“It is, but I know someone willing to do it.” Tiernan nodded toward the door of the library. “Then it’s settled. When the moon is high, we’ll go pay a visit to the Autumn Court.”
Rowan bowed, then straightened. “Oh, and one more thing?”
Tiernan turned back to face him. “What?”
Rowan smirked. “Delve into my mind again, High King, and I’ll make sure the next image you see is my head between the thighs of your future wife.”
Chapter Eighteen
The dungeon was cold.
Maeve kept her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill, but the damp air only seemed to worsen the situation. She clamped her jaw shut so her teeth wouldn’t chatter, and she hated the rough scrape of dried skin every time she rubbed her lips together. All she had was her own body heat, which simply wasn’t enough. Her fingers were like ice and she could no longer feel her toes. Minor inconveniences really, in the grand scheme of things.
Considering she was locked in a cell with a cuff of iron wrapped around her neck.
Leaning back, Maeve rested her head against the hard stone wall. She’d already lost track of time. In the belly of the dungeon where the light could not reach, time no longer mattered.
Save for the constant dripping sound of what she hoped was water, there was no other noise in the dungeon. No wails of despair or groans of agony. There were no other prisoners, and she hadn’t seen a single guard stroll by on patrol. Which Maeve found oddly curious, as Parisa seemed like the type who enjoyed torturing those who disobeyed her. Surely she had an abundance of captives hidden away somewhere. Not all of themhad been able to flee into the safe haven of Niahvess. There had to be thousands, if not more, who had been left behind to suffer Parisa’s reign.
Yet Maeve continued to sit in the depths of the Spring Court…alone.
Perhaps Parisa intended to subject her to isolation. If that was the case, she was making a terrible mistake. Maeve’s mind was quite possibly one of her greatest weapons.
Her gaze slid to the corner of the cell where there was a chunk of stale bread tossed onto a tin plate and a glass of water. If it could even be called that, as this particular substance was almost gray and had bits of dirt floating in it.
Maeve’s lip curled in disgust.
In the endless silence, Maeve let her eyes drift close. Her thoughts wandered to Tiernan, and her soul ached. She didn’t know how long until she would see him again, and she refused to think the worst, not allowing herself to venture down that dark and dangerous road. Instead, she focused on the warmth of his embrace, the tickle of his whispers against her cheek, the feel of his mouth taking hers. She could picture him clearly, the way he captivated her, leaving her damn near breathless just by looking at her.
Just as quickly, she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way his features hardened when she lashed out at him. He hid it well in front of everyone, but she knew him better. Her words wounded him, and when she walked away from him, he let her go.
How wrong she’d been in thinking she didn’t need him.
She hadn’t meant it, not really, but there was no taking it back. Now the last memory she had of them together was one of anger and heartache.
Maeve poured every piece of her soul into the witch thread connecting her to Tiernan. Love. Admiration. Trust. Respect.Her wrist warmed slightly, but if he sensed her at all, she received no response.
“Eternally,” she whispered into the darkness.
The harsh sound of heels striking stone reverberated through the dungeon, and Maeve’s eyes flew open.
She would be ready for whatever happened next, she would not give in to Parisa. The cost didn’t matter. She would endure the pain, suffer through the torture, but she would never allow Parisa to use her against her will.
Parisa appeared in front of Maeve’s cell a few moments later, still cloaked in her thick robes of black velvet to disguise her skeletal frame. Two hulking fae guards were positioned on either side of her, their movements disjointed, their eyes glazed. One of them stepped forward, unlocked Maeve’s cell, then jerked back out of the way.
“Now that you’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future, I was hoping we could have a little chat.”
Parisa swept into the cell, and Maeve stood, the chain of iron fastening her in place. But she refused to cower.
Maeve lifted her chin. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Really? Nothing?” Parisa cocked her head, her spindly crown slipping, compressing the extra flesh on her forehead. “You don’t want to know how I found you? How I got you here?”
She gestured around the dungeon, as though Maeve’s surroundings were an opulent bedroom instead of a small enclosure made of stone and metal.
“Fine,” Maeve bit out. She had a feeling Parisa would tell her either way, if anything, for the opportunity to gloat. “How?”
“It was calculated yet simple, really. A stroke of luck, if you will.” Parisa’s thin lips stretched across her face into a heinous smile. “You’re familiar with the Puca. If I recall, you and Fearghal had a rather intimate relationship.”
