Rodan forgot about this. The personal challenge; both a sacred, private bond between the challenger and the challenged, and a way of decreasing the odds that a challenger would find their way to the palace.
Sebastian stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking about what to do for your challenge. Fly to the moon? You’d do that in a day, I’m sure. Conquer some mythic beast? Again, you could do that with your hands tied behind your back. So, following your example, I challenge you to this: win Maeve’s heart and body. Do this before you reach Realmsgate, or your challenge will be forfeit.” He leaned in. “And then I’ll be the one who entertains our lady from beyond the veil.”
Rodan’s blood flashed hot. His relationship with Maeve epitomized complicated, but he still rankled with her being spoken of in such a way. “You debase yourself.”
“No,” Sebastian shook his head, still grinning. “I’m doing what it takes to win. Give up, old man.”
Rodan wanted to reach out a hand and choke Sekou where he stood. Instead, he took a step back. The personal challenge was sacred. Rodan hated it, but he would not reject it. He could not. It was what it was; the words were spoken. He lifted his chin. “You will one day regret ever setting your sights on my throne, I promise you that.”
Sebastian’s eyes glittered with humor and malice. He shook his head. “You’ll never manage it. She loves me. She’ll never forgive you for what you did to her. For what you let be done.”
Rodan did not know what the man spoke of. He tore at the edges of the dream, ripping it out of Sebastian’s grasp. As it dissolved, he called, “I will do whatever it takes to secure my throne.”
Rodan woke to tangled sheets and the sound of Maeve’s deep breathing coming from the other side of the cloth barrier. His arm had flung out sometime during the dream walking, brushing against the partition, and he realized with a start and a wash of cold fear that he had pulled his gloves off sometime during his sleep.
He slipped them back on, sitting up in his camp cot.
Sebastian’s words rang in his head. Win Maeve’s heart and body.
He looked toward the barrier between them.
She’ll never forgive you for what you did to her.
What did Sebastian mean? Rodan never took any direct action against her. He offered up an award for her capture, yes, especially once he realized that she had been the reason that Sebastian succeeded at trial after trial. He might have held her as his prisoner, but he would never have thrown her in a dungeon or mistreated her. It took him mere moments to know that she was innocent of Sebastian’s machinations once he laid eyes on her the first time.
Rodan remembered it striking him like a blow to the chest, when she had stepped from the shadows and into the full moonlight. Her chin uplifted, her eyes sparking with fear and courage in equal measure. Those eyes, he knew, saw two things. Good and evil. And that flinch, that abrupt withdraw of hers when he lifted a hand in greeting, spoke of her past torments. He had wondered if this girl, this maiden from beyond the veil, was cognizant of Sebastian’s meddling. It took him a mere moment to know that she was not. It took only a moment more to feel an unexpected and overwhelming need to protect her, to pull her away from the danger she could not see. It had been a sense that was difficult to shake, and only seemed to grow in the fifty years he had been hunting for her.
Exhaustion still dragged at him, and Rodan lay back down, his thoughts racing.
Maeve found him physically pleasing. He saw as much after seeing her flushed cheeks, when she stared at him too long, those stolen glances she took of him when she thought he did not notice. In her books, she described him, physically, in a positive light.
Was that enough?
Rodan gleaned some of Maeve’s past. Kept track of her adventures as she stood beside Sebastian when she came through the veil. Peeked at her childhood through her books. Used his scrying to watch her, to listen to her speak amongst her friends. Yet still, he did not know what it might take to win her affection.
Would six months be enough time? With the trials and travel, there would be precious little time for anything other than their quest. And with what he would be facing, wooing her was the last thing on Rodan’s mind.
Though, he admitted to himself, it was on his mind, even before Sebastian’s challenge.
Rodan was not an inexperienced lover, but that was all it had ever been. Lovers, casual and quick to cast aside. The Fae court, not a place of deep-seated alliances, but instead of intrigue and cutthroat manipulations, did not lend itself well to deep connection. He learned well, and took many of those behaviors with him when he left the court and founded Realmsgate.
He turned on his side, facing away from where Maeve slept.
Winning the love of another was never something he strove for. Maeve wanted him to acquire the affection of the people, but what of her? Would conquering her heart be a difficult task?
Rodan noted no indication of a paramour when he visited her world. There was nothing about a lover in all the little things written about her on their internet, no visible signs of another occupying her home. She spoke not one word about anyone close to her heart. The way should have been clear, and yet—
She loves me, Sebastian said. I’ll be the one who entertains our lady from beyond the veil.
The thought made Rodan’s stomach curdle. He might not know what to do, to win her heart, but one thing he did know was that so long as he lived, Sebastian would never claim her.
And what if I die? he asked himself. What would happen to Maeve then?
Maeve, bound to complete the trials, would complete them, but what then? Kill her childhood friend? When faced with that monumental decision, would she ascend the throne, or would she run back to her own world? Rodan wondered if he had led her to her demise.
It doesn’t matter, he thought. Maeve is just a tool. An exceptional tool, but that’s all. That’s all I can allow her to be.
Just because he was tasked to win her affection did not mean he had to give his.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maeve
MAEVE WOKE TO THE SCENT OF BACON and strong black tea. She rose, rubbing her eyes and stretching her back, which gave a few hearty pops. Her body ached, and she had the distinct impression it would get worse before it got better.
Soft dawn light filtered through the thick fabric of the pavilion, with the lamps from last night providing most of the illumination within the enormous tent. Maeve went to the little camp bathroom behind the screen and performed her ablutions, splashing cold water from a pitcher on to her face to help startle her further into wakefulness.
When she came into the common area, the dining table once again laden with a myriad of foodstuffs, her stomach jerked in anticipation. Bacon, sausage, ham, potatoes, clementines, hard-boiled eggs, sliced peaches, black bread, and cherries crowded every inch of the low wooden surface. Last night, Rodan finished off a bowl of cherries by himself, and she noticed how his lips had become stained red from their juice. A part of her had entertained a fleeting thought of what it might be like to taste those lips.
She banished that image as Rodan came out of his side of the pavilion, lacing up the leather vambraces on his forearms. Carved with swirling patterns of gold on the black background, they matched his flowing black shirt, leather vest, and black well-fitted trousers tucked into tall boots. He had worn similar clothing yesterday, emblazoned with the sigil of his house on the chest—a five-pointed crown hovering over a golden rose. His hair was loose and flowing down his back to his waist, and as she stared, he took a leather cord and tied it at the base of his neck so that it stayed out of his face.