Page 16 of Trick

It was not that he appeared from the shadows so much as he stepped into the light, as if the room had been waiting for him.

First, the balcony. Then the great hall. And now here.

Poet leaned casually against the nearest wall and crooked one leg, angling it behind the other, the booted toe pointing against the floor.

A pose both lazy and intentional, sinister and sinful. A devil who carried himself like a dancer.

At any second, he could shift positions or close the distance between us. In doing so, the jester could turn this moment into something immoral.

Verdant eyes roamed the length, width, and depth of me. Whatever conclusions he drew from there, the painted diamond eclipsing half his countenance seemed to obscure his thoughts. He tipped his chin, a small divot forming beside his mouth.

His rudeness knew no bounds if he thought it was acceptable to ridicule a Royal in front of her peers, then trail her into the recesses of this complex. I linked my hands in front of me and leveled him with a glower. This rake needed to be reminded of his place and with whom he was dealing.

In a syrupy tone, the jester said, “Highness.”

“Sirrah,” I clipped, deliberately choosing to address him by an inferior status.

An answering grin wormed its way across his face, his crooked canine poking out like a trick. At the sight of it, a thousand queer things happened in my chest. My pulse stalled, then jolted back to life, to name only one hazard.

He stalked forward. I recovered in time, jerking from the mirror to face him. The proximity magnified his height, which introduced me to his amber-and-vetiver scent.

I sidestepped him, trying to put distance between us. Yet Poet continued to advance, matching each of my movements until we began circling each other.

“Would you like me to show you how it’s done?” he offered.

“Howwhatis done?” I asked.

“How to twirl, twist, turn. You were off to an interesting start.”

“No, thank you.”

The jester tsked in a low voice. “Such a polite, purebred young lady. Thank me when I’m finished with you, sweeting. It would be my pleasure—the jester and the princess locked in motion, our bodies going round and round.”

“I do not care for dancing.”

“Oh, trust me. Based on what I saw, no one would dare to assume you frequently gyrate your hips.”

“And I do not appreciate being spied on,” I snapped.

“I assure you, jesters don’t spy. They don’t need to, for they have nothing to hide and nothing to seek. People give themselves away freely, for they are not as discreet as they think. Meanwhile, we jesters hear and see all, for that is our craft.”

“I know what you’re doing. Spare me the comely words.”

“But I saved them just for you.”

“You’ve wasted the effort. However, if you’re suffocating for attention, I can name seven ladies who would lap up your prose.”

“Is that so? I do appreciate a woman’s company. Only seven, though? That’s offensive. Speaking of snooping,” he baited, “I take it you mean the damsels who fawned from your window as you were watching me.”

My right foot tripped. I pictured myself landing flat on the ground, suctioned there like a starfish. The nimble jester reached out to break my fall, but I regained my balance before his fingers made contact with my elbow.

We continued to prowl around one another. Our features multiplied in the mirrors.

“A princess does not spy,” I stated. “She observes.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, then,” he prompted. “What did youobservefrom the window?”

“I cannot recall. The landscape had distracted me.”

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