Page 20 of Trick

The questions stroked my insides. A strange pressure throbbed in my navel.

Unbidden, my fingers stole out to touch the bands at his wrist. I wanted to unravel them, to feel the frayed edges under the pads of my thumbs, to untighten the knots and see how long they dangled before falling to the floor.

Poet’s pupils flared. The black wells dilated and swallowed his irises, a second before those orbs dimmed like snuffed candlelight. At which point, a protective shadow darkened his mien.

Abruptly, he snagged his wrist away, evading my touch at the last instant. His veneer dropped like a curtain, replaced by a venomous twist of his features. The expression promised retribution if I crossed that line.

“’Tis not polite, touching what isn’t yours,” he cautioned. “Was the ribbon I gave you not enough? Do you want more of me?” His whisper deepened, rustling over my lips like black silk. “Careful what you ask for, Princess.”

Once again tonight, my hand hung suspended and empty, denied something this stranger refused to give. Mortified heat seared my flesh. This jester possessed the perilous skill of knocking me from one emotion to the next. The realization extinguished any residual impulse toward the ribbon.

Livid, I strangled my skirt and shoved past him. The dress’s green hem snapped around my legs and seethed against the floor as I strode away. With each retreating step, the weight of his gaze lingered on my back.

Of course, the only thing Poet wanted to give me were taunts and deceptions. I’d known for a while now the scarlet ribbon had come from him. And I was smart enough to figure out its purpose.

Whoever caught the Court Jester’s attention became his target. If a princess thought she was exempt, she’d better think again. The band of fabric marked me. It was the jester’s way of singling out the renowned, stuffy princess.

Well, I would not give him the satisfaction of thinking I cared about his high jinks, nor that I could be marked. Especially not by a jester.

“Good night,” a fiendish voice murmured. “Sweet Thorn.”

I smashed to a halt. Digging my heels into the floor, I glanced over my shoulder to where the jester lounged with a single, careless shoulder propped against the wall. The chandeliers painted his silhouette in gold and black. Panels of darkness covered half his face, as though he wore a mask, yet those mischievous eyes glowed through the murk.

The corner of his mouth tipped. And there, amid a hundred mirrors, the jester blew me a thousand fiendish kisses.

6

Poet

Allow me this: I regret nothing.

She deserved what she got. She deserved what I gave.

Jesters don’t explain themselves, don’t show mercy, don’t apologize.

At the feast, the minx could have laughed, and I would have been satisfied. I wouldn’t have interrupted her precious little moment in that hallway.

Though I’m pleased she had tempted me. For it turned out to be a rather appealing introduction.

Alas, I hadn’t begun to lament my every move, nor drown in every forsaken thing about her. She hadn’t devoured me yet.

Oh, not yet. We had only just begun this dangerous dance …

*

The hellish blast of someone’s fist rapping on the door invaded my beauty sleep.

I rolled my naked splendor deeper into the bed, my fingers flicking toward the offensive racket. “Be gone.”

The abominable knocking grew louder. The voice attached to that knock forced his words out. “If you please, Poet. The Crown has requested your audience for the Peace Talks.”

Fuck. A groan rumbled from my chest. Facing down, I squashed a pillow over the back of my head.

One, the order meant I’d miss early training with the castle’s resident troupe, which I oversaw.

Two, the Talks required concentration. That was a problem, considering the precious real estate in my head—now that I’d been woken up—became immediately consumed by this rubbish involving Eliot and the steaming plate of horseshit I’d served myself yesterday.

I favored women, with all that succulent wetness pooling from beneath their skirts. Other times, I sampled with fervor a masculine mouth, a muscled weight pinned beneath me as I thrusted my hips into a welcoming male body.

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