Page 5 of Trick

“A long, stiff, smutty look,” Freya purred.

“Your Highness, may we watch him from your balcony?” Questa pleaded.

“Are you mad?” Vale asked, winding her dark arm around Posy’s waist. “From there, he’ll hear us.”

“If Posy’s virginal squeal didn’t alert him already,” Rhiannon said.

“He’ll see us, too,” Lisette added.

“No, he won’t,” Questa vouched. “Stop catastrophizing.”

Cadence ran her finger across the sill. “Devil, take me hard.”

“Or take me prisoner,” Vale amended, earning a round of chuckles.

“Your Highness,” Posy chirped. “You’ll miss him.”

No, I would not. I took my time reaching them, hardly in the mood to fuss over some buck. The group parted, allowing me to peek out the window and feign interest for their sake. The view spanned not only the hills of Spring, but also one of the gardens below.

And like a sudden quickening of the pulse, there he was.

2

Briar

Somewhere in Spring’s lower town, a storyteller penned a fable, a florist arranged stems, and a nobleman slipped into a courtesan’s bed. I hardly required clairvoyance to see this, much less a telescope. Life carried on, drifting aimlessly like the clouds.

Yet it stopped.

Life halted like a breath. Time stood still in the garden, where a figure stalked through the gate, his shape filling the void as if he owned the space. Two sentinels snapped to attention, their poleaxes clicking in place as the male silhouette sauntered past them.

Sunset had given way to twilight. Deep shadows draped over the lawn while several torches threw hot amber light across the grounds. Like those flames, the figure’s tall, athletic outline penetrated the darkness. He moved like a phantom—smooth and elusive, impossible to grab a hold of.

Restlessness crackled though me as I watched him bypass the guards. This garden was restricted to Royals, yet he’d waltzed in.

Above black leather pants, a long coat swatted his calves as he moved. The garment molded to his shoulders, and the cuffs were rolled up his forearms, both details alluding to a muscled body beneath. His red standing collar burned through the murk with defiance, like a broken rule.

Despite my vantage point, I knew expensive fabric when I saw it. He dressed too fine to be a servant yet too glibly to be a noble, even at this brazen court.

Someone who existed outside those perimeters, then? One of the prominent court artists?

Shy of a torchlit beam, he stalled. Though shadows concealed his features, he stood there, sensing something. After a second, his head slid toward a hedge, where another form materialized.

The woman idled between the bushes, her dress cinched tightly and her feet bare. She ducked her head—tresses the color of rosewood, from what I could tell—and gave the male a sidelong glance. If I had to guess from the dip of her chin and the thrust of one hip, I would peg her demeanor as coquettish and perhaps a little daring.

But the longer the male figure watched her, the quicker his attention seemed to strip the woman of certainty. Her posture wavered, suddenly intimidated.

My companions and I stared.

After a moment’s contemplation, the figure made his decision. He plucked an orchid from one of the garden beds and twirled it absently between his fingers like a toy. Then he prowled toward her.

The woman inched back but held her ground as he halted inches from her. While gliding the orchid petals down her profile, the dark figure watched as the woman buckled from the contact. And as he moved forward like a predator, she moved back like prey, the motions in tandem.

They vanished into the hedges. A moment later, a tremulous, feminine moan splintered through the air.

Heat rushed up my throat. The Seven wrestled each other for a glimpse, but it was no use. We couldn’t see them anymore from this prospect.

“Lucky bitch,” Cadence muttered, indifferent to my shocked glare.

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