Page 24 of The Princess's Chosen

"Cos, I can't right now and I don't want—"

"Bryony, come here, or I'll come to you and pin you to the floor and prove to you that your magic isn'thurtinganyone," I said.

The others went quiet, Bryony's jaw dropping and eyes as wide as saucers as she stared back at me, color rising prettily in her cheeks.

"I'll kiss you until you're bruised," I purred, arching an eyebrow. "Or you can come and look me in the eye and listen."

Essentially, I knew my place. Bryony and I were lovers, and she was generous with her affection and her feelings. I had the dignity to be able to continue my work, and I suspected I had the freedom to come and go from the palace without her if I wanted. But I washers, not just in my heart but also in my body. I was Chosen, and I had no real right to speak to her the way I just had, aside from suspecting she might let me get away with it this once.

That didn't mean the tension in the room was less than knife sharp, or that my heart didn't threaten to beat right out of my chest as she took slow steps toward me.

"Cook says there are enough apples to can and keep through winter for us, and all of Rumsbrooke, and most of the surrounding farming towns," I said softly. "I heard the guards speaking the other day, and the north hasn't seen a harvest like the one coming for well over a century."

I studied her expression, saw the irritation and the caution easing into a wary kind of gratitude the more I spoke.

"The taverns in Rumsbrooke are filled to the beams on the nights they host free dinners, and what coin can be spared is spent on mead so the owners are happy too. You've done so much already, Bryony."

She sighed and sagged, her feet carrying her into my arms as I stood from my chair. "I…aside from the harvest being promising—"

"Stop," I hushed her, tipping her chin up and sealing her lips with a brief kiss. "Aric might be right in some of his concerns, but I think there's more to his anger than concern for magic."

I looked up at the others, trying to communicate the question with a look. Could I take Bryony aside for a few minutes?

I wanted Aric and Bryony to come to some kind of terms on their own. I'd hoped they'd do so by Aric learning to trust Bryony, not just in regards to the kingdom, but when it came to his own feelings, pains. Apparently, that was too much to ask, especially with the obstacle of other men holding some of Bryony's affections.

Owen nodded to me, gesturing back to the cushioned window seats on the far end of the library. The entire vast room had been practically rearranged since our arrival, now brighter with tidy rows of shelves and bouquets of fresh roses held in the golden arms of lovers statues standing like pillars by the windows. I was a little jealous of Bryony's magic when it came down to it, although I'd never mention it to her. She was filling the palace with the kind of whimsical and decadent works of art that might've taken me months to fashion. And she did it overnight, without even noticing.

"Let them read for a few minutes while we speak," I murmured in her ear, nuzzling her temple.

She stiffened, and I mentally cursed Aric, wondering if he'd intentionally put her off our touch with his warning about the Hunger. Easier for him to manage his jealousy if she wasn't letting herself enjoy others.

"All right," Bryony sighed, softening again and leaning into my side as I shepherded her away from our table and over into the sunlight streaming through the window.

She didn't protest as I gathered her into my arms on my lap on the windowsill, resting her cheek over my heart, her skirt spilling over both our legs.

"Aric is jealous, first and foremost," I said.

Bryony only hummed, unsurprised, and I smiled slightly. She wasn't conceited, but I was glad she wasn't totally ignorant of her effect on men. She was beautiful, our princess, but also she was inherently seductive—in her movements, the slant of her gaze, her absolute authority.

"Of me, the others. Of you and the force of the Hunger," I said, making her twitch and look up from my chest.

"You think he's jealous of the magic?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"Absolutely. Aric's not formally trained, and magic is thin here in the north. He's had to struggle to master every inch he's learned, and as far as I know, he's one of the better magicians around. Look at what you've done, Bryony," I said, sweeping a hand around us. "Think of what he saw in the orchard."

Her expression darkened, and she pressed her forehead to my sternum. "I'm trying not to," she mumbled against me.

I hummed in understanding, digging my fingers into the roots of her hair. On that particular topic, I felt slightly worse for Aric. He'd put a barrier up between himself and Bryony, especially where it concerned desire. There was no way seeing her in that ecstatic moment hadn't shattered that wall in his mind.

"Has he...has he ever mentioned his wife?" I asked.

Bryony sat up like a shot, my fingers accidentally pulling on her hair. "He has a wife?" she cried, horror and an ache in her tone that made me sting on her behalf.

"Shh, he's a widower, Bryony," I said, drawing her back to my chest.

"Oh...oh."

I smiled at the note of sorrow. Just like that, her own injury transformed into one for his sake.

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