. And she imagined they’d be as soft as velvet.
“They are pretty magnificent, aren’t they?” Garvan smiled at her, but it was off. Crooked, almost. Like it wasn’t a natural thing for him to do. A sinking sensation poisoned the pit of her stomach. “Can you fly, pretty faerie?”
She didn’t dare open her mouth. Garvan’s vicious grin stretched across his face. “Let’s find out.”
Even if she tried to run, she wouldn’t have been able to escape. He was too strong, too fast. She was too weak, too panicked. She stumbled back, tripping over her own feet, when Garvan shot forward. His rough arm captured her waist, dragged her to him like a sack of grain, and he shot straight into the air. Branches clawed at her skin and ripped her cloak from her shoulders, leaves clung to her hair, and the curse sifting through her blood exploded in a frenzy.
Her scream pierced through the thread of clouds.
Shattered the full moon.
She clutched Garvan’s silk shirt and wrapped her arm around his neck. She hated herself for it, but sun and sky, the ground was so, so far away. The treetops were a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and her heart skittered. Her mind raced. Her blood roared. She squeezed her eyes shut. Anxiety crawled along her skin and her throat closed. Her breathing grew hollow. Empty. She had to focus. Had to find a way out of this mess. This would not be her end.
“I’m not a toy.” Maeve forced the words out through gritted teeth and opened her eyes.
“But you’re so fun,” Garvan countered and he soared higher into the air.
Her knees buckled. Beyond the Autumn Court, she could barely make out the twin mountain peaks of Summer in the distance. She could just see the massive, carved faerie guardian, protecting the Crown City. She imagined the heat of Niahvess, wished it encompassed her now. He dove, and swooped, and Maeve’s scream was lost on the call of the wind. Over the expanse of treetops stood another mountain range. These were further in the distance, and covered in snowy white.
Winter.
Garvan’s gilded wings coasted through the sky. They swept against the dark of night like brushstrokes, a blur of gold and red against a canvas of navy blue. All the while, he kept one arm around her waist, his hold on her looser than anything.
She had to find a way to escape.
“Put me down.” Her voice was steady, but her heart hammered like the beating of a song drum. It vibrated against the wall of her chest, causing her blood to pump and her stomach to churn.
There was a rumble in Garvan’s chest, a low, guttural sound. “If you insist.”
