Page 10 of Trick

What I’d witnessed in the orchid garden weighed on my mind like bricks. Eliot tried to put up a front, but he possessed an open soul and wore his heart on his sleeve, unlike the rest of his kin. One-night stands didn’t exist in his head. Spring roots aside, he lacked the armor for rejection.

I took his hand and squeezed it. “You are invaluable. And someday, your perfect match will see that. Until then, if you’re as obsessed as you claim, it’s because you choose to be. Feelings can be controlled. It’s in your power to rise above them.”

Eliot peeked between his blond waves. “You think so?”

I knew so. Or for his sake, I hoped so, because I feared seeing him hurt again.

How I wished everyone knew what Eliot meant to me. But although I hated keeping our relationship a secret, I did it willingly. He was my one exception to the rules. Other than with him, I would not defy this world.

No one else was worth the risk. No one else would ever tempt me.

***

In the great hall, candles spilled ambient light across the space, and the guests moved about in boisterous fits and bursts. The vaulted ceiling’s glass panels offered a view of the night sky, while the melody of a pan flute skipped its way through the commotion.

Though, not everyone was talking. One man in a fox mask backed another male against a wall and drew his tongue up the recipient’s neck. Several attendants donned other animal masks, from the black feathers of a crow to the muzzle of a lion.

In another corner, an older woman dropped a petal atop a younger man’s tongue. As he swallowed, his eyes became glassy with euphoria, which signaled it wasn’t just any petal.

At the threshold, I swerved away from the scene, only to stumble across several more uninhibited episodes. A couple fed one another wedges of stone fruit and watched each other during every prolonged bite. Another pair fidgeted with one another’s clothing, their hands fondling each trim of fabric within reaching distance, to the point where the top of a breast pushed from a neckline, and a pert nipple studded into view. Meanwhile, a man traced his thumb along a knight’s lips, thus dabbing a bead of wine from the crook before swiping it across his own tongue.

So much Spring in one place. Nowhere to avoid it.

Anxiety trickled through me. Moisture beaded my palms. Yet blessedly, my heart hid safely within my chest as it knocked, knocked, knocked.

By now, I knew what to expect of this court. This was nothing compared to the audacities that would occur later. Every act was a tease, an appetizer, a promise of things to come once the hours deepened and darkened.

But this time, why did I feel surprised by these displays? Why did my posture buckle?

Since last year, had I merely forgotten—or blocked out—this culture’s lack of virtue? Or during my past visits, had I been too young to notice or care about these finer points, much less allow them to scorch the tips of my ears?

I composed my features and stifled the urge to duck my head. No one here would appreciate the discretion. Everyone who witnessed me try would only smirk behind their fans.

Mist coated the air and floated to the rafters. The ripe scent of berries perfumed the hall.

A pair of courtiers kissed open-mouthed across their table, the tips of their tongues sliding against one another. Fleetingly, they broke apart and heaved. Then the female’s teeth nipped at the male’s lower lip before they dove in again. Mouths angled and clamped together, moving in a sinuous rhythm.

Yes, I must have blotted out these images in the past. Otherwise, I would have remembered mouths kissing that way—that hard and that long.

It wasn’t done in Autumn. At least, not in public. Moreover, I had always refused to hear the details of Eliot’s experiences.

I stood on the threshold and gaped at the couple.

Just then, the weight of someone’s gaze seized me. Like an invisible cord, it slithered around my waist and tugged—not like an enticement but a challenge.

I pried my attention from the lusty sight and scanned the hall with furrowed brows, only to find the guests absorbed in each other. Honestly, the weight could be coming from anywhere. Its presence snuck up my neck like fingers, daring me to shiver.

I ignored the impulse and leveled my chin. Nevertheless, my flesh prickled like a traitor. Annoyed, I twitched rather harshly, fighting the disturbance.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess of Autumn.”

A hall’s worth of faces swerved in my direction. Thankfully, no one noticed how I’d been staring at the couple. No one except the source of that invisible weight.

A princess does not recoil.

A princess adapts wherever she goes.

I scrunched my lips together and stepped forward, layers of pine silk stroking my calves. Figures bowed and curtsied as I promenaded into the fox den.

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