Chapter 4
Cuan had known that he was pushing his luck. But from the way Maeve’s eyes narrowed, he had pushed it well beyond the realms of foolishness and into suicidal insanity. When a sidhe lady looked like that, a wise man backed down immediately.
Cuan held Maeve’s cold stare. Logic and self-preservation might demand that he retract his request, claiming that it was all a mere jest, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand by and watch the human woman be thrown to the savage whims of the unseelie court.
It was more than mere pity that moved him. There was something about her—her face, her scent, the very way she stood—that called out to some deep animal instinct. He could no more have not defended her than he could have struck a child.
“You said that you owed me a boon,” he repeated doggedly. “You put no limits on that. Will you deny your own words?”
All the amusement vanished from Maeve’s expression. “No unseelie goes back on their word. But this is a very great favor that you ask, beast.”
“I know, my lady. But have I not served you faithfully and well? Did I not succeed in returning your changeling child, when your warband could not?”
This last sentence earned him more than a few hard looks from Maeve’s knights, who did not appreciate being reminded of their failure. Cuan knew he would pay for that later, but he was flying high on the wings of recklessness now. All that mattered was the human woman.
“Give me this woman, and I shall never ask for more, ever again,” he said. “On my mother’s blood, I swear it.”
For a heart stopping moment, he thought it wouldn’t be enough. He could see Maeve parting her lips to deny him, and he tensed himself for what must come next. In the madness that gripped him, seizing the human woman and fighting his way free of the entire sidhe court seemed an entirely reasonable plan.
Maeve paused, perhaps reading something of this in his stance. Her gaze flicked from him to the human woman, and back again. Slowly, and in a way that was not at all reassuring, she smiled.
“My dear beast,” she purred. “So delightfully uncouth as always. So marvelously entertaining with your unpredictable antics. Of course you shall have this prize.”
Cuan let out the breath that he had been holding—an instant too soon. Maeve lifted one finger, forestalling his thanks. Her catlike smile widened.
“For as long as you can keep her,” she finished.
Cuan, who’d been starting to rise, froze again. Keep her? What could Maeve mean by that? The human woman was hardly going to be able to open a portal and slip back to her own realm.
Maeve’s eyes gleamed in cruel triumph at his confusion. With a theatrical sweep of her skirts, she turned to her gathered court.
“My beloved nobles!” she called to them. “Are there any here who wish to challenge my dear beast for this human?”
Uproar broke out. Sidhe warriors and courtiers alike pushed forward, each clamoring to issue their challenge. Cuan’s heart seized in his chest as he realized just what game Maeve was playing.
The human woman flinched away from the baying mob, stumbling into him. Cuan caught her—partly to stop her from futile flight, partly to support her. Her face was so pale, he half-expected her to faint. He wished he had the power to glamour her, to wrap her in comfort and reassurance, but all he could do was steady her in his arms.
He’d underestimated the human woman’s steel. She stiffened the instant he touched her. She didn’t try to jerk away—she must have already learned the futility of a human attempting to fight fae strength—but she fixed him with a glare worthy of a high sidhe lady.
“Let go of me,” she said, with icily offended dignity. “Now.”
He released her at once, stepping back and raising his hands to show his compliance. “My apologies. I would never have touched you without your permission, but I feared you might swoon.”
“No chance.” She squared up to him, setting her feet. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on, but let’s get one thing straight here. I’m not some sort of prize you can win in a sick game. You do not own me.”
“That is very likely, alas,” Cuan replied grimly. “For it seems I shall have to fight the entire court after all.”
“Peace, peace!” Maeve was laughing, gesturing for calm. “My dear beast cannot face you all simultaneously. Who shall be the first?”
“As the challenged, it is my right to set the nature of the contest,” Cuan said loudly, before anyone else could speak. “Any who would face me must do so on my terms.”
Maeve pursed her lips, but dipped her chin in a grudging nod of acknowledgement. “Custom and chivalry does indeed grant you the choice. What form of contest will you pick, my beast? I presume it will not be a duel of wits.”
Cuan let that one pass by without comment. He drew himself up to his full height, ignoring the way his injured leg twinged in protest. “Armed combat.”
That at least gave the court pause. In a duel of magic or art, he could have been bested by any full-blood sidhe, but all present knew his skill with blades. All the unseelie mages and courtiers who a moment ago had been clamoring for a chance to face him abruptly decided that the human woman was not so enticing after all. Even a fair number of the warriors hesitated.
But not, alas, all.