Free WingsOfDesire-AriannaSkye by Arianna Skye Page A

name in ecstasy. Gods’ blood, he thought, feeling himself pressing against his breeches.
    “Cerne?” Maeve asked. “Is everything well?” She smirked, obviously noticing his raging erection.
    “I’m fine,” he muttered. “How long until I see my princess?”
    “Have a seat.” Maeve pointed to the gold-trimmed chaise. She closed and reopened her hand, producing a glass of faerie red wine. Ah, no four dollar human swill tonight, he thought, taking the challis from Maeve. He’d only bestow the most exquisite faerie libations upon his Rhiannon. She would have no other choice but to believe.
    He took a sip of wine, comparing the sweetness to the honey between Rhiannon’s thighs.
    Nothing could compare to her musky release. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of the skimpy top she’d been wearing in the pool. He picked up the forest-green slip of fabric and brought it to his nose, drawing in her delicious scent and felt himself throb as he recalled the many naughty things he intended to do her.
    “Ahem.” Maeve chuckled. “You’re acting like a unicorn in heat.” Cerne raised an eyebrow. “And, pray tell, how do you know how a unicorn in heat acts?” Maeve winked. “During Bel’s and my young and foolish days, we were busy in the meadow

    when we noticed we weren’t alone. Those horns aren’t just for defense, by the way. We—”
    “I think I’ve heard enough.” Cerne scrunched his nose.
    Maeve threw back her head in laughter. “April Fools’!” Cerne raised an eyebrow. “Taken to following human customs, eh Maeve? She’s bewitched you too—”
    “You? Bewitched?” Maeve grinned. “You’re in love. Wonderful!” Cerne spat out his wine. “I’m not in love. It’s purely physical.”
    “That’s what you say now. We all say it. Even me.” Maeve winked. “Love isn’t as rare as you believe.”
    “Whatever, Maeve. Not for a Silverwing—especially this Silverwing.” He set his goblet on the crystal table next to the chaise.
    Maeve flitted her wings. “Please don’t bore me with any more talk of stale prophecies. I don’t think I can bear another minute of it.” She threw her hand to her chest and heaved a sigh.
    “Prophecies are made for one reason only, to be proven wrong. And you, Cerne, are just the man to do it.”

    ~*~*~

    “Your Highness, what are you doing?”
    Rhiannon smiled at the maid. “It’s called eavesdropping.” Turning back to the golden door, she placed her ear on it. Fucking faeries, she thought. They certainly knew how to keep their rooms soundproof. Talk about the power of the subconscious. Even though it was just her imagination, it seemed so real. She didn’t think she’d be waking up any time soon, so she might as well take advantage of her dream. “I suppose I should get dressed, huh?”
    “Yes, Your Highness,” Onora replied.
    “Rhiannon.” There was no way in hell she would play into this elaborate practical joke. “I’m not really a princess.”
    Onora sighed. “I cannot call you by your given name. I would be disrespecting the royal family.”
    Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Oh, okay. Call me whatever you want. I don’t friggin’ care.”
    “Why don’t you want to be a princess?” Bemusement filled Onora’s eyes, as if Rhiannon

    were the crazy one.
    “You’re all imaginary. You don’t really exist. You’re simply a creation of my overstressed mind.”
    “Councilwoman Windsong told me you’d be stubborn.” Onora swished her light blonde hair behind her. She thrust a pink gauzy dress out toward Rhiannon.
    Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. “I’m not all that into pink. Got anything in...” What hideous color could she use? “...raw umber?” Thank you, Crayola!
    Onora raised her eyebrow. “I’m not familiar with human colors, Your Highness.” Of course she wouldn’t be. She was an otherworldly being. Duh! Rhiannon needed to wake up—like NOW. This was a story begging to be written. “It’s brown.” Onora gasped. “You