Page 63 of Trick

With a refined dignity I could only attribute to years of training, I set the cup on the counter, the contents half full. Then I composed my features and nodded to him. “A princess knows her limits.”

Poet absorbed the words, turned them over, then inclined his head. We moved in sync, me scooting past him, and him stepping out of the way. But as I vacated the kitchen, his lingering silence coasted up my spine like fingers.

16

Poet

I shall only say this.

Had we been alone in the cottage, that night would have turned out differently.

Had the princess given me a trace of permission, the counter would have been swiped of its dishes.

Had she given the slightest indication, she would have been hauled off the ground—and that fucking water glass would have shattered to the floor.

17

Briar

The next day, I continued to harvest crops with Jinny. All the while, I watched him.

The jester propped his son on his lap, asked the child questions, and listened to the boy chatter.

The jester lifted and twirled the fae in the air, with Tumble scurrying around their feet.

The jester hefted Nicu from my hip each time the child interrupted my work and made a fuss over me. He flopped the boy over his shoulder, his arm contracting as he carried Nicu, ignoring the child’s tantrum and my assurances that it was fine, that I liked Nicu’s company.

The jester kept a constant eye on his son, snatching Nicu into his arms when the jovial child chased a wasp and got too close.

The jester filled a wooden basin with water, gave Nicu an outdoor bath at the boy’s request, and recited a poem while drying the child’s shaggy hair.

There was Poet, utterly enamored with his son.

There was me, utterly stricken by it.

By early evening, I couldn’t take it anymore and retreated to the stream. Water flopped down the bank, the flux licking the stones. The setting sun oozed through the trees and cloaked the grass with burnished light. I had detested these woods for eight years and never trusted myself to go near them again.

Unexpectedly, something had changed. I had witnessed happiness here—the brave kind, the sort I didn’t have any longer but missed.

My soul pitied Poet and Nicu for the intolerance they had to endure. My heart envied how they smiled and laughed despite the constant separation. My bunched fists wanted to protect them. Most of all, my clenched stomach worried about them.

What could I do to help their plight? Did Poet even need my help?

What would happen if they got caught?

I removed my boots and dipped my feet into the chilly current. Goosebumps raced across my legs, and the water glinted around my toes. I snatched a pebble from the ground, then rolled it between my thumb and forefinger while contemplating.

No, Poet did not need my help, since we were hardly friends. He hadn’t confided in me out of closeness. I’d forced this situation on him. If it had been up to the jester, I would have never set eyes on this cottage, nor the people who lived inside it.

The knowledge was a blister, raw and stinging my flesh.

The stream rushed across my toes and lapped at the bank. The breeze carried his scent, which permeated my senses.

Finally, I was learning how to detect his presence. Soon, I would know how best to avoid him. Or how to catch him before he caught me.

While turning to face the jester, the skirt of my dress brushed my thighs.

Poet lounged against the column of a tree, his shoulder slumping into the bark. Grass rustled around his scuffed boots. The wrinkled dip of his neckline flapped like a set of wings.

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