Page 122 of Dare

Poet lounged in his chair with exaggerated elegance. He draped an arm across the back of Briar’s seat, his glossy black fingernails toying with the end of her braid.

Flare and I had led our group on a tour from the vestibule, across verandas and colonnades, and up to the cupola roof. Along the way, we’d guided them through the medical chamber, the fountain room, the sleeping quarters, the textile cellar, the armory crypt, and the grotto with its caves.

Alongside Poet’s dubious frown, Briar scrutinized my countenance. Like a proper princess and a devoted friend, her composure teetered between decorum and destruction.

Their expressions make it clear. If you hurt her, your ass is ours.

I inclined my head. She would get to me first.

Seeing as I’d rip to pieces anyone who touched Flare, I appreciated the threat. However, they should not underestimate her own skills.

The couple read my expression, my declaration satisfying them. At which point, I realized they’d been testing me.

Having abandoned footwear, the stone floor cooled everyone’s bare feet. My little beast rested sideways in her chair and propped her legs atop my thighs. Possessively, I clamped one palm high over her limb, my blood heating from the gooseflesh that sprinted up her skin. A few more inches, and my fingers would reach her sweet cunt. But although my fingers twitched, I forced myself to behave.

We’d changed into appropriate attire. I had donned a shirt and Flare a short dress with fringes trailing across the hem, and she’d piled her dark waves loosely at the crown of her head. To be frank, I wanted to ruin her efforts, undo that hairstyle, shred those garments. If no one else were here, she would have been sprawled across the table by now, and I would have been scissoring those thighs apart while ripping more sounds from the back of her throat.

Seated opposite me, Poet’s features reflected dark amusement. Skilled in the art of debauchery, this scoundrel had gauged my thoughts.

Whatever. As if he wasn’t itching to get Briar alone, to take advantage of the sweltering atmosphere and do damage to the princess’s genteel sensibilities. With how often they fondled one another, those two wouldn’t last more than five minutes after this roundtable convened. And that calculation was me being ambitious.

Enjoying my annoyance, Poet got more comfortable and carded his fingers deeper into Briar’s plaited hair. “This humidity looks good on you,” he murmured to her, then jutted his chin toward Flare. “And you.”

Then he regarded me. “But not you.” Then swiftly, the prick reconsidered. “Though, it’s refreshing to see you without the pelt of an endangered species draped across your shoulders.”

I gave him an astringent look. “It had been peaceful until you got here.”

“Do I get a coin for every time you commit perjury?”

“Only if I get to stuff each coin down your throat until you lose the ability to converse.”

“You underestimate how much experience I have swallowing.”

Briar dropped her face into her palms. From another corner, Aspen’s snort traveled across the room. Standing at his post, Aire said nothing, but one didn’t need a microscope to see his capillaries were bursting. As for my little beast, she folded her mirthful lips together.

The continent knew of the jester’s unconditional fidelity to his wife. However, The Dark Seasons also knew of Poet’s extensive history prior to meeting Briar. Our lack of clothing aside, this whorish expert deduced what had occurred before Autumn docked ashore.

No. Flare and I had not been peaceful in the slightest.

“Indeed. We were fucking when you arrived,” I confirmed flatly. “End of discussion.”

“Popped your frozen cherry, did she?” Because Spring and Summer’s cultures spoke without censure, the motherfucker regarded Flare. “I hope the sex lasted longer than his replies.”

I would boil him alive someday. “It certainly lasted longer than your train of thought.”

“Be careful what you imply. Twisting words is my job.”

“Last I heard, a jester’s job was to tell a superficial joke.”

“Jokes keep us warm.”

“Furs keep us warmer.”

“Gentlemen,” Briar interrupted, lifting her regal head from her palms. “We didn’t travel all this way to do battle.”

Flare flapped her fingers toward Aire and Aspen, silently implying, Tell that to them.

The four of us twisted toward the knight and stowaway patrolling the area from opposite ends. Aire kept stealing glances Aspen’s way, his profile discomforted but attentive whenever she got too close to something remotely unsafe. An uneven stone. A shadow shaped like an insect. Yet he never cautioned her, likely because she wouldn’t take the chivalry well.

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