“What about Niamh?”
Fionn rubbed a hand over his jaw, the bristle of his stubble sounding loud in the cavernous space. Rose fought the urge to go over and touch him.
“I have reason to believe Niamh is my descendant.”
That announcement pulled Rose’s focu
s. “What?”
“There’s no evidence as Bran continues to remind me. Her name is Farren, which is the modern name for Ó Faracháin. That was my clan name. Her family dates back to a time when they were Ó Faracháin. They were also rumored to have connections to the mythical Rí Mac Tíre.”
Wow.
Now she understood his interaction with Niamh back in Munich. And why he said she had nothing to fear from him. Fionn wouldn’t kill someone of his own blood.
“I feel it in my gut, Rose. Niamh is my descendant. And it’s something Aine would do to me.” He curled his lip in bitterness. “Knowing I couldn’t raise a hand to my own. So no, revenge is not just the purview of humans.”
A subject Rose had been wary of pressing pushed at her, urging her to. Feeling brave, she said, “You said she made you her …” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word.
“Whore.” Fionn’s tone was brutally cold.
Rose nodded.
“Aye, she did.”
As she observed the large, powerful figure lounging on the couch, her entire being ached for him. “It’s difficult for anyone to feel powerless and used. To happen to someone who led armies … I’m sorry, Fionn.”
“Man, woman, child, poet, farmer, or king … it doesn’t matter who you are, Rose. It fucks with your mind all the same.”
“Have you ever spoken to anyone about it?”
“A therapist?” A cynical smirk ghosted his lips.
“No. A friend.”
He sighed. “There’s nothing to say. I made peace with that a long time ago.”
“Did you?” she pressed, dangerously. “You’re still willing to … I mean, you’re still going after revenge.”
“Not for that. Yes, the bitch violated me, and yes, it fucked with my mind that my body enjoyed it while my spirit fought not to crumble under self-hatred and fury. But why do you think she made me fae, Rose? Because she couldn’t fucking break me. She couldn’t twist me up inside and make me love her. Not romantic love. Not the love of mates. But the sycophantic love that she wanted from every one of her subjects.
“She pretended she liked the challenge of any being who stood up to her, but it wasn’t that. She liked breaking people.” His eyes were no longer dead. They blazed. “I wouldn’t give that to her. So she made me the thing I hated most. And because of it, I lost the people I loved most. That’s why I demand vengeance.”
Considering this, Rose felt a complex mix of emotions take over, nothing new when it came to her feelings for Fionn. She admired him for his strength, for the beauty of his spirit that refused to be broken by what amounted to sexual slavery. Yet, it frustrated the hell out of her that someone who could stay so true to himself during such a horrific time couldn’t see that he was now letting Aine win by giving up a second chance at happiness.
“You are not them. You are not her. You may be of the same species, but for Christ’s sake, Fionn, Martin Luther King Jr. and Adolf Hitler were too. They hardly belong in the same sentence together, though, do they? It’s not what you are that makes you ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Your intentions and your actions define you, something someone as old as you should know by now.
“Do you think because I’m fae that I’m repulsive and wicked?”
“Rose.” His tone was a warning.
“Do you? Because I don’t think I am. I enjoy being powerful but not because I want to crush people beneath the might of it. I like the freedom in it. I like the magic. The possibilities. The world is so much different from what I expected. It’s ancient and yet new, mystical and even more mysterious than I ever imagined. And I’m a part of that now. Just like you.
“Your intentions toward me were wicked.” Tears glittered in her eyes as she watched his features harden with … anger? Remorse? It was difficult to tell. “But what matters is your ability to change your mind and do the right thing. Before I knew the truth about you, I saw you as this otherworldly, noble being who made me feel exhilarated and safe at the same time.
“And despite your plans for vengeance, I still see you that way. It’s who you are deep down. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”
As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, Fionn stood and strode out of the room. Without a backward glance.
The tears in Rose’s eyes spilled over with her next blink.
As much as Fionn craved Rose’s company—and craved was the only word for it because his entire being lit up as soon as she ventured into his vicinity—he needed space.
She was prodding at old wounds and picking apart his reasons for going after Aine, muddling his brain as she forced ideas about who he was onto him.
Rose was confused. The mating bond was making her feel nonsense things about him.
If there was a corner of his icy soul that warmed under the glow of her impression of him, Fionn did his best to ignore it.
For all the rooms in the castle, Fionn’s bedroom was his sanctuary. It had a spectacular view of the sea and was filled with his favorite books. Books were one of the best inventions of the modern world. He’d learned to read as quickly as he’d learned English. Then he’d learned French and German and Spanish and Latin, and he’d learned to read in all those languages too. There was much about the world he realized he’d miss when he returned to Faerie. And that astonished him.
Throwing a hand out toward the fireplace, the wood crackled to life with flame.
Slumping down on his large, custom-made bed, Fionn stared at the flames. He should push Rose harder for An Breitheamh. The days were passing them by. And her hold on him was growing more dangerous.
What had been at the start an offering of insight into his mind to manipulate her had morphed into something else.
Fionn told this woman things he’d never spoken to another soul.
Squeezing his eyes closed, Fionn flopped back on the bed and tried to settle his mind. To focus it. To regroup. Instead, slumber seductively whispered an offer of reprieve in his ear.
Fionn slid his legs off the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared unseeingly at the wall. The queen’s palace in Solas, the capital city of Samhradh, the Day Lands, was awe-inspiring. Upon his arrival on Faerie, Fionn did not know what repulsed him more: being brought here as a human slave, or finding beauty in the alien world.
Samhradh Palace was a towering building, with turrets and spires that stretched so far into the sky, they seemed to disappear into it. Moreover, it sparkled like a jewel. All over. The buildings here had window coverings they called gleamings, an opaque material that allowed you to see from the inside out. The palace appeared made entirely of shattered pieces of gleaming, winking and glittering in the sun. The interior walls sparkled beneath the balls of light that floated near the ceilings.
Fire was not required on Faerie as a source of light.
They had their terrible magic for such things.
“You’re brooding.”
Her voice was like the lash of a whip on his back.
“What do you have to brood about?”
Fionn glanced over his shoulder at the naked Fae Queen. Aine was strikingly beautiful. In fact, beautiful seemed too little a word for her. Luminescent. Golden. Golden hair, golden eyes, golden skin, small waist, long, slender legs, rounded hips, and even rounder, lush breasts.
She laid casually sprawled, one knee bent, one leg stretched out in front of her, her upper body raised as she leaned back on her elbows. Her golden eyes stared intensely into his.
Fionn despised her.
With every fiber of his being, he despised Aine, Queen of the Fae.
“Is it because of the girl I killed today? She and her sister tried to escape the noblewoman they belong to. I spared her sister, though. I can be benevolent, Fionn. However, if I want to strike the right balance of fear and respect from my people, I must make difficult decisions.”
Fionn was unable to understand the language on Faerie. It was unintelligible to humans. But the fae picked up human languages quickly and ha
d adopted his people’s language. He wished they hadn’t. He wished he couldn’t understand, so he didn’t have to converse with the bitch. Rolling his eyes, he turned to stare at the wall again, preferring the view.
“Funny that you killed the sister with the red hair and spared the dark-haired sister. According to their own reports, the dark-haired girl was the instigator.”
He felt her touch on his back, her finger trailing the pattern of an A on his skin. “You know why, sweet love. Must we verbalize it? It makes me seem so petty.”
“You killed her because she looked like Aoibhinn.”
Her touch disappeared and he heard her huff of annoyance. “Must you say that name?”
“I will never love you, Aine.” Fionn stood, whirling to face her, cold hatred like ice in his veins. “So why don’t you just kill me now?”
She smiled up him. A sweet, innocent smile that belied her wickedness. “Because I enjoy you. I enjoy the challenge of breaking you.”
“It’s been six years. If you haven’t broken me yet … you never will.”
Aine laughed, a delightful, airy, tinkling noise. Then she vanished before reappearing across the room where she kept a never-ending cup of pale golden liquid that bubbled on the tongue. As she took a sip, a golden dress, like liquid metal, covered her body. She eyed him with desire and malice. “Oh, Fionn, so naive. If it takes me centuries, so be it. But I will break you.”
“Never.”
She laughed again, throwing her head back so her hair shimmered like sunlit water down her back. Then she flicked out a hand and Lir, the captain of the guard, appeared.
Fionn tensed.
Lir was a sadistic fae who had a liking for rape. Man, woman, or child, the bastard didn’t seem to have a preference. Not only had he killed Conall’s wolf companion, he’d attempted to attack Fionn, only stopping because Aine appeared and brutally reprimanded him.
Had she changed her mind?
The Faerie Queen smirked, as if she could read his mind. “Not you, Fionn. I’d never hurt you that way. There are other ways to break you.”
His heart beat incredibly fast, as though it knew something he did not. A glove appeared in Lir’s hand, seconds before a pale silvery dagger rested in that glove.