Maeve stood, shoving down the pangs of guilt into the darkest part of her heart. There would be time to reflect on self-reproach and all she could have done differently later. She forced herself to smile. “You’re on.”
Chapter Six
Everyone was on the stretch of beach where the turquoise waves of the Lismore Marin crested and crashed, leaving behind a trail of bubbly foam. The sun heated Tiernan’s skin, and beads of sweat to slid down his back. It had been some time since they’d conducted a training session on the sandy shoreline, even longer since they had all done so together.
“Alright, listen up.” Lir stood in the center, one curved sword in his grip. “Just so everyone knows the rules. Blades only. No magic. No wings.” He shot a pointed look at Tiernan, Maeve, and Ceridwen. “And try not to injure one another too severely.”
Lir stalked over to Saoirse, kicking up sand in his wake. “I challenge Saoirse, everyone else, pair off.”
Merrick moved in front of Maeve, grinning. He tipped his blade toward her, his eyes dancing. “You’re mine, Dawnbringer.”
She smirked, glamouring a sword and twirling it with one hand. “Bring it on, little hunter.”
Brynn trotted over to Ceridwen, her burgundy curls bouncing. She flourished one of her many daggers, then bowed excessively. “My lady, would you do me the honor?”
Ceridwen pulled one of her own. The sunlight glinted off the rubies lining its hilt like drops of blood. She placed a slender hand over her heart. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Tiernan stepped back, thinking he’d wait until one of them conceded, but then a shadow emerged, and Rowan stepped into the haze of Summer.
He inclined his head. “Looks like it’s you and me, High King.”
Shit.
From the corner of Tiernan’s eye, he caught Maeve watching them. It might take some self-control, but he could temper his jealousy for Maeve’s benefit, and act as though he didn’t care if the male standing across from him was in love with her. He would be the epitome of an esteemed warrior for his mate. He would play by the rules, he would fight fairly. And no matter what, he wouldn’t give into the urge to cut off Rowan’s hands for ever touching Maeve.
His shirt clung to him, sticking to his back, hindering his movements. Annoyed, he yanked it off and tossed it to the ground. Lir and Merrick followed suit, and Rowan removed his as well, though his chest was battered with vicious scars.
Tiernan hadn’t realized how severely he’d been tortured in Kells while chained in Carman’s dungeon.
“Oh, what the fuck.” Saoirse crossed her arms, glaring at them. But her face betrayed her as she scraped her teeth along her bottom lip. “How come all the boys get to take off their shirts and we don’t?”
“Trust me.” Merrick laughed, lifting one brow in provocation. “No one will stop you if you want to join us.”
“What say you, Lir?” Saoirse spun to face the commander, her silver braid whipping, the plumeria tucked behind her ear fluttering in the breeze. “Do you think you’ll still be able to best me if I take off my shirt?”
“Sun and sky.” He pressed his thumb and middle finger to his temples, squeezing. A dark rose colored his cheeks. “On your mark!”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Saoirse taunted, readying her weapon.
Lir rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky. “Begin!”
Chaos erupted along the beach as the violent clang of metal shattered the air.
Rowan was on Tiernan in record time, his movements swift and agile. Their blades clashed, the sound near deafening, as Rowan swung hard and Tiernan blocked the first strike. He spun away, moving through the sand with ease, and Rowan stepped into the next attack.
“Tell me, Your Highness.” Rowan’s voice was low, barely loud enough to hear over the call of the sea. He lunged, the brunt of his assault causing Tiernan to grit his teeth. “How long have you wanted to run a blade through my heart?”
Tiernan planted his boot in the sand and shoved him backward. “Longer than I care to admit.”
“Good.” Rowan kept his sword raised, walking in a slow circle around him. “Because the feeling is mutual.”
Again, the Nightweaver came at him in a series of rapid assaults. Tiernan met each one of them. Dodging. Parrying. Refusing to give in to Rowan’s taunts.
The Nightweaver shoved his hair back from his face, glaring, his pale purple eyes firing with the heat of suppressed loathing. “I could have made her mine, you know.”
“Yet you did not.” Tiernan blew out a steadying breath. He would not cave to Rowan’s goading, though the sting of envy burned in his gut. His attempt to dampen it was fleeting. He was well aware of every moment Rowan had shared with Maeve.
“I know more about her than you ever will. I was there when Carman threw her into that damned cage, when she drugged her with tea to encourage memory loss so the fear was always fresh.”Rowan launched himself at Tiernan, his attacks growing more volatile. Tiernan ducked, just missing a blow, as Rowan’s sword sailed through the air above his head. “I know the innermost workings of her mind. I know when she lies, when she masks the threat of tears.”
