Page 128 of Dare

Yes. The queen would comply. Her spouse had done enough damage to their nation, and she would not tolerate another downfall purely because Rhys didn’t know when to quit. And although her stance on born souls remained the same, Giselle would hardly sanction a needless war.

We strategized. Poet and Briar had experience in court manipulation. They would appeal to Giselle, petitioning for Her Majesty to monitor her husband as a precaution, for stability’s sake. In fact, quite possibly the woman was already doing that.

In which case, the jester and princess would request to be informed. With the Reaper’s Fest riot still fresh in everyone’s consciousness, the queen would honor this obligation. All the while, Poet and Briar would leave me and Flare out of the equation. No one outside of these ruins could know our whereabouts.

The clever pair had already scheduled a conference with Giselle, on the pretense of maintaining civil relations. In case they were spotted at sea by Summer’s armada while enroute to the rainforest, they’d needed an excuse.

On the way back to Autumn, they would meet with the queen and set our plan into motion. Meanwhile, Flare beseeched Aire to check on her tower mates. Despite everyone’s protests, Aspen volunteered to sleuth among the guards. Apparently, the stowaway had a gruesome history of getting around troops. One that had involved the forced assassination and beheading of a knight, at the behest of Autumn’s Masters Guild.

Needless to say, a feud began in which Aire threatened to string Aspen by her ankles if it meant keeping her out of harm’s way. And although they valued her skills, Poet and Briar concurred due to the girl’s age and lack of formal training. To which, Aspen stormed to the opposite end of the chamber and resumed her patrol.

Hours passed. Shadows shifted across the walls, indicating somewhere close to midnight. When Briar yawned, Poet slid an arm around her shoulders.

I experienced a prickle of envy over their union. Choosing a mate of an unmatched rank or Season was prohibited. Only this couple had ever challenged that edict. None could impugn Poet’s magnetism and Briar’s tenacity. The jester declared himself without censure, while the princess exemplified a supreme force of will. As a Royal, she negotiated that fine line of being a radical and a ruler. They complemented one another, doing so freely, because fuck the naysayers.

My eyes clicked over to Flare, who peeked back from between her dark lashes. It had been too long since I feasted on the sight of her. Pinpricks of light flickered in her pupils, every look a blow to the chest. Her gaze shoved me back to the ocean, to the memory of her naked legs around me, my cock fucking the tight cleft of her body, and her moans firing into the sky.

Holding her. Pleasuring her.

Rarely did I venture that near to the tide. Yet at that moment, I hadn’t once thought of the siren shark.

Silhouettes shifted in our periphery. We glanced toward Poet and Briar, who watched us. Once not long ago, these two had found themselves at odds, their relationship all kinds of forbidden. They had experienced forced proximity, in addition to forced separation. Their affair had once been a secret, so they understood the emotional endurance it required.

Except their marriage was permanent. What Flare and I had was fleeting. This roundtable had reminded us of that.

Winter. Summer.

Eventually, we would leave this wild. Me, back to my court. Her, on a mission in this kingdom. We might be allied with the same clan, but we weren’t headed in the same direction.

Her gaze met mine—and she rose. The sudden movement scraped the chair legs across the floor. All heads swiveled her way as she quit the hall, muttering something about preparing rooms for everyone. Though from that angle, they wouldn’t have been able to read her lips.

Her absence dug a hole in my chest. I launched from my seat, intent on charging after her.

“Stay,” Briar intervened, peeling herself from Poet’s arms. “I will go.”

After gliding her palm across the jester’s shoulders, she gathered the writing instruments from the table and rushed after Flare. At once, Aspen wavered from her spot, then trotted in the princess’s wake.

The makings of another hiss cleaved up my throat. I did not like this arrangement. Flare’s torn expression had cut to the quick, and I wanted to be the one going after her.

Locking my jaw, I stalked to the windows overlooking the tropic forest. Bracing one hand on my hip, I glared at the tangle of trees. The other hand pressed hard into the adjoining wall, the only thing keeping me from launching after Flare. It did not matter where she went; every molecule in my body felt her presence in these ruins.

Poet materialized to my left, a single lazy shoulder propping against the dilapidated casing. Aire flanked the opposite side, setting his foot atop a stone bench, firelight sketching his bird-of-prey tattoos.

For a while, we watched The Phantom Wild.

At length, I brooded. “Out with it.”

As anticipated, Poet had more shit to say. His perceptive tone lowered. “So how much time do you really need?”

Fuck him. Fuck this jester and his shrewdness.

As for the knight who possessed his own ludicrous abilities, the man’s blue irises drew a similar conclusion.

I had claimed that planning a return to Winter would take time. I just hadn’t been truthful about the amount.

To make matters worse, a question chewed through my restraint. The last thing I wanted was advice from this man. Yet Winter understood the value of credibility, an advantage of which Poet had in spades.

Clearing my throat, I spoke around the rubble in my mouth. “When did you know?” At the jester’s confounded look, I flitted my eyes toward the door through which the princess had disappeared.

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