“Apologies,” she mumbled, shivering into herself.
“Watch where you’re going,” a lush, feminine voice cut through the air. “Perhaps if you looked up instead of down, you wouldn’t run into anyone.”
At the cruel tone, Maeve lifted her gaze and snapped her jaw shut to keep from gawking. Standing before her was the most excruciatingly beautiful female fae she’d ever seen.
Hair the color of crushed amethyst fell to her waist, and it was parted to one side, pinned in place with a comb in the shape of the triple moon. Thick and full lashes outlined eyes that glittered like black diamonds. Her lips were painted a deep burgundy, and she wore a gown of midnight sapphire velvet that showed off every inch of her curves. She was positively decadent.
Until she scowled. “Do you have a problem?”
“What? No, sorry.” Maeve shook her head and backed up a step, suddenly feeling painfully inadequate standing in this female’s presence. “You’re just like, really pretty.”
“Obviously.” She flipped her long tresses over one shoulder and switched the white paper bags she was carrying from one hand to the other.
Maeve glanced down, noticing the bags were stuffed with sparkling black tissue, discreetly hiding the contents.
Without warning, the scent of wintry nights and bitter florals surrounded her. Her breath caught in her lungs as Aed, the god of death, stepped out of the storefront behind the female. He was as intimidating as ever, and his silver eyes glowed in surprise at the sight of her. She stole a quick look at the sign hanging over the stone entryway and a distinctive heat bled into her cheeks.
It was a lingerie shop.
“Ah, Laurel.” Aed encircled his arm around the female’s waist, and she shifted into his hold. “I see you’ve met the Dawnbringer.”
Laurel’s shimmering gaze raked over Maeve, taking in her leggings, thin blouse, and ruby corset. “Thisis the Dawnbringer?”
Aed smiled broadly. “The very one.”
She huffed. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The insult stung worse than the wind smacking at her cheeks.
Maeve straightened, rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. “Some of us have more important things to do than waste our time shopping.”
Laurel snickered. “And some of usdomore important things.” She rubbed herself against the god of death and his grip on her tightened.
Maeve refused to balk at the threat of embarrassment.
So, Laurel was Aed’s preference for “darker pleasures.” How fitting.
Aed chuckled, and the sound of it was mesmerizing. Like a ballad lost to time.
A breeze ruffled her hair, and she clenched her jaw against the urge to shudder.
The god of death frowned. “Where’s your cloak?”
“I left it in the library.”
“In a hurry to escape someone’s company?” Aed suggested, his mouth curving into a knowing smile.
Maeve shifted beneath the intensity of his gaze. “You could say that.”
Aed laughed again and the deep, musical quality caught the attention of more than one passerby. He removed his own cloak—thick black velvet stitched with silver whorls—and draped it around Maeve’s shoulders. He tied it loosely at the base of her neck and Maeve found it difficult to breathe.
Laurel glowered.
“Join us at the theater tonight, Your Grace.” Aed stepped back, pulling Laurel into his side once more.
Maeve opened her mouth to respond, but Laurel was quicker.
“She’s aqueen, as well?” Laurel inspected her more closely, angling her head. She reached out, flicking one of the rubies on Maeve’s corset with a sharp, pointy nail. “And what, exactly, are you queen of?”
