by Lucy Fear
Rhosyn grabbed her arm and pointed across the fire. Even in the dim light, the figure sitting at the cello was unmistakable. “Idris,” Maeve murmured without even realizing it. Their eyes met, and then he stood, moving away from the circle of the firelight. She let out a sigh, not even able to put a name to what she was feeling.
“Well, go after him,” Rhosyn said, giving her a little shove. Maybe it was the wine, but she didn’t even give it a second thought. She pushed past the group around the fire and followed his retreating form. Though he never looked back, his steps slowed to allow her to catch up.
“Idris, that was beautiful,” she said breathlessly as she reached his side. It was too dark to see his expression when he turned, but there was a smile in his voice.
“When nobody joined you, I decided I couldn't let you play alone. It was such a lovely tune, and you played it beautifully,” he said, and then he reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles as he brought it to his mouth. She felt a sort of vibratory anticipation, knowing something was going to happen but unsure what. Would he ask her to go into the forest with him? Did she want him to?
“Would you…” He cleared his throat, and she held her breath. “Would you like me to show you to your room?” Maeve felt as relieved as she was disappointed. It wasn't that she wasn't attracted to him; she could no longer deny that. But she had to tell him, to tell them all about the curse, first.
“I would like that; thank you,” she said. He turned back toward the palace, but he didn't let go of her hand. Around them were the sounds of music, laughter, and celebration. She could see the silhouettes of people dizzily weaving around a tall pole with ribbons in their hands, but most of her attention was taken up by the feeling of her hand in his. His cool fingers gripped hers steadily, and it was as reassuring as it was distracting. What did it mean? Did he have feelings for her? Was he just being nice? Maybe it was nothing; maybe she was overthinking things, seeing a simple gesture of friendship for more than it was.
The corridors were dim and silent when they entered the palace, and their footsteps echoed on the marble floors. Idris led her through the maze of corridors to her room, and then they stopped in front of a door just like all the others. “Here we are,” Idris said. “Fenella’s room is right next door, if you need anything, and Rhosyn and I are down the hall.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I would have gotten hopelessly lost if you hadn't brought me,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. He still hadn’t released her hand; he was looking at her face as if he was searching for something, and her heart was thudding so loudly in her ears she was sure he could hear it.
“Maeve… I know you’re Lord Cian’s daughter. My father recognized you right away,” Idris said, and it felt like the bottom had fallen right out of the world. Tears were streaming down her face before she even realized it.
“I’m sorry, Idris; I should have told you all a while ago, but I was afraid you would hate me, and…” She stuttered to a stop as he laid a finger over her lips.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you’re his daughter or the least of his serving girls. I only wanted you to know that you don’t have to hide anymore; you can trust me.” This only made her tears fall harder. She didn’t deserve this, his friendship or help. But he leaned closer, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “Whatever you think, you are worthy of our protection.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide at his eerily accurate predication of her protests. “But there’s more I haven’t told you; I…”
“It can wait until tomorrow,” he said gently, brushing away the hair that stuck to her tear-streaked face, and then letting his hand rest on her shoulder in a comforting way. She found herself leaning into him, almost unconsciously, and in response, he put his arms around her. He smelled clean and masculine, like rainwater, soap, and sandalwood. “You should get some rest. Everything is going to be fine,” he said, his voice quiet and low.
He was right, but she felt a strange reluctance to leave him, as if whatever was happening right now was an ephemera that would disappear the moment she looked away. She nodded, and he pulled away, though she thought he seemed as reluctant as she felt. “Goodnight, Idris,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Goodnight, Maeve,” he said. But instead of turning his back on her, he bent down quickly and pressed a kiss to her forehead before walking away. She went into the bedroom feeling dazed. Tomorrow, she would tell them everything, and then, if he wasn’t completely repulsed by her, maybe then she could examine all these strange new emotions erupting in her heart.
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Idris’s dreams, though disjointed, had been decidedly sensual, and it was difficult to know whether it was in response to the general magical atmosphere permeating Beltane or due to his belated realization of his growing feelings for Maeve. He had wanted to kiss her the night before, to do more than kiss her, and it was only his knowledge of her relative inexperience coupled by his own confusion that had kept him from doing either one. His father had been entirely correct about his romantic ventures thus far. He’d taken lovers before, a night at a time, with the understanding on both sides that there was no relationship implied, nor the expectation of one. It was just a little fun to let off steam. That had been good enough, until now. He knew that was not what he wanted with Maeve. Not only because he feared that would hurt her, though he was aware that she was younger and much more sheltered than he, but he also wanted to know her, to protect her, to make her happy, and the implication frightened him as much as it drew him.
The result of this was that he woke feeling confused, restless, and dissatisfied, and his shower did not noticeably improve his temper. He was still only half-dressed when there was a frantic knocking at his door. “What is it?”
“It’s about Maeve,” came his sister’s voice. He yanked open the door, suddenly terrified that something horrible had occurred. Had he scared her into running off?
“What happened?” he demanded, though he knew by the expression on his sister’s face that he wasn't going to like the answer.
“You’re going to want to put on a shirt,” Rhosyn said, frowning despite the panic in her eyes. “Her brother, Prince Conall, is here, demanding we send her back home. She’s obviously terrified.” He didn’t need to hear another word; he strode to his closet, looking for his most intimidating outfit.
CHAPTER FIVE
Idris let his steps echo as he entered the throne room, and for once, he didn’t find the booming voice of the seneschal announcing his name to be entirely annoying because, as he intended, every eye turned to him. Gone was the ridiculous nine-step dais of his grandfather, so he had no trouble seeing his father’s expression of surprised approval as he approached. He hadn't even needed Rhosyn’s hurried explanation to understand the problem. His parents did not, understandably, want to go to war with the Court of Bones. There was little doubt in his mind that they would win, but the loss of life would be catastrophic. However, they also did not wish to deliver Maeve into the clutches of her family if she did not want to go. Technically, her father had no standing to compel her, since she was of age, but his family would be out of line to continue extending their protection to her unless they had a compelling reason.
The answer Idris had come to, as he buckled on his sword and cloak and placed the winged silver coronet on his head, was drastic, but he was sure it would be effective. He only hoped that Maeve and his parents would forgive him the presumption.
The slender and ghostly pale male fae that stood at the foot of the dais could be none other than Prince Conall. He had the same blood red hair as his sister, but his eyes were a cold silver-white. “Who is this whelp who is so insolent as to interrupt us?” he sneered.
“I had no idea you were hard of hearing,” Aidan replied coolly. “As the seneschal said a moment ago, this is my eldest child, Prince Idris.”
Conall tensed. “I only meant that his presence has no bearing
on our present conversation. All I wish is to have my sister returned to me, a transaction on which, I am sure, he has no opinion.” Idris had disliked Conall almost immediately, but upon hearing him discuss Maeve like a parcel to be bartered for, his hatred intensified. He stepped onto the dais, and took Maeve’s hand. She glanced at him, confused and terrified, and he squeezed her trembling fingers.
“On the contrary,” he said, his voice firm as he met Conall’s eyes. “I intend to make Maeve my bride, and I'd be quite put out if you took her away against her will.” Her eyes flicked to his, more bewildered than anything, and he tried to convey without words the urgency and importance of her cooperation, even as he also attempted to look intimidating for her brother.
“Is this true?” Prince Conall demanded, and to Idris’s relief, Maeve squeezed his hand.
“It is,” she said, straightening her spine. “Prince Idris is my fiancé.”
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When Maeve had been summoned to the throne room before she’d even eaten breakfast, she hadn't known what to think. She'd been anxious, but not really afraid because she knew that Lord Aidan and Lady Rowan could be trusted. But then she saw Conall, and her whole body went cold. Her father had come for her at last; her brother was only the instrument of his will.
“Your brother seems to think we’re holding you hostage. He insisted that he see you for himself,” Rowan said, as apologetic as she was angry.
Maeve took a breath to steady herself. “As you can see, I’m completely well, and you ought to know that I left on my own. I'm not interested in being part of that madness any longer.”
“You can't just run off and live in another court whenever you feel like, Maeve. Father is furious. Do you really want to provoke war on a whim?” Conall said. His condescending tone set Maeve’s teeth on edge.
“This isn't some sort of girlish prank!” she exclaimed, but in truth, she was barely holding herself together. Though Lord Aidan and Lady Rowan did not seem at all perturbed by her brother’s threats, the thought of being the cause for a war between the courts shook her to the core.
“Maeve is of age. If she does not wish to return Lord Cian’s court, she is not obligated to do so,” Aidan said, raising his eyebrows.
“And you would risk your position to protect her?” Conall said, clearly challenging. “In a week or so, you might come to regret your decision.” Maeve felt all the blood drain from her face at the thought that her brother might reveal the truth before she could, and then, the door to the throne room opened with a boom.
The seneschal made an announcement, but she barely heard, as she was stunned and captivated by the figure striding into the room. She’d never seen Idris like this, not only his clothes but the presence he exuded. He was as commanding as his father, but in a different way. Lord Aidan was powerful but remote, like a cold mountain peak. Idris felt like a more immediate threat, a dangerous predator intent on murder. If Aidan was a star that shined from the far-off heavens, his son was that power come to earth in white-hot incandescence. Even so, Maeve was relieved to see him.
He came up beside her and took her hand, facing her brother without fear. He might not have known Conall well enough to tell, but Maeve knew her brother had been affected, not only by Idris himself, but by the show of solidarity. And then Idris said he intended to marry her. She assumed she had to be hearing things, so she looked at him with the question in her eyes that she dared not speak aloud. His expression pleaded with her to play along, to wait for an explanation, and she trusted him. She turned back to her brother with her shoulders squared.
“Yes, Prince Idris is my fiancé.” The whole court seemed to draw in a collective breath, though Maeve knew, without looking, that the Lord and Lady continued to give nothing away.
Conall took in this whole tableau with wide eyes. “I don't believe you,” he said, but his fists were clenched and shaking.
“I find it rather insulting that you won't accept my word, or that of your own sister, but I'm not opposed to proving the truth of my intentions,” Idris said, his tone even. He turned to face Maeve, and there was something mischievous in his eyes. “Should we show your brother how deeply we love one another?” She had no idea what he was talking about, but she wanted very badly for Conall to leave, so she nodded. However, she was not expecting him to reach up and caress her cheek, nor for him to then lean in and kiss her.
It was no friendly peck on the lips either. She stiffened at first, too surprised to respond, but when she felt his tongue lightly brush against her upper lip, her body acted of its own accord. Her arms slid around his neck, and her mouth opened as he pulled her tight against him, passionate but still gentle. His mouth was warm, his lips soft, and she could feel the strength in his arms as he embraced her, one hand at the small of her back and the other cupping the back of her skull. When he pulled away, his breath was ragged and his pupils were wide and dark. She doubted she was in any better shape. She felt giddy, and her heart was pounding.
“Does that satisfy you?” Idris said in a rough voice. Conall looked nearly as stunned as Maeve felt, but certainly not as pleased.
“I will inform my father of this development,” he said. “But rest assured, I will return. You may not welcome her so warmly when the moon wanes.” Conall turned on his heel and stormed out.
“Fenella.” Lady Rowan called out to a shadow in one of the corners. “If you would, go make sure he actually leaves.” The shadow disappeared without a sound.
Lord Aidan, meanwhile, eyed them with puzzled amusement. “Now that this crisis is momentarily averted, perhaps we can retire to the sitting room, and Maeve can tell us what’s going to happen next week.”
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“So that's why you were hiding in the ice forest,” Rowan said, her lips pursed. The sitting room, like the rest of the palace, was comfortable and elegant. A table with snacks and drinks had appeared soon after they’d entered, though Maeve felt almost too nervous to eat, at first. Lord Aidan and Lady Rowan sat across from her in matching armchairs, their hands loosely linked, but Idris had seated himself next to her on the settee. He gave her plenty of space, and yet, she was acutely aware of his presence.
“It was a stupid idea. I don't know what I was thinking,” Maeve replied. “I guess I hoped if I got far enough away, the curse wouldn't affect me, or at the very least, maybe I wouldn't hurt anyone. I couldn't believe that killing people is the only way, but Conall wouldn't even listen to me. It’s not just that they accept the curse… they almost revel in it. My father likes hurting people, and my brother is heading in the same direction. I couldn't stay there anymore.” She took a deep breath, knowing what she needed to say but dreading it. “I’ll understand if you don't want me around. I was going to leave when I got better, but…” Even after such a short time, they were more than just her rescuers. Rhosyn was her friend, and Idris… She could hardly bear to look at him, for fear of what she would see, but instead of rejecting her, he took her hand in his own again.
“We don't want you to leave, Maeve,” he said, before looking at his parents.
“Of course not,” Rowan said, and her husband nodded in agreement.
“Other arrangements will have to be made,” Aidan said. “I think our first order of business is to determine the origin of the curse. You said it's only in your immediate family?”
“My father and brother, obviously, and my father’s siblings and all their children. The curse is like an open secret. Everyone knows about it, but it's never spoken of in public. I've never heard anyone even guess where it might have come from.”
“Someone must know,” Rowan said. “We’ll send Fenella to try and ferret out information, and Rhosyn and I will start researching.”
“I'll work on ways to counteract or contain the curse magically,” Aidan said. “Even if we weren't personally fond of you, this shouldn't have been allowed to continue for so long. How many people's lives have been blighted because Cian and his fath
er were too proud to ask for help?”
Maeve felt tears coming to her eyes again. “Thank you all so much. I don't know how I can ever repay your kindness.”
Rowan shook her head. “This is simply the right thing to do. Nothing about this is your fault, Maeve, and no one here wants to see you or anyone else suffer because of it.” She and her husband stood up together. “We’ll take our leave for now, since I’m sure you and Idris have plenty to talk about,” she said, smiling. Maeve couldn't believe how they'd just taken this whole mess in stride. Idris’s impromptu engagement announcement alone had to be a political nightmare, but if anything, they seemed pleased.
When they were alone, Idris turned to her with a serious expression. “I'm sorry if I surprised you earlier.”
His words were so unexpected that she laughed out loud. “You have nothing to apologize for. You saved me from my brother at the risk of your own reputation. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I've done nothing but cause you and your family trouble.”
He shook his head. “I meant what I said last night. I don't care about your family or the curse or any of that. I think you are kind and brave and beautiful, and you deserve happiness as much as anyone else.” She met his eyes, surprised by the fervent sincerity she saw there. He swallowed, and his next words were halting. “I’ve… come to care for you, Maeve, and I don't exactly know the right way to go about it, and I know a public proposal of marriage is a little unorthodox at this stage, but I want to know you better.”
She blinked. Once again, he'd surprised her. “I'm not sure I know what you mean,” she said. Because it couldn't be what it seemed to mean.